Chapter Forty-eight
Ahead of us, Ava’s car turned right onto the familiar lane I’d ridden down with her one month before. The cliffside was very close now.
“So you just do all Bonds’s dirty work and let him keep his hands clean?” I was fighting to keep my voice normal.
“He got me out of a tight spot once,” he said, and shrugged. “And he pays well.”
Ava pulled over when we broke from the trees.
Walker grunted. “Put it in park, and turn it off.”
I did as he asked. The sun was sinking, but no green flash tonight. I looked into the sky of fire, hell above earth. It’s not hell, I thought. Hell is this. That’s what salvation looks like. I wasn’t ready for either salvation or hell, though. I wasn’t sure yet how, but I was going to fight until the end. I had to.
“Get out of the car and stand with your hands on the hood.”
I did as he told me.
He got out of the car and walked around to my side. “Walk to the front passenger seat of your truck and get in. Go.” He shoved me with his left hand and held the gun against my back with his right.
I walked to the truck and got in. Ava was staring at me.
“Are you OK?” I asked her.
“I fine. You?”
“Yes.”
“Shut up.” Walker dropped himself into the back seat. He shut the door and scooted over behind Ava.
Ava gave a war cry. I saw a flash as she lifted my machete from underneath the bench seat, leaned forward, and whirled her right arm backhand toward Walker, the blade horizontal and inches from my face in the awkwardly tight space. “There’s not enough room for this to work,” I thought, anguished and hopeful at the same time. Walker’s arm shot up and he caught Ava’s wrist as she swung. Thud. He twisted. Snap. The machete fell into Walker’s lap in the back seat. Ava screamed and rocked forward, holding her arm.
“That was stupid,” he said, calm as the eye of a hurricane. “Shut up, put the car in gear, and drive forward.”
“I can’t,” Ava sobbed.
He cocked the trigger of his gun and pressed it into the hollow of her neck below her skull. His voice was slippery and cold. “Yes, you can, dear. Now do it.”
Ava carefully placed her broken right wrist into her lap. She tried again with her left hand. “Can you put it in gear for me?” she asked me, her voice breaking over her sobs as she swallowed them.
I didn’t say a word, just shifted the car into drive. Using only her left hand, Ava steered. We crested the rise, and the nose of the truck pointed down the short slope.
“Stop,” Walker said.
Ava stopped the car. I put it in park.
Ava put her face on the steering wheel. “You a fucked-up bastard.”
Walker’s face didn’t even flicker. But I saw his arm move. I reacted out of years of training and the instinct that had set me apart in the dojo years ago, the inner ear that mattered most, that had drawn words of praise from my sensei. As he lifted his gun and cracked it against her head, I chopped his wrist with my right hand, sending the gun skittering to the floorboard under Ava’s feet, and immediately slammed my left arm back in a vicious sword chop to his throat. Ava slumped against the door, unconscious. Walker fell against the seatback. He grabbed his throat, writhing, choking, and gasping for air.
I unclicked my seatbelt and leaned over Ava, unfastened hers, opened her door, and pushed her out to the safety of the grass. While I was extended across her seat, I felt the car begin to move. I sat up and realized with horror that my body had forced the gearshift from park to drive. I wrenched the door handle, threw open my own door, and rolled out. Blue, green, and orange spun around me as I tumbled and rolled, then fell still. I scrabbled toward Ava, not yet believing we were free, and I turned toward my beautiful gold truck to see Walker in profile, frantically trying to open the back door as the Silverado went over the cliff. I heard the scraping of metal on rock, a terrible sound. I saw my parents’ faces now instead of Walker’s, and I let down the tears that I had held in so long.
I put my face in my hands and sobbed, but only for a moment, then I shook my head, refusing to give in to grief. I clenched my fists and hit both of them into the ground. “I got you, you asshole,” I screamed in anguish, in triumph. “I got the bad guy, Dad.”
It didn’t bring my parents back.
I felt something cold, hard, and narrow against my right fist. I moved my hand and saw the glint of gold in the green grass. I reached under the flattened blades with my thumb and forefinger and plucked the object free. It was a gold band. My heart stopped. I turned it on its side and searched for the inscription.
Hannah.
Seconds passed, maybe minutes. I became aware again, of where I was, of my mother’s ring in my hand, of Ava. I stuck the ring on my finger and crouched over Ava, the last of my tears falling on her face as I shook her gently. She groaned.
“Ava, wake up, Ava, it’s Katie. Wake up.” I smoothed her wild black curls off her face and used my palm to wipe the trickle of blood from her forehead, smearing it more than cleaning it. “Come on, Ava.”
Her eyes opened. “Katie? What happen?” She sat up, then held her head. “Oh my God, my head hurt so bad.” She took in our surroundings. I saw her remember. “Where he go? Where he?” She tried to climb to her feet, but fell forward on her hands and knees. Her wrist buckled and she cried out, then rocked back on her knees and hugged her arm to her chest.
“It’s going to be OK, Ava. He’s gone now.” I pointed toward the cliff.
She gaped at me. “You kill him?”
“Not exactly. I think the childproof locks did him in.”
Ava stared at me like I’d dropped my basket for real. Then she howled like a hyena, laughing until she held her side with her good arm. “I going to hell now, for true,” she said.
“For this and all your other sins,” I agreed.
She swung her legs around and sat on her bana, then pulled her knees in to her chest with one arm and rested her head on them. “Only one problem. That bastard the only one could prove I didn’t kill Guy.”
I patted my left hip for the iPhone. It was still there. Please, God, please, I prayed. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone. I opened the recorder and pressed Stop, then fiddled with it until it played back my recording.
“Come on. Make room for Ava, and then follow her to Baptiste’s Bluff.” I pressed Stop. I swiped the timeline forward. “Why’d you kill the Senator?” I heard my voice say. “Haven’t you figured that out by now?” Walker’s voice replied. I pressed Stop again. Halle-freakin-lujah, and thank God for Sherry Talmadge.
“Was,” I said. “He was the only one who could prove it. Now you’ve got me.”
~~~
Saving Grace (What Doesn’t Kill You, #1): A Katie Romantic Mystery Page 50
