Visions (Cainsville #2)(129)

There was no goddamned cell phone.

I crouched on the ground, heaving breath, my lungs burning.

Get Gabriel somewhere safe and go for help. There was no other option. The car was on fire. I’d never find my phone in time.

I looked around for a place to drag Gabriel. The car had landed at the base of the cliff, twenty feet from the river. That limited my choices.

I grabbed Gabriel’s shirt again and hauled him another ten feet before the fabric gave way. I tried putting my hands under his armpits, but I couldn’t get any leverage. He was too big.

I looked back at the car. Fire still burned in the engine compartment. How much longer until it reached the gas tank? Even if it did, Gabriel was far enough away.

I tried rousing him again, but after dragging him twenty feet from a burning car, I had to acknowledge that he wasn’t waking up. I hoped he was just out cold. Otherwise . . . I wasn’t even thinking of “otherwise.” I already knew the damage I could have caused, hauling him from that car.

I made sure he seemed okay, then started climbing the embankment.





CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT


I got about halfway up the cliff, grabbing whatever I could and hauling myself up the nearly perpendicular incline. Then there was nothing else to grab, and I scrabbled for a handhold, my fingers digging into dirt, nails breaking as I frantically pulled myself—

I lost my grip and fell backward, my ass hitting the ground hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I scrambled up and looked around.

The gully was shallower farther down. I really should have looked before trying to scale the damned cliff.

I ran, pain jolting through my body with each stride. I was still exhausted from the fever, and climbing the cliff had me panting already.

I saw a path heading up the gully. Just another twenty feet. Ten—

There was blood on the cliff side. A patch of bright red, just ahead. My feet skidded to a halt as my brain processed the sight.

Not blood. Poppies. Growing on the cliff.

I whirled back toward Gabriel.

A dark shape rose from behind a bush.

I hit the ground. Even as I dropped, my brain said, What the hell are you doing? But I dropped anyway, and a bullet hit the cliff beside me, dirt exploding.

My gun. Where was—?

In my purse. With my cell phone. And my switchblade.

God-f*cking-damn it! I armed myself and then stuck it all in my purse like I was still a goddamn socialite.

I dove behind a boulder as the second shot fired. As I did, I thought of Gabriel. Unconscious. Defenseless. With a killer between us.

I dashed to the next boulder. Then the next. Drawing the shooter away from Gabriel.

Yet as I ran, no shots rang out. Instead, a voice called, “Stop.”

It was a woman’s voice. Macy’s.

I darted to the next source of cover, a sofa, dumped over the cliff.

“Do you think I won’t shoot you?” She fired a bullet into the sofa as I dropped behind it. “You’re not going to make it to the road, Eden, and even if you did, do you have any idea how long it would take for someone to find you? I was behind that billboard for twenty minutes and yours was the first car I saw. I could have killed you, you know. We’re both lucky that fancy car has side air bags.”

“We’re both lucky?” I croaked a laugh. “I could have sworn you were trying to kill me.”

“No. I thought he’d be driving. The lawyer. It’s his car.”

She sounded put out, as if I’d deliberately thwarted her plans.

“I bet you’re wondering how I intercepted you so fast,” she continued.

Um, no. Last thing on my mind, really.

“I was at a motel off the next exit,” she said. “Trying to figure out how to talk to you. How to make you listen to me. Then Kendrick called.”

“And you decided the best way to talk to me was to run me off the road?”

“No, I realized we were past the point of talking. You’d figured everything out. It was time to cut a deal. Or kill you.”

“I’d prefer a deal.”

She laughed. “I’m sure you would.”

I shifted behind the couch. As I did, I swore I smelled cat pee, as I had hiding behind the sofa at Will Evans’s house, the odor triggering some hidden memory that started my gut twisting.

There weren’t enough cover spots for me to dodge my way to safety. My best bet was to stall and hope Gabriel woke up. Which, given that he hadn’t done so before now, seemed unlikely. Failing that, maybe if I talked long enough, I’d actually come up with a plan.

“You killed Ciara,” I said.

“No.” The denial came hot and fast. “I wanted to talk to her, but she kept screaming. The sedatives weren’t working, and she wouldn’t be quiet. I just wanted her to be quiet. I wasn’t trying to choke her. It was her own fault.”

“And then you embalmed her.”

“It was his idea. Tristan’s.”

“He’s the one who told you who you were.”

“Yes. Tristan told me about my birthright. About Ciara. He took me to see her, that rich bitch, turning her back on a good life to tweak in a scummy apartment. She belonged with my family—she’d fit right in.”

“And you belonged with hers. So Ciara dies, and Tristan has you embalm her and cut off her head—”