Hide (Detective D.D. Warren, #2)(109)

"It is, dear Amy, no way to live."

Tommy's story seemed to be winding down. I was still frozen with shock. That my father had shot his own brother. That Tommy had managed to live. That two brothers' lives could be stuck in such a cycle of violence.

"You don't feel anything?" I asked tentatively. "Nothing at all?"

Tommy shook his head.

"You never stalked any more girls?"

"I can't fall in love."

"Then you don't need me."

"But of course I do. You're family You always need family."

"Ben—"

"Tommy I want to hear you say it. It's been so many years. Come on, Amy. For your uncle. Let me hear it from your lips."

Perhaps I should've humored him. But the instant he asked me to say his name, I couldn't do it. I was trapped in my own apartment, bleeding, exhausted, clutching my dying dog. Denying my uncle his name was the only power I had left.

I shook my head. And my dear emotionless Uncle Tommy bent and slapped me across the face. My lips split, I tasted blood. I drew it in and spat it back at him.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" I cried.

His fist slammed into my head, and my skull rebounded with a crack off the door.

"Say it!" he roared.

"Fuck you!"

He drew back his arm, but this time I was waiting for him.

"Hey, Ben," I yelled. "Catch!"

And I threw Bella at him, praying as I'd never prayed before, that even a homicidal maniac would have the instinct to grab.


[page]
BOBBY HEARD THE scream first. He was half a block from Annabelle's apartment, twenty yards ahead of D.D. He was still trying to tell himself there was a logical explanation for Annabelle not to answer her phone, that of course she was all right.

Then he heard the yell. And kicked his pace into high gear.

The front door of her building slammed open. A young man dashed into the street. "Police, police, someone call the police. I think the UPS man is trying to kill her!"

Bobby hit the stairs as D.D. whipped out her phone and called for backup.



BEN STAGGERED BACK under Bella's weight, and as he did so, I finally managed to scream, a shrill sound of pure frustration. I hated myself for sacrificing my best friend. I hated Ben for forcing me to do it.

I threw myself at the door, working frantically at the locks. I got the first two undone, just as Ben dropped Bella and grabbed at the back of my shirt. I whipped around and elbowed him in the side of the head, knocking off his glasses.

He fell back; I found the chain lock.

"Come on, come on, come on…"

My fingers were shaking too hard, they didn't want to cooperate. I was sobbing hysterically, losing control.

Then I heard it. Footsteps pounding up the stairs. A welcome, familiar voice. "Annabelle!"

"Bobby!" I managed to cry, then Ben tackled me from behind.

I went down hard, my nose thwacking against the door. Tears sprang to my eyes, another enraged scream bursting from my throat. The door shook, Bobby hurtling himself against it. But it held, of course it held. Because I had chosen this door for its strength, while accessorizing it with half a dozen locks. I had built a fortress to keep me safe, and now it would kill me.

"Annabelle, Annabelle, Annabelle!" Bobby roared in frustration from the other side.

Then Tommy's rasping voice, hot in my ear. "It's your fault, Amy, you made me do it. You've left me no other choice."

From far away, I heard my father. His endless lectures, his constant preaching:

"Sometimes, when frightened, it's difficult to make a sound. So break things. Bang your fist into the wall, throw furniture. Make noise, sweetheart, put up a fight. Always fight."

Tommy, grabbing my shoulders. Tommy, nipping me over. Tommy holding up Charlie's bloody switchblade in his triumphant fist.

"You will never leave."

"I'm gonna shoot," Bobby yelled. "Get away from the door. One, two—"

Pinned to the floor, I tore the pendant from around my neck. Tommy raised his blade. I snapped the thin metal cap from my crystal pendant.

And I tossed my parents' ashes into Tommy's face.

Tommy reared up, wiping frantically at his eyes.

Just as Bobby opened fire.

I watched Tommy's body jerk, one, two, three, four times. Then Bobby kicked open my shattered door.

Instead of going down, Tommy twisted toward the sound, charging like a wounded beast.

I sprang to my feet. Bobby feinted left. Tommy went tearing through the shattered doorway, hit the railing of the fifth-floor landing, and flailed his arms wildly for balance.

I thought he might make it.

So I hit him low and solid from behind.

Then, my father's daughter, I watched my uncle fall to his death below.





[page]Chapter 38


THE TRUTH SHALL set you free. Another old saying. Not one I ever heard from my father's lips. Given what I now know about his past, I think I understand.

Six months have passed since that last bloody evening in my apartment. Six months of police questioning, storage-unit recovery, DNA results, and, yes, even a press conference. I have my own agent. She believes she can get me millions of dollars from a major Hollywood studio. And, of course, there will be a book deal.