Mean Streak(122)

“But I couldn’t figure out why no one could find your body. How hard could it be? I guessed that you’d regained consciousness and staggered off the path and into the wilderness. After three days, I began to relax, believing that if you hadn’t died of the head trauma, surely you had succumbed to hypothermia.

“Then you turned up alive. Saved by Daniel Boone. Unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head at the wonder of it. “Who would have guessed that your splendor extended to rising from the dead? And that was only the first of several jolts. Your cabin-dweller was a fugitive being hunted by the FBI. You and he were in a feud with incestuous hillbillies.

“But,” she said, smiling again, “I saw a way to turn this mess to my advantage. Worse than anything, Jeff hated being seen as a fool, and your escapades were making him out to be a colossal one. He was rapidly unraveling. All I had to do was keep pulling on the thread.

“Last night he tried to convince me that you had become mentally unbalanced. So, as a friend to both of you, I drove up here this morning to lend support. He outlined his ridiculous plot with that pair of brothers. I pretended to be dismayed, when actually I was delighted. Without any help from me, he was digging himself in deeper. Which I would have been happy to sit back and watch him do. But,” she sighed, “at the last minute, he forced my hand.”

Emory’s blood turned cold. “You’re referring to him in the past tense.”

Lost in her own thoughts, Alice continued, speaking in a rueful murmur. “Incomprehensibly, he was going to chase up here and reclaim you. Even after suffering the humiliation heaped on by you, he still chose you over me.”

“My God, Alice, what have you done? You’ll never get away with it, not any of it.”

“Oh, getting away with it has ceased to matter. My goal was to have the two of you dead, and I’m halfway there.” She aimed the pistol down at Emory. “Any final words?”

“Alice, please.”

“No? Okay then.”

The shot rang out, and Alice crumpled to the ground, her right leg giving out from under her.

Hayes emerged from the fog-blanketed trees like a specter, his gun hand extended at arm’s length. “Drop the weapon or you die.”

Emory cried out, “No, no!” But her fear was more for him than Alice.

The bullet had entered the back of Alice’s leg and exited the front just above her knee. Her teeth chattered with pain, but she kept her grip on the pistol, which was aimed at Hayes, who made a huge target.

Emory thought her heart would burst from her chest. “Alice, please, listen to me, listen to him. Toss the pistol away. Don’t make him kill you. Please don’t.”

Alice didn’t seem to hear. She was focused on Hayes. “Emory’s super stud.”

“Drop the pistol.”

“If you’d wanted me dead,” she taunted, “you would have made the first shot count.”

“I don’t want you dead. But I will f*cking kill you if I have to.”

“Don’t make him, Alice, please, please,” Emory sobbed. “I beg you. Don’t make him do it. Put the gun down. It’s over.”

“Over for you.” She whipped the pistol toward Emory.

The gunshot wasn’t as loud as it might have been on a clear day when the air was crisp. The fog muffled some of the sound.

But Alice was just as dead.

Hayes was beside Emory in an instant, bending down to lift her up and hug her against him. His hands closed around her head as he searched her face. “Are you all right?”

She was weeping. “I didn’t want you to have to. I didn’t want you to—”

“Shh. Shh. I didn’t.”

He indicated that she look behind her. Sergeant Detective Grange was standing with one hand braced against a tree, bent at the waist, retching violently. Knight stood beside him, his beefy hand on his partner’s shoulder.

*





Hayes’s cabin became headquarters for all the law enforcement personnel and emergency responders who arrived on the scene within minutes.

He had carried Emory in his arms the remaining distance and deposited her in one of the olive-green chairs at the dining table. He brought a quilt from the bed and draped it around her. “That’ll help until the ambulance gets here. They’ll have a Mylar blanket.”

“I only want you.” Emory grasped his hand.

He knelt beside her and threaded his fingers through her hair. “What the hell were you doing on that road on foot?”

“Running to warn you.”

He dragged his thumb across her lower lip. “Don’t do it again,” he said huskily.

“Don’t ever make yourself so large a target.”

“Not much I can do about that, Doc.”

They were still staring into each other’s eyes when Jack Connell approached. “Hanging in there?”

Tremulous and tearful, Emory said, “We’re alive.”

“No small miracle,” Connell said. “Knight, Grange, and I came upon your crashed car. My crashed car.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

He made a motion of dismissal. “You weren’t injured in the crash?”

“Nothing serious. But Alice…” Speaking the name caused her voice to crack. “She struck me. Maybe with the butt of the pistol. I’ll need another brain scan.”