One Step Too Far(Frankie Elkin #2)(109)

“Which meant Nemeth had to be part of what was going on. Except he was at the other end of the canyon when Neil got hurt. And you talked about feeling like someone was watching you that day, but Nemeth was right beside you. Plus, all the various incidents, the scope of the terrain covered . . . One person couldn’t do all that.

“Once I accepted Nemeth’s involvement, Marge became his logical partner in crime. Then, when I discovered the first missing hiker was Marge’s sister—no way that’s a coincidence.”

I turn to Luciana. “I’m guessing she’s the one who attacked you. Her job was to eliminate you while Nemeth returned to the cliff face. He must’ve had a second bag stashed away with his hunter’s garb, rifle, other weapons. Hence he left his hiking pack behind. But it didn’t go quite as they planned. Daisy escaped, forcing Marge to chase her—a fruitless enterprise. Then Marge had the second task of booby-trapping base camp with the stolen food. By the time she returned to where she’d left you tied up, you’d managed to escape. Which put their plan in immediate jeopardy.”

I return to Marge, monitoring the expression on her face. I’m guessing about a lot of this, filling in the gaps with what makes the most sense. Given her rigid spine and hostile gaze, I’m doing a pretty good job of it.

“At that point, you hightailed it back to town,” I provide. “You had to reestablish yourself as diner owner Marge while monitoring what Luciana and the sheriff did next. Did you worry about Nemeth?” I ask her. “Taking on seven people all by himself? Or like him, did you assume we were easy prey? Martin got him in the end. I don’t know how Nemeth managed to survive the fall or crawl out of the ravine. I’m assuming you must’ve helped him? Maybe he had one of those fancy coats with built-in GPS. You used it to locate him, then assist him to the trail, where you could call for the other searchers while pretending to have just found him. I’m guessing you hid his crazy face coverings and other gear. It won’t matter. The police have his clothes, which will be incriminating enough. His reinforced military pants will bear the marks from my knife. His shirt will have a bullet hole from Miggy’s gun. Between what’s in your log cabin and his own wardrobe, there’s more than enough evidence.”

“Nemeth is the one always in the woods. I have a diner to run,” Marge clips out. “Like you said, we’re a couple. Of course he has access to my parents’ hunting cabin. What he does while he’s there and I’m at work, how am I supposed to know of such things?”

“Throwing him under the bus, Marge? You love him, but not enough to save his ass? Or is this just what you two do—survival of the fittest?”

A sound. I look to the side and Nemeth’s eyes are open. Those piercing blue eyes that reminded me of glaciers and open sky. Not from the wilderness but of the wilderness. More so than anyone knew.

“How could you do it?” I can’t help myself. “Killing strangers is awful enough. But you knew Martin. You spent years with him, and still you lined up the rifle sights and pulled the trigger. Planning the ambush of Luciana—would you have killed Daisy, too, if she hadn’t run off?”

Luciana flinches, reaches for Daisy reflexively.

“Bob. You murdered one of the nicest guys on the planet. Who’d worked alongside you to keep our party safe. Then Neil, Scott, Miguel, myself. You’re no wild predator. You’re a snake.”

Nemeth blinks his eyes. I see no remorse. I see no emotion at all. He did what he did. What happened, happened.

It breaks something inside me. That he could do so much damage and feel nothing at all.

I don’t stop to think. I recognized the morphine pump next to his bed immediately. Now it gives me great pleasure to rip the drug-delivering IV port right out of his arm.

Blood sprays. IV fluid pours out of the severed line. Marge bolts upright as a machine starts blaring.

“Hey now,” the sheriff says, but doesn’t wave in a nurse or take a step forward.

I keep staring at Nemeth. I want to see it. The moment the tidal wave of pain slams into him. I want him to cry and beg. I want him to know I did this to him. The pathetic woman who could barely hike and had zero wilderness experience.

Survival of the fittest, my ass.

It’s adaptability that’s key.

Outside in the corridor, medical personnel have started gathering and demanding entrance. Luciana doesn’t move aside any more than the sheriff does. While before me, Nemeth twitches. Writhes. His teeth peel back with the effort not to scream.

“Stop it! Stop it stop it stop it!”

I ignore Marge, leaning over close. “Miguel and I beat you. Scott, Neil, Bob, Luciana. We all beat you. And Martin. In the clash of the titans, he took you out. You’re no legend anymore. You’re just a gutless, pathetic loser who had to shoot at his targets from far away to get the job done.”

Nemeth groans. It’s a deep, rumbling sound torn from his chest. I don’t think it’s pain. I think it’s rage. It still makes me happy.

“I did it!” Marge, desperate now. “Blame me, arrest me. I shot everyone, did everything. My sister and I had a fight. I just couldn’t take her whining anymore so I pulled the trigger. And yes, at first I was horrified; I called Nemeth for help. He knew about the underground chambers in Devil’s Canyon and suggested we hide her body there, given its remoteness. But then the location became more popular, hikers not just passing through, but starting to hang out. The second woman, she was a geologist, curious about the rock piles and how they were formed. Nemeth had no choice. And then a few years after that, and eight years after that . . .” Marge’s voice drifts off.