Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(31)

Back on her feet, she dropped the syringe back into her bag along with her mask. She found her wig inside her bag and pulled it tightly over the top of her head before stuffing loose hairs into the cap. Her head was pounding. Everything going wrong was one thing—it was out of their hands—but purposely deviating from the plan was another. She needed to get away from this craziness.

“What are you doing?” Cleo asked.

“I’m done. I’m getting out of here. Hopefully the drug I gave him will quiet him down.” Malice pointed at the cut-off appendage and the puddle of blood. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

Brad’s legs were trembling, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

“I hope you’re not serious,” Psycho said, hands on hips. Blood dripped down her pant leg. “You beat the man until he was bloody, and we helped you clean it up. And now you’re leaving?”

“The only reason he was able to grab me when I came through that door,” Malice said, “was because you two weren’t keeping an eye on him. Rule number one: ‘No police.’ Rule number two: ‘Never take your eyes off the prisoner.’ If I hadn’t shown up, your asses would be in jail right now. Rule number three: ‘No blood.’” She swung her hand back toward the man with no penis. “You’ve gone too far. This is bullshit.”

Cleo set down her laptop, came to Malice’s side, ushered her into the bathroom, and shut the door. “Take a breath,” Cleo said. “He’s not going to die. We’ll clean this mess up and get out of here, okay?”

“If you leave that man tied up, he could die.”

“I’ll hack into someone else’s account to alert authorities.”

“What about the waiter?”

“I found him on a recent video, and his face is clearly visible.”

Malice frowned. “What’s he doing in the video?”

“He appeared to be watching, learning, jacking off. He got in a few feels, enough to keep him quiet. I found him on social media. His name is Doug Glacier.”

A sicko in the making, Malice thought. “So we let Doug go?”

“Yes. We’ll threaten him, tell him he needs to quit his job and never make contact with Brad again, or we’ll take the videos to the police. He may not have seen what happened to Brad, but he heard. I wouldn’t be surprised if he moves out of state after today.”

“God,” Malice said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe she did that.”

“He deserved it.”

Malice rubbed her temple. “That’s not the point. I can’t work with Psycho if she’s not going to stick to the plan.”

“The plan went to shit the moment I passed out in Brad’s arms. It’s going to be okay. We’re all new at this. We’ll do better next time.”

Malice couldn’t think that far ahead. But Cleo was right . . . their plans had gone to shit from the beginning. If there was a “next time” and everything went to shit from the get-go, they would call the whole thing off and regroup.

“Come on,” Cleo said. “Let’s clean up, make sure we wipe down anything we touched.”

“We should have worn latex gloves,” Malice said.

“Next time.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The service was held outdoors. It was a beautiful day, blue skies and hardly any clouds. Sawyer stared down into the open casket, surprised to see Gramma’s skin looking soft and her cheeks flushed as if she’d returned from a stroll. The funeral director had done a good job. Gramma wasn’t overly done up or plastic looking. She appeared peaceful.

Tears didn’t come, but Sawyer’s heart felt heavy. “I love you, Gramma,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving me and for giving me a fighting chance.” Turning away, Sawyer headed for the empty seat in the front row next to her father. There were more than fifty people in attendance. Many were here today, she was certain, because of Mom and Dad. By the time Gramma had come to live with them, she was already experiencing forgetfulness and needed assistance carrying out everyday activities. Sawyer’s parents, on the other hand, had spent more than half their lives here. River Rock was an old mining town, but panning for gold wasn’t the only reason people came to visit. Mom and Dad’s antique shop was a big draw and brought a lot of tourists into town. People drove long distances to see their store because of the bizarre collectibles to be found, and because of its size—two stories, each floor long and narrow. Every bit of space taken up by old tavern tables, Empire sofas, and Mission-style settees used to display vintage toys, jewelry, antique photographs, perfume bottles, and whatever oddities struck their fancy.

Sawyer used to enjoy searching for new items whenever she was left to roam the store. The memories prompted Sawyer to look at her parents, reminding her of a time when she was young and so hungry for their attention.

She never got it.

Both parents had been emotionally unavailable. Always too busy. Her therapist had told her it was likely Mom and Dad had their own problems growing up and simply did the best they could. Mom never talked to Sawyer about her childhood, but from what little she gathered from Gramma, Sawyer’s mom was angry with Gramma for leaving her father. She believed it was a woman’s place to stand by her husband through thick and thin.