Authors: Laura Morrigan
“I’ve got to sit down.” I moved to Bluebell’s open door. The step up into the cab,
which I typically negotiated with ease, now looked like a mountain. I figured the
bumper was as good a place as any to perch, so I walked to the back of the Suburban
and lowered myself onto the wet chrome. I listened for the sound of the sirens, but
they seemed to have disappeared in the wake of the retreating storm. The wind had
settled into a soft breeze, the sun pierced through the clouds in shifting spotlights.
The shotgun blast ruptured the quiet.
I jumped up and spun around. Jennifer stood over Bo, her face expressionless.
“What the hell?” I rushed forward. Bo was on his back, with a hole the size of a cantaloupe
where his heart should have been. “Jesus!”
“Is he dead?” Jennifer whispered.
I didn’t bother to answer.
“He moved. I jumped and . . . it just went off.”
For a split second, I believed her—then Jax, who had been hovering by my side, edged
close to the body. He began to whimper and pace. I knew what was coming. But before
I could slam my mental door shut, his emotions plowed into me. The jumbled, frenetic
feelings were too familiar. My stomach clenched, bile rising in my throat to choke
out air.
I stumbled away, gagging and coughing. Using the outside corner of the cabin as support,
tears streaming down my face, I tried to breathe. But just as it had before, the thick,
foul specter of murder threatened to overwhelm me. Clinging to the wood siding, I
sputtered and spit and tried to give myself time to think.
Shooting Bo was not an accident. Jennifer had pulled the trigger—one I personally
knew to be quite stable—because she wanted him dead.
Unbidden, pieces of the puzzle began to slide into place. Forming an ugly picture.
The DNA on Alexander Burke. Jennifer’s bruises. Her mock romance with Mark. Bo’s rant
about covering for family. He had been talking about Jennifer Weston.
The specifics eluded my clouded mind, but I knew. The woman standing behind me with
a gun was not a sweet girl who’d managed to escape the projects. She was a woman who
used her understanding of people to manipulate and murder.
“Grace, are you okay?” Jennifer’s voice remained wholesome and guileless. So far,
she hadn’t realized I’d seen through her charade.
“Yeah.” I straightened and turned, hoping I’d schooled my features enough. “Sorry.
I shouldn’t have looked.”
I kept my eyes averted, to prove my point and because I felt if I looked at her, she
might see into my head. Jax was still pacing around the body. I didn’t dare open my
mind to him again. I had to stay focused if I wanted to survive. I whistled to the
dog and he came to heel. I released my injured arm to give him a quick pat.
“It was an accident,” Jennifer said.
Nodding, I tried to act as if I’d never had my epiphany. But I could think of no words
of support or friendship. I remembered the parallel I’d drawn between Jennifer and
Emma. Unsettling as it was, I forced myself to act as if Jennifer were my sister.
What would I say if this was Emma . . .
Finally, I was able to speak.
“It’s going to be okay. Don’t worry.” I superimposed my sister’s face over Jennifer’s
so I could meet her gaze. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” She seemed to be studying my face. Looking for something.
I redoubled my efforts to imagine Emma standing in front of me. Hoping I’d arranged
my features correctly, I said, “You sure?”
“I’m okay.” She motioned to the concrete porch steps. “You should sit down.”
As I shuffled toward the stoop, I pretended not to notice she still held the shotgun
aimed in my direction. I wanted to look harmless. Exhausted. It was way too easy.
I listened again for the wail of the police siren.
Come on, guys . . .
Understanding registered slowly, as chilling as a winter dawn. The police weren’t
coming. Jennifer hadn’t called them. I cursed myself for a fool.
Way to go, Grace. Brilliant.
Self-recrimination wouldn’t do me any good. I had to think. The “wait for the cavalry”
option was gone. My mind raced—frenetic as a beehive caught in a wildfire.
I had to assume the only reason I was still breathing was because Jennifer had yet
to come up with a way to get rid of me. She had killed Alexander Burke and, with Bo’s
help, done a fair job of making it look like a suicide.
My death would not be so easy to explain.
When I reached the cabin steps, I paused to collect my thoughts. Finally, I turned
and let myself see the woman who held me at gunpoint—and let her see me.
“Whatever plan you’re concocting won’t work,” I told her.
The innocent mask Jennifer wore so effortlessly slipped and fell away.
“Plan?”
“The police might believe you shot Bo in self-defense, but me?” I shook my head.
“I’m not going to shoot you. Bo is.”
“That’s . . .” I glanced at his body. “Doubtful.”
“Actually, it’s perfect. Now, turn around. We’re going inside.”
I moved slowly up the steps toward the open door and tried to gather my wits. How
could I get away? Jax was at my side, but he knew Jennifer as one of his masters.
If I asked him to attack, he might not obey.
I had to think of something else. As I moved through the doorway into the cabin, my
gaze zeroed in on the gun cabinet on the far wall. My left arm was badly injured,
but I was right-handed. If I could get to one of the weapons . . . I shook off the
thought. I was getting ahead of myself. Before I could come up with a counterstrategy,
I needed to know what Jennifer was planning.
“So, how is a dead man going to shoot me?”
“With this.”
I turned, and saw Jennifer had shifted the shotgun to cradle under one arm; in the
other hand she held a pistol pointed directly at my head.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Shock had me blurting out the asinine question.
“I set it by the door when I came in a few minutes ago. You walked right past it.”
I glanced at the small table by the door, stunned.
Jennifer laughed. The sound was melodic and clear as a silver bell. It sent a shiver
straight to my core.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to shoot me.”
“I lied.” Her finger began to tighten on the trigger.
“They’ll know.”
Jennifer paused at my comment—I wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.
“The police will know.”
“Because it will leave gunshot residue on my hands?” There was a sarcastic bite to
her words.
I shouldn’t have been surprised she knew the term. After all, she’d staged a suicide.
“It won’t matter,” she said. “I’m already covered in it.”
Grinning, she tilted the shotgun up in a sort of salute.
“Pistols are different. It’s not the same type of residue.” I had no idea if it was
true, but I was more than willing to wing it.
Her eyes narrowed and she lowered the gun, tucking it into the waist of her jeans.
Before I could make a move, the shotgun was leveled at me once again.
“The cops might believe you killed Bo in self-defense, but only if you have me to
back your story.”
She shook her head. “We both know you won’t lie to the cops. Especially your cop.”
Damn. I’d forgotten she’d met Kai. “I lied to him at Mark’s.” I knew I was wasting
my breath, but I needed time to think. Then, like a bolt of lightning, I remembered—Jennifer
had been looking for something at Mark’s. Something he would have kept hidden in his
desk . . .
The book. If Mark was writing a book, he’d have notes. Or a journal.
“Think about it,” I said, trying not to sound as panicked as I felt. “You don’t want
to screw up like you did with Mark’s journal.”
“Journal?” Though her tone was questioning, I knew I had her. She wanted the book.
I had to make her believe I’d found it.
“It was hidden in Jax’s dog bed,” I said, trying for nonchalance. “Interesting reading.”
She angled her head and studied me. “You’re lying.”
“Nope.” I could bluff my way out of this—I had to. “I have to wonder, though, why
not just blackmail Buck Richardson when you found out you were his daughter? It seems
a lot easier than pretending to be Mark’s girlfriend.”
“That was my first choice, believe me.” Her gaze remained focused on my face, still
searching for signs of deceit. “But Gardenia intervened before I had the chance.”
“She knew about you.” It came out as a statement because I wasn’t as surprised as
I should have been.
The reaction worked in my favor because Jennifer’s scrutiny eased a little and she
huffed out a chuckle.
“That woman knows about everything. I’ll admit it was a good plan. Buck and Mark got
to keep up appearances, and I got tickets to ride the money train.”
“Forever?”
“Of course. The Richardson family would never abandon a poor girl like me. Or wasn’t
that in the book?”
“I skimmed a few spots. But believe me, you being the governor’s daughter is just
the tip of the iceberg. There’s enough dirt on the family in that journal to bury
Buck Richardson. The money train you’ve been riding . . . derailed.”
“Really?” she asked dryly. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”
“Well, I want to live, and you want to keep the train rolling, right? We can make
a deal.” Now that I’d convinced her I had the book, I had to come up with a strategy.
“If you let me go, I’ll give you the journal.”
“Where is it, Grace?”
I didn’t answer right away—I was still trying to think. “Don’t point the gun at me,
and I’ll tell you.”
Quick as a viper, Jennifer racked the shotgun and aimed it at Jax. “I know about your
thing with animals. Would it hurt if I shot him?”
Fear ran through me, as keen and cold as a blade. I felt the blood drain from my face.
It would hurt. Shield or no shield. Not just because of my ability, but because I
loved him.
I thought about giving Jax the command to attack. But even though she was threatening
him, he might hesitate. The gun was chambered now, too risky.
“Fine.” I heard my own voice, but it sounded dead.
“Well?”
I knew what I was going to do. “It’s in the back of my Suburban.”
She kept the gun aimed at Jax as she circled away from the door. “Walk. Slowly.”
I did. Jax stayed at my side though his movements were jerky. I was sure he knew something
was wrong. He was probably confused. I couldn’t risk opening up to him. If I was going
to pull off my plan, I’d have to be completely focused.
And I needed Jennifer to be distracted.
As I shuffled over the wet ground, I tried to think of something, anything I could
say to accomplish that.
Though my mind seemed to be moving slower than a herd of turtles, a question occurred
to me.
“Why did Bo go to Mark’s house that night? I know he hadn’t planned to kill him.”
“Really? How’s that?”
I stopped and turned slightly to look over my shoulder at her. “Jax saw what happened.
Bo and Mark got into an argument, it escalated, and ended with Bo taking Mark’s gun
and shooting him.”
“Jax told you all that?”
“He’s a smart dog.”
She angled her head and studied me. “Bo was supposed to drop off the suicide note.”
“So you were going to kill Burke and make it look like a suicide. How were you going
to get rid of Mark?”
“I wasn’t. I told you the truth when I said he’d broken things off with Alexander
and changed his mind about writing the book.”
“Why?”
“I helped him realize Alexander was desperate and controlling. It didn’t take much.
A few well-timed hang-up calls followed by a couple of bumps in the night to put Jax
on alert.”
“You were Mark’s stalker.”
“Actually, Bo was.”
“I don’t get it. Why go to the trouble to kill Burke if he and Mark had broken up?”
She blinked at me as if I was the dumbest human on earth. “Mark needed to see how
disturbed Alex was. So he would understand publishing the book was as sick as the
person who’d talked him into writing it.”
It was almost comical hearing her referring to others as “disturbed.” I would have
smiled, if it weren’t for the shotgun in her hands.
“Keep walking,” Jennifer ordered.
I did. As we neared Bluebell, I said, “So, Bo messed up the plan by killing Mark.”
“Actually, it worked out better,” she mused. “We were going to drug him and make it
look like an overdose. There were a couple of snags, but in the end, a murder-suicide
was more believable.”
“Makes sense.” I wasn’t about to tell her the police were looking more closely at
Burke’s death. I wanted Jennifer to feel calm and in control.
We reached the back of the Suburban, and I stopped. “I can’t open it with my arm like
this.”
“Sure you can.” She moved the gun slightly. “One shot will kill him and blow your
knee off.”
I let go of my left arm, letting it hang. The movement cost me. A shockwave of pain
seared all the way to my fingertips. But at least I knew I could still move it, I’d
have to if I was going to live. I reached out and unlatched first one door then the
other, swinging them both open wide.
Jennifer had shifted around while I did this. She was slightly behind me.
“Where is it?”
Thankfully, the cargo area of Bluebell was not well organized. There was an assortment
of cages and carriers. My medical kit. And my cardboard catchall box. What I wanted
was next to the box.
“I think it was sitting on Jax’s bag of food.”
Jennifer came closer, pressing the shotgun into my ribs. “Find it.”
“Okay, okay. It’s just a folder.” I leaned forward over the box, placing my throbbing
hand next to it. I reached with my good arm into the box and rummaged around.
“Grace, if you’re messing with me, you’re dead.”
“Just hang on.” Next to the box, I felt my seminumb fingers brush against something
cylindrical. With my good hand, I reached into the bottom of the box where I kept
an old notebook. “Got it.”