I had no idea how I was going to help ETAC complete its insane mission and save everyone I cared about. Maybe it wasn’t possible.
But I had to try.
I’d been allowed to dress in the clothing they’d confiscated from me, everything but my shoes. Like I had a knife or a mini-C4 explosive tucked into my Nikes. Paranoid freaks. I was a mom and a mechanic, not James Bond. Besides, a vampire’s weapons were part and parcel of the whole blood-sucking gig: fangs, speed, strength, and glamour. That explained why, as I followed the General down the dimly lit hallway, two men dressed like cyborg Rambos marched behind me. They both carried the black rifles that probably issued blue beams of death.
Gran. My heart clenched. Was she really dead? Or had she survived? And poor George. He could’ve turned to ash after I was carted away.
We stopped in front of a door. It looked as thick and secure as a bank vault. He pointed to the slit in the middle.
I had to stand on my tippy-toes, but I managed to look through it. Behind the sliver of glass, I saw two children. They each occupied a bed. Tubes were placed in their nostrils and an IV snaked from their left arms.
Helpless rage pounded like primal drums. My daughter was in the right bed, her eyes closed, her small chest rising and falling under the thin covers.
The other bed held a boy with shaggy blond hair and Brad Pitt looks. He looked eleven, maybe twelve years old. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place who.
“What the hell is this?” I gritted out. “What did you to do them?”
“They’re sleeping. The drugs are harmless, at least in their current dosage.”
Oh, my God. I lowered to my feet, my palms flat against the door so I could stay upright. My legs felt like wet noodles.
“If you fail, we will turn up the dosage to a fatal, irreversible amount. Your end will not be as . . . easy.”
Terror paid me another visit. It settled heavy and icy in the place where my heart used to beat. My daughter was in danger, danger that her own father put her in again, and here I was, wishing I’d shot my husband with all three bullets. In his head.
“You son of a bitch!”
“I suggest you rein in your temper, Simone,” said the General curtly. “You don’t have the luxury of being an emotional wreck. I’ll take you to the briefing room, and you’ll memorize everything I tell you. You will do each thing in order and at the correct time.”
What choice did I have? They had Glory. I’d make nice until they returned me to Broken Heart. Then I would find a way to communicate with someone. No, with Brady. He would believe me. He would help us.
I could rely on him.
“One more thing,” said the General as he led the way into the briefing room, “if you tell anyone about our agreement, the deal is off and your lives are forfeited.”
I said nothing. I cast my gaze to the table as I sat in a chair across from his. It was the same kind of threat Jacob used to issue—as if guilt, low self-esteem, and base fear weren’t enough to keep me in line. If you tell anyone, you’ll wish you hadn’t.
That bullshit didn’t work anymore. The General could blather on all he wanted about ultimatums. I’d find a way out, and this time, I would ask for help.
“Listen carefully,” said the General.
I did.
I woke up on the pier, my hand dangling over the side. They’d used the silver gun on me again, all in the name of protecting their location. Why dump me here? Why not inside my house? Or even at my garage?
Water splashed against my hand. I rose to a sitting position and stared down into the shimmering water. Everything would be all right. So long as I killed everyone in town, betrayed the man I was falling in love with, and threw every one of my principles out the window. I—
“Simone.”
I was so relieved to hear Brady’s voice, I scrambled to my feet and turned, intending to . . .
Brady stood on the pier, staring at me like he didn’t recognize me. He was dressed in his ETAC uniform. The belt around his trim waist was filled with gadgets—and weapons.
I walked toward him, my hands out in supplication. I could trust him. He promised that nothing would change between us. And I believed him. “Brady.”
“Why did you disappear?” His words were clipped.
Do not reveal to anyone where you’ve been or that you’ve been in contact with ETAC. The General had offered the warning in his concise, empty tone. They’d stuck a tracking device in my shoulder, in the unlikely event I got a case of the stupids and tried to run away. Worse, they could hear everything I said.
When I offered no answers, his lips thinned and he shot me a look of disgust. “How could you, Simone? She was your grandmother. And George was just a nice guy.”
My belly shook with nausea. Foreboding clambered up my spine. “What are you talking about?”
Regret sliced his expression, but only for a second. He removed a pistol from his belt and aimed it at me. “You shot them,” he said, “with a gun you stole from me.”
Chapter 26
I couldn’t explain how George and Gran got shot, since that would mean admitting that ETAC was in Broken Heart. I’m sure it was only a matter of time before someone realized it, though with all the paranormals streaming into town and the festival preparations, everyone was preoccupied.
I couldn’t figure out how to communicate with Brady—at least not without giving myself away to the assholes listening in. Then I remembered: We shared a telepathic bond.
Brady?
Get out of my head.
Hurt, I stared at him. His face was as hard as granite, and the gun pointed at my head was rock steady. He looked as though he might actually pull the trigger.
I couldn’t bear to see the judgment in his eyes. I didn’t understand why the guys who grabbed me used a gun stolen from Brady. If they could get to his weapons cache, why the hell couldn’t they get to him?
“Brady,” I said. “Please.”
He shook his head. “No more lies, Simone.”
Lies? What lies? I looked at him, helpless.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go.”
I believed that ETAC had a backup plan if I failed. All I knew for sure was that if I didn’t complete the three tasks by tomorrow at midnight, it was all over for me and Glory.
You will disable the Invisi-shield, said the General, but without destroying it. We want the posts intact. The damage should be incurred during the last hour before dawn.
I didn’t see how I would complete the first directive, and I was trying really hard not to panic. I had to figure a way out of this. Now.
Apparently, there was a gun missing from Brady’s personal arsenal. The blue beams were not bullets. All laser signatures were the same. I’d never been to Brady’s quarters, much less to the facility that housed his weaponry.
I hadn’t expected to be accused of trying to shoot Gran and George, much less be targeted as the prime suspect in the murders of Rick, Shawn, and Dunmore. In addition, they’d thrown in the missing Darlene as Murder Victim #4.
The only person I had not been accused of killing was Marissa. That one they couldn’t pin on me for a variety of reasons, so the theory about my killing rampage now included the idea that I had a partner.
I sat as a hostage in my own living room as Brady explained everything to me in a voice so devoid of emotion he reminded me of the General.
Damian and Patrick had arrived, along with Patsy and Gabriel. I supposed we didn’t need the full complement of Broken Heart citizens to watch my accusers humiliate me. Besides, the queen had all seven powers of the Ancients. She could boil, fry, or freeze me at her discretion.
“I would never, ever hurt a child, nor be associated with someone sick enough to hurt a child.” I glared at everyone. Look at what I had done to protect Glory from her own father. Not that anyone here knew it. “You really, truly think I did this? That I not only killed people—for no apparent reason, but that I also consorted with a c
hild murderer?”
“No,” said Patsy. “I’ve been in the presence of true evil, Simone. And that’s not you. But we gotta figure out what’s going on here.”
“Consider the victims,” said Damian. “Rick and Shawn were both your donors. Your phone call sent Dunmore to Darlene’s. And Darlene disappeared that same day.”
And Marissa had been found in the creek by my house. I got it. I did. I had a connection to everyone who’d died. But I’d watched enough CSI to know that they were missing one important element: motivation.
“Why would I kill them?” I asked.
“Maybe someone forced you,” said Brady. His gaze burned with fury. Was that righteous anger at me . . . or for me?
“Or someone is trying to frame me.”
And yet, either way, the question remained: Why? ETAC needed me mobile. I had no known enemies in town. I almost always kept to myself; Brady was the first person who’d visited the farm for any length of time. He had opened the door to hosting the potluck, to connecting with the others who lived and worked here.
I remembered Dr. Merrick in the examination room, her brown eyes filled with worry as she warned me about the unfolding events.
Revenge . . . or justice.
Jacob.
I went cold inside. He’d been watching me, shadowing me for who knows how long. ETAC didn’t come up with this whole blow-up-parakind idea out of the blue. Had he killed Rick? And then gone for Shawn? He’d lured me into the barn, and he’d made the phone call as Brady. Had he been at the garage on Saturday? Heard me talk to Darlene, and later somehow knew I’d called Dunmore?
The three men were drained. Jacob was a vampire. As a human he’d had a difficult time controlling his base urges. He damned sure wouldn’t control his blood hunger.
Shit. I took a sec to gather my composure. Did they somehow suspect that my husband was alive? Worse, did they think that I was in collusion with him? The idea made me sick to my stomach.
Damian and Brady exchanged a look, and Damian shook his head. What the hell did that mean? What were they communicating about? The scenario was going bad, and fast. How the hell could I disable the Invisi-shield tonight if I was under suspicion of murder? If they knew he was lurking around town, did they suspect that ETAC was here, too?
“Why didn’t you tell us that your married name was McCree?” asked Patrick.
Crap. They knew that Sweet was my maiden name. Only Gran could’ve told them, so that meant she was alive. At least, I hoped so. And now, because it appeared I’d lied to protect myself (duh), they’d have less reason to believe I wasn’t running around town, acting like Freddy Krueger.
“Elaine is my husband Jacob’s grandmother,” I admitted. I explained that Elaine’s dead husband was Jessica’s great-uncle, the half brother of Jessica’s grandmother, who’d passed away some time ago.
Jonathon was the result of an affair between his mother and Jessica’s great-great-grandfather. He’d given the property to Jon and Elaine, but neither one had claimed it. Not until the car accident that killed Jon and took Gran’s eyesight. She reverted to her maiden name, which is why no one knew her connection to Jessica’s family.
“Jess doesn’t know, then?” asked Patrick.
I shook my head and looked at the carpet. My stomach roiled. How did I reassure everyone that I wasn’t the problem? How was I supposed to tell them about the real threat?
I thought about Gran, the woman to whom I owed so very much. She never admitted it, but I think the name change helped her keep her distance from her only son: Mack. He’d been a drug addict who often blacked out; he usually didn’t remember that he’d beaten his wife and son.
“Elaine was the only family I had,” I said. My tone was pleading, but I couldn’t stop it from cracking. I felt the ache behind my eyes for tears that would never flow. “I couldn’t make it on my own. It wasn’t just the financial difficulties, but my emotional instability. I needed the support. I went to therapy for almost two years—in Tulsa. Then I was Turned, and, well, I guess I was strong enough by then to stand on my own two feet.”
“You told me that Jacob was dead.” The suspicion in Brady’s voice was a dagger in my soul.
“I shot him in the heart,” I said, knowing my confession would reinforce their suspicions. “So yeah, he’s dead.”
“Why did you shoot him?” asked Gabriel softly.
“Apparently I just like to kill people.” Anger vibrated in my voice. These people were supposed to be my friends. And Brady . . . he was supposed to be even more than my friend. The one I trusted. The one I could depend on.
“The bastard hit her,” said Brady.
Too little, too late. I felt like his support was reluctantly given; his tone revealed frustration and doubt. I don’t know why he even bothered to defend me that tiny bit. As much as I hated to admit it, he was the only one who could help me.
Brady, please!
Stay out of my head, Simone. I mean it.
Stoic, he stood on the other side of the coffee table, his arms crossed. I caught his gaze and rubbed my wrist.
Would he get the implication?
Frowning, he gazed down at his own wrist, which his black glove covered. But at least he was looking at the wrist scarred by the removal of his tattoo. He glanced at me and I tilted my head to the left, lifting my shoulder as if trying to shake loose some of its tension.
He gave a slight nod, then looked away. I could only hope that he meant he understood.
Patsy sat on the couch. She took my hands into hers and stared at me. Her eyes glowed red, drawing me deeper into her gaze. I felt my mind go fuzzy.
“Tell us about the night your husband died.”
I started talking, but it was like someone else revealed what had happened. I felt outside myself, watching at a distance, vaguely interested. I told them everything, from the moment Jacob arrived to the moment I killed him.
“The police were coming,” I said. “I don’t know if they heard the shots. I stole Lyle’s wallet, grabbed Glory, and ran out the back door.”
Our yard was fenced, but Lyle’s was not. I swung Glory over the chain-link and tumbled over myself. Lyle’s home was unlocked.
While the police busted into my house and found the bodies, I took precious moments to wash off the blood from me and Glory. I took the cash from Lyle’s wallet and left it on his dresser. He’d told me about his cookie jar fund, so I went into the kitchen and took all the money from it, too.
Then I wrapped up my silent daughter in one of Lyle’s jackets and snuck out. Had I more presence of mind, I might’ve stayed there and tried to bluff the police. Say it was my house so I could wait and take Lyle’s Cadillac. Later, I realized I’d left a blood trail in the backyard and in Lyle’s house, too. Irrational fear had worked in my favor.
I had $234. I carried Glory all the way to a seedy roadside motel—the kind of place with hourly rates and a clerk who smelled like pot. He didn’t look twice at me.
I soaked our clothes and scrubbed out as much of the blood as possible. Called a cab. Bought bus tickets and got as far as Laughlin.
“How was it that you came to Broken Heart?”
Patsy’s voice was soothing. It seemed to promise relief from my guilt, if I’d only tell her what she wanted to know.
In Laughlin, I met Joe Montresso, who took one look at me and Glory and decided we needed rescuing. We did. He owned a garage in town with his life partner, Avery, who rebuilt motorcycles. They gave me a job, helped with Glory, and let me rent the room above their garage. Joe and Avery taught me all about mechanics, said I had a natural talent for putting things back together. Everything except myself.
Four months passed, then five, and then Elaine’s birthday came around. I took a chance and called her.
Though the Air Force had informed her of Jacob’s death, they had not told her the circumstances. I cried as I admitted everything, and she told me to come to Broken Heart.
I said good-bye to Joe and Avery, pa
cked up Glory, got into the truck Joe had fixed up for us, and drove to Oklahoma.
Patsy knew the rest of the story.
“Did you kill Rick or Shawn?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you know what happened to Dunmore and Darlene?”
“No.”
“Where did you go after Elaine and George were shot?”
I opened my mouth, but someone grasped my shoulder and startled me. I looked up into the worried face of Brady.
“Enough,” he said to Patsy. “Quit grilling her.”
Patsy’s blond brows rose nearly to her hairline, but she lifted her hands in an okay gesture, and the redness in her eyes faded to their natural blue color.
I shook off Patsy’s glamour, feeling a mixture of gratitude and resentment. At least they knew I wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.
But I didn’t appreciate the mind-fuck.
Brady released me and retreated. Damn. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I didn’t want to be judged by these people. Still, what the hell did I expect? This kind of interrogation and suspicion was my nightmare come to life.
Dr. Merrick had been right. All my choices had led to this moment. To this place.
I was so screwed.
Chapter 27
No matter what anyone thought about my guilt or innocence, I was housebound. Patsy said Gran and George had survived the shooting, but she didn’t tell me much else except that I could visit Gran tomorrow night.
Brady made a big deal about telling me the search for Glory was ongoing. I realized I’d been stupid. I should’ve asked about her and played the panicked mom. I knew where she was, and that her very life depended on me, but no one else did. However, there was more on the plate of the queen than what I’d been doing. Or not doing.
Looking exhausted and irritable, Patsy said her good-byes and left with Gabriel.
I sat on the couch with my knees pulled up to my chin and listened to Brady, Patrick, and Damian decide what to do about little ol’ me. My thoughts circled round and round. How could I get to the posts and sabotage the shield? How could I talk to Brady and ask for his help? He was shutting me out in every way, including more mental rebuffs.
Over My Dead Body Page 17
