Visions (Cainsville #2)(130)

“No, he cut off her head. But only to protect me. To erase any evidence I left strangling her. Afterward, he realized he could use her head to get your attention.”

Tristan had done his work here, weaving Macy a story that she could accept. Sprinkled with pixie dust to make it go down easier.

A shadow passed. I looked up to see a raven circling, leisurely, as if getting the lay of the land.

Are you here to help? To observe? To gloat?

The raven winged off toward the wreck, as if to check that out, too.

Not hindering. Not helping, either. There was no help here. No sudden brainstorm that would solve my predicament. Only the obvious plan—play along and watch for my opportunity to get that gun from her.

“You mentioned a deal?” I said.

“I want you to tell the police about the switch. That’s what Tristan said you’d do. You’d investigate, and you’d realize what happened, and you’d tell the police. And then it wouldn’t matter how Ciara died, because my real parents would have their real daughter and they’d be happy. Her real parents wouldn’t care who killed her. They only care about themselves. Everything would be fixed.”

Did she really think a murder investigation could be halted if no one cared about the victim? That the Conways wouldn’t care about the girl they’d raised?

“So you want me to forget what I know about Ciara’s death and go to the authorities with the DNA results.”

“Exactly.”

I pretended to weigh the moral ramifications of this. Except there were no ramifications, because once I got to safety, there would be nothing to stop me from turning her in.

“All right,” I said. “You walk away. I’ll say I fell asleep at the wheel. I had a fever last night, which my doctor can verify. I drifted off and crashed the car. Then I’ll turn over the DNA results.”

“Do you really think I’d make it that easy?” Macy said. “You walk away scot-free?”

Why shouldn’t I? I wanted to say. I haven’t done anything. But I bit my tongue and said, “I’ve crashed a very expensive car. I’m battered and bruised. I might have seriously injured a guy who won’t hesitate to sue me for every penny of my trust fund. That’s not scot-free.”

“You’re right. You need to get rid of the lawyer.”

“Exactly. I’ll fire him.”

“I mean kill him.”

“What?” I prairie-dogged up for a split second before dropping behind the sofa again.

“Is that a problem?” she said.

“Is murdering someone a problem? Hell, yes. You know who my parents are, so maybe you think that makes it easy for me, but no, I’m not going to kill Gabriel. I’ll deal with any fallout—”

“It’s not an option,” she said. “You’re going to shoot him with this gun. I’m going to take a video of you doing it. If you double-cross me, I’ll hand it over to the police. Refuse, and I will shoot both of you.”

She wasn’t as stupid as I’d thought. Just crazy. Another shadow passed, and I looked up to see an owl now, silently winging past to land in a distant treetop. Ravens and owls. Not so much an omen as a reminder of the puppet master pulling Macy’s strings.

“Does Tristan know you’re doing this?” I said. “I bet he doesn’t. He wants me alive.”

“Because you’re valuable?” She spat the word. “Tristan is full of shit. I figured that out at that psych hospital, how he treated me there, like a prop in his play for an audience of one. You.”

“Do you know why he thinks I’m important?”

“Because you’re rich. That’s why everyone is important. Your adoptive family has the kind of power and money that makes the Conways look lower-class. And you don’t deserve it any more than Ciara did. You’re the child of murdering freaks. You should have been locked up with them, before you grew up into a monster, too. But no, you got special treatment. A special family. They put me with the Shaws and put Ciara with the Conways. And you? They put you with the goddamn Taylor-Joneses.”

Put me? Had I been placed with my family? A child of fae blood slipped into a human home, a better home? Just like Ciara?

Everyone wondered how I’d vanished into the system. How the child of serial killers ended up with the Taylor-Joneses. How the Larsens “lost” me in a so-called bureaucratic mix-up.

The owl rose from its tree, winging to a closer one. I watched it.

“Who put me with my family?” I asked.

“The same people who switched me,” she said, with a snap in her voice, annoyed with me for being so dense.

“What people? Why?”

“If I knew who did it, I’d be going after them, wouldn’t I? As for why, money obviously. It’s always about money.”

“So these people are switching babies for profit. And that’s all they are: people. Like Tristan. He’s just a regular guy. Nothing more.”

A pause. “You know who’s behind this, don’t you? Is it the government? Is that what you mean?”

Macy had no idea what she was really involved in. Why would she? She didn’t have the blood. No one cared about her. Tristan was only using her as a means to his end. He certainly wasn’t going to share their secrets.