And suddenly the light again, blinding. Jean descended the stairs.
“I’m back, sweetie,” he said. “Sorry about that.”
I cowered in the corner.
“Took me longer than I thought. Lucky we’re not dead, actually.” He crouched down in front of the cage again, laughing. “Damn lab almost took off half the house.” He shook his head, smiling.
“Please, don’t do this,” I whispered.
“Come on, Laney,” he said. “I’m not so bad, am I?” He laughed.
“Please.” I had to stall for time. “You’re not a bad person.”
“Oh come on. I’ve always been rotten, you know. Now I’m taking my final rotten revenge on your asshole stepbrother. Or should I say boyfriend? Either way, you’re into some kinky shit, and I like it. I’m going to kill him slowly, and I’m going to make you watch.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Crazy, right? I just decided that. I’m going to cut his throat for you, Laney. I’m going to make you watch.”
“He’ll catch you,” I said fiercely, not sure where the sudden confidence was coming from.
“Probably,” Jean agreed, sliding off his pants. “But not before I have you.” His face got close to mine. I could smell his rotten breath. “Open your mouth, Laney. Scream for me.”
Before I could answer, there was another bang from upstairs. Jean’s head snapped toward the door.
“What the fuck now?” He stood and quickly walked away.
More footsteps as Jean went upstairs.
I was terrified but hopeful. It had to be Easton. It had to be him.
Screams, yelling. And then, gunshots. They rang through the air loudly, more than I would have guessed.
I was floating, alone, in the dark, listening to bullets fly above me.
28
Easton
I looked over at Sloan. “This is it.”
He nodded. “We’ll go in together.”
The troopers had surrounded the old abandoned farmhouse. Smoke was rising from one window, though we had no clue why. It didn’t seem like a fire was raging.
“You should stay here,” Sloan said.
“Not a chance.”
“We can handle it. You’re a civilian now.”
“Sloan,” I said, staring at him, “I’m coming.”
“Fine. Stick with me.” He held up his radio. “Everyone in position?”
The troopers all confirmed their positions and their readiness. I took my gun from its holster, chambered a round, and prepared myself.
“Shoot only if you have to,” Sloan said.
“I got it.”
“Easton.” He looked at me for a second. “Be careful.”
I nodded. “Yeah. You too.”
We began to move toward the house, the other troopers moving in unison.
I had made the right choice, even if it was the hardest decision I had ever made in my life. Every inch of me had wanted to drive out here alone and go thundering in with my guns blazing, but I knew that was the wrong choice. I had to be smarter, more measured. Otherwise, people died.
I wasn’t letting anyone else die because of me.
Sloan had been easy to convince. Frankly, he figured that even if it was nothing, they hadn’t lost anything. And if it really was Laney with the killer, well, it would all be over.
Even the desk sergeant I had slugged agreed that we should go.
Five minutes later, four state trooper cars plus Sloan and I were on our way, tearing down the roads, heading toward the location Laney had sent me.
I felt more dread than anticipation. The last time I had busted into a killer’s house, my partner had been brutally murdered in front of me.
Back then, I had been fighting for my own obsession. I was so deep in the case that I could barely see Martin. Now, though, I was fighting for a completely different reason.
I was fighting for Laney, to save the life of my stepsister, of the woman I wanted more than anything else.
I followed Sloan as we moved fast and low toward the house. Two other troopers moved ahead of us, one holding a heavy battering ram. We stopped just outside the door and listened.
Absolutely silent. My heart was beating fast in my chest, nerves eating at the edges of my mind. But I had never been more sure about anything in my life.
The trooper swung the battering ram, hammering it into the door. It splintered and then exploded inward on the second swing. We moved inside.
The place was mostly barren. I followed Sloan down a hall as the other troopers burst in through the back. We went room by room, calling out clear.
In the kitchen, we found the source of the smoke. Apparently Jean had been making something, maybe a poison or some kind of drugs in a large makeshift chemical setup. From what I could tell, the thing had exploded, and relatively recently.
“Empty,” Sloan said. “But someone was here.”
I nodded. “What is that?”
“Best guess is meth. Popular stuff around here.”
“Probably how he’s getting money. Making and selling the stuff.”
Suddenly I heard a sound around the corner. I stepped forward, gun up, to check.
Standing ahead of me, framed in a doorway, was a young version of Martin. I gaped, almost as if I were seeing a ghost, and then quickly shook my head.
“Easton,” Jean said, his eyes bugged open. “How?”
“Jean Rodriguez, you’re under arrest,” Sloan called out.
Jean took a step toward me. “Stop,” I said.
The other troopers were yelling and moving around. Jean reached into his pants.
“Don’t do it,” I called to him. “You don’t have to do this, Jean.”
It was almost like we were alone in that room. I was standing face to face with the killer that had been haunting me. Worse, it was my past there, too. Jean represented every single failure that had ever happened to me, all wrapped into one.
“Easton,” he said, “I hate you.” There was almost no expression on his face.
“Give yourself up, Jean. Please.” I paused then added, “Think of your dad.”
His face twisted into a mask of rage. “I think about him every day.” He pulled a gun from his pocket.
“Stop,” I yelled, but it was too late.
Jean leveled the gun at me.
An explosion of bullets met him.
I couldn’t tell who had actually hit him, whether it was me or any of the other troopers that had fired. But in the end, Jean’s body crumpled backward, riddled with blooming red bullet wounds. He tumbled down the basement steps.
I moved forward, ignoring Sloan’s warning. I flipped a switch but the light didn’t come on.
I moved carefully down the steps, my gun forward. A beam from a flashlight danced from behind me, probably held by the trooper that was right on my heels.
Jean’s body was gone.
“He’s still alive,” I said.
“Easton!”
I paused, recognizing the voice. “Laney?”
“I’m here!”
I ran down the steps, two at a time, hitting the bottom landing and running into the basement.
The trooper couldn’t keep up with me.
I felt the knife first. It slid into my side, slicing into me. I let out a grunt of pain.