Follow Me(89)

“They’re not the same at all,” he protested. “You pushed Emily. Audrey fell.”

“Think about how this looks, Max. You were stalking her, and—”

“I wasn’t stalking her.”

“No? Explain those photographs. Explain how she’s dead in your arms, with you covered in her blood. No one will ever believe you.” I paused to allow the weight of my words to sink in and then pointed to the open bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. “But maybe it was an accident. Maybe she was drinking and fell. Maybe you were never here, and she died alone.”

“She’s not dead!” he shouted, yanking his phone free from his pocket. “Fuck, Cathy, what is wrong with you?”

I couldn’t let him make that call. I couldn’t have the police coming here before I’d convinced him to leave, couldn’t have them finding him blood-soaked, manic, and babbling about Emily Snow. I would do anything to stop him.

I lunged for him, managing to smack the phone from his hands before slipping on the blood-splattered floor and landing hard on my back. Sharp pain radiated from my spine and I struggled to catch my breath. Before I could gather myself, Max threw his body over mine, pinning me against the floor while he reached for the phone, which remained just out of his grasp.

“Get off me!” I grunted, struggling.

“She trusted you,” he barked, saliva flying from his mouth and landing on my face. A vein bulged in his forehead as he stared down at me, his expression one of twisted rage, and then he grabbed a fistful of my hair, painfully yanking my head up before smashing it down against the floor. Stars burst in my vision, and I cried out.

He made another grab for the phone, and despite the mind-bending pain in my head and the room swirling around me, I forced myself to take advantage of his momentary diversion. I threw my body weight at him like Audrey and I had learned to do in self-defense class, knocking him off balance, and then scrambled atop him, using my knees to hold him down. He spluttered with fury, fingers grasping at the edges of the cell phone, sending it spinning out of his grasp.

“You bitch,” he growled, turning on me. Clawed hands shot at my face, scratching my skin and reaching for my eyes. I looked around desperately for something that could subdue him. The wine bottle. It would mean releasing him, but at least then I would have a weapon.

I slapped him hard across the face to distract him, and then jumped to my feet and snatched the bottle from the counter. I whirled around and brought it down on Max’s head with all of my strength. The bottle didn’t shatter as I had envisioned, but it did make a satisfying thump as it connected with his skull. He collapsed, blood trickling from the contact point.

I sagged against the counter. With the scratches on my face and the bloody scene at the base of my stairs, no one would question me if I claimed I hit him in self-defense. He murdered my best friend, and then he came for me. I had no choice. The partners might be displeased with the attention it brought to the firm, but they wouldn’t fire me over it. I was the victim, after all. And there would be no one to tell them about Emily Snow.

I turned my attention to Audrey’s prone body. My heart twisted, and I was surprised to feel a flicker of relief. I would never find myself under Audrey’s manicured thumb again.

“Rest in peace,” I whispered.

Then I saw her chest rise shallowly. I blinked. So Max hadn’t been delusional; she was still alive. I crept closer to her and peered down at her waxy face, the dark blood matting her hair. Her lungs were still working, but what about the rest of her? How could she ever be the same after a head wound like that? I knew Audrey. She wouldn’t want to be a vegetable, to have to be spoon-fed and wear diapers for the rest of her life. She wouldn’t want to live like Emily Snow.

Killing her would be a mercy, the last thing I could do for her as a friend.

In a daze, I crossed to my couch and selected one of my plumpest throw pillows. I remembered how Audrey had admired the gray-and-cream-striped fabric, had complimented me on it. I returned to her body and knelt over it, holding the pillow in my lap.

Even smeared with blood, she was beautiful.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dull. She rasped, “Help me.”

My throat closed. God, she was awake. How long had she been conscious? Had she heard me telling Max not to call for help? Had she heard the truth about Emily Snow? Had she seen the scuffle between Max and me, seen me crack him over the head to stop him from calling 911?

I fingered the fringe on the edge of the pillow. I could still end this. I could still walk away a victim.

“I need your help, Cat,” she whispered. “Please.”

I need your help.

How many times had Audrey said that to me before? How many times had Audrey asked for my assistance with no regard for how it would impact me? Hadn’t she done that that very morning? Hadn’t she ruined my career prospects without a second thought? The truth was that Audrey wasn’t a very good friend. She never had been. She had hurt me, casually and without remorse, time and time again, and I knew she would never stop.

Unless someone stopped her.

“I can’t help you,” I said quietly, and pressed the pillow down over her face. “Not anymore.”

She struggled weakly, her pale limbs barely moving. My stomach shifted queasily. Was this really how Audrey Miller, the most sparkling, vivacious woman I had ever known, going to go out? Not with a bang, but with a whimper? I closed my eyes, telling myself it would all be over soon. Then I could start putting the pieces of my life back together. I would make myself a priority, much like Audrey had always made herself a priority.