Eyes brimming with malice, Boyd keeps his gaze on mine, as he releases me and lowers to his knees.
I kick away from him over as much distance as I can, and whimper when the pain of the bullet flares to life inside my ankle.
“Pressure, Isa. Put p-p-pressure on it.” Mr. Goodman takes his eyes off Boyd for a split second to glance down at my ankle, and that’s when Boyd twists like a snake, tossing a dust cloud of sand into the air. “Ah, shit!” Eyes clamped shut, Mr. Goodman stumbles backward. “Run, Isa!”
Dread ruptures inside of me again, and I roll onto my belly, pushing to my feet.
A piercing scream echoes behind me that’s quickly cut short, followed by a thud.
Don’t look back, my head tells me, as I hobble over the guardrail, down the sandy incline. The agony throbs in my ankle, air burns in my chest. There’s nowhere to hide. Only the endless sand and dunes for miles, but I keep on, trudging over the soft surface that kicks up into my wound. A crashing sound from behind has me skidding to a halt, and I turn to see Boyd’s car barreling toward me through the sand.
Oh, my fucking God!
Screams tear through me, echoing in my ear, and I limp forward, desperate to ignore the agonizing pain with every step. My feet tangle beneath me, and the earth crashes into my face.
The car comes to a stop, and I scramble to get back to my feet. Once upright, my foot flies out from beneath me and my shoulder smacks into the sand. The gritty surface scrapes across my skin as my body is dragged backwards, and I kick out, the pain shooting through my ankle the moment it makes contact.
“Ah, fuck!” I cry out, and Boyd gathers up both of my legs, pulling me by my calves. I grapple for something to hang on to, but only soft sand slips around my fingers. Grabbing a handful of it, I toss it at him, employing the same method he used on Mr. Goodman, but he turns, dragging me behind him.
Once alongside his car, he releases my legs.
Pushing to my elbows, I sit up from the ground to flip over, and a flash out of the corner of my eye is the only warning before a knock to my jaw rattles my teeth. Another hit kicks my head to the side, and I lie disoriented, staring at my reflection in the chrome hubcap beside me.
Jaw throbbing, I blink hard to focus.
“I’ll give you this, you young bitches don’t go down easy. Last one didn’t, either.”
He killed Nell. It wasn’t Lucian, or Schadenfreude. It was my father.
The world shrinks to a pinprick and swallows me whole.
Chapter 60
Lucian
My phone buzzes, and I glance down, frowning to see Friedrich’s phone number flashing across the screen. It’s rare that he calls my phone for anything, so I’m guessing this is important. I answer it on the third ring.
“Lucian, I just got off the phone with our contact, who has been in touch with Mr. Boyd. It seems you were wrong about his offspring. There is one illegitimate child who might prove to be of some interest to our study.”
Doesn’t surprise me. Boyd had a number of affairs during the course of his marriage. Probably got a prostitute knocked up. “And what does this mean now?” I ask.
“It means he might be worth considering, given his background. She appears to be young but has a bit of a history herself. Her mother was a student of his, who apparently passed away just recently.”
A student of Boyd’s. Local girl, then. “Who is it, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Her name is Isadora Quinn. I’d like to bring her to the Institute. Run some tests on her. At the very least, prove his paternity.”
Motherfuck, fuck. Muscles burning with tension, I curl my hand to a tight fist at the thought at the thought of Friedrich getting his on Isa. They’ll lock her up and study her like a guinea pig, like they did me, or worse, like Melody Lachlan, rocking in the corner with a pile of dead birds on the floor. “Do you have her now?”
“No. Not at the moment. He mentioned that he’ll get back to us after he’s had the opportunity to talk to the girl. In the meantime, I’ve dispatched someone to Tempest Cove to retrieve her once we hear back.”
“And you’ve not heard back from him yet?”
“No. Not yet. I suspect he’s meeting with her, as we speak.”
Meeting with her. In contact with her. I’ll kill the prick myself. “And you don’t happen to know where?”
“No. Unfortunately, I don’t.”
Rubbing a hand down my face, I inwardly groan. “Thank you for the update, Friedrich. I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Of course.”
I hang up the phone and dial Rand’s phone number, not even giving him the opportunity to greet me when he answers. “I need Mr. Goodman’s contact number. Now.”
“Yes, of course. Would you like me to get in touch with him?”
“No! I need the number now!”
As he rattles it off, I jot it down onto a sheet of paper from my desk, and as soon as I have it, I click out of the call.
I dial the number.
It rings and rings.
No answer.
I dial it again.
It rings and rings.
“Fuck!” Adrenaline courses through me, and I shoot out of my chair, scrolling through the apps on my phone. I click on the tracker app linked to Isa’s bracelet that I handed off to the investigator at the end of our meeting. The blinking dot skates along State Rd. like the asshole is in transit.
At the ding of the elevator, I lift my attention to Rand, who shuffles across the room, into my office. “You sounded distressed, Master. Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not fucking okay.” From my desk drawer, I lift the gun stored there and pop the magazine to find it packed with bullets. Stuffing the weapon into my pants, I swipe up my phone from the desk, watching his eyes widen. “Friedrich called. They’ve taken an interest in Isa.”
“Whatever for?”
“She’s apparently my sister-in-law. Go fucking figure.” I round the desk and stride toward the elevator. “How did our contact miss that little detail?”
“Her birth certificate didn’t list a father,” he says after me, when I pass. “Master, I’ll have Makaio fetch the car.”
“He’s welcome to follow me, but I need something faster.”
Chapter 61
Isadora
An earthy scent pervades my senses, until I can practically taste it on my tongue, as I blink out of the black void. A hard thump rattles me awake, and I open my eyes to the surrounding darkness of trees, beyond the halo that shines down from a floodlight overhead, the grit of dirt pressing into my cheek.
Confusion hangs like a thick cloud inside my head that’s throbbing with an intense ache. I squint my eyes against the pain and attempt to raise my hand, which doesn’t move. Stretched behind my back, both arms are bound together by a band of rope, or something, that bites into my wrists. Moving my legs proves equally impossible, and I stare down myself to find white nylon cord tied around my ankles.
Panic settles over me, my muscles cold and stiff.
Another thump reaches my ear from behind, and I twist over top of my bound arms to find Boyd slamming a shovel into the ground, the mound of dirt beside him telling of a hole he’s dug.