Don’t pass out, Kit commanded herself. You’ve never fainted in your life. Don’t start now. That would make it too easy for the bitch. She had to keep her talking.
Kit’s voice was hoarse. “Henry wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“Au contraire, my husband and I have a sort of tacit understanding about these things. No doubt he’s noticed that one of his insulin syringes is missing, but since he’s not comfortable with this business—” she indicated the gun and syringe “—I don’t bother him with the details. I just do what needs to be done.” She smiled wryly. “It’s always up to the wife to clean up the messes. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
She could be discussing balancing the checkbook, Kit thought with a shudder. Trying a different tack, she said, “You know, your actions are... understandable in a way. I mean, you were just protecting your husband when you killed Jo.”
Bettina’s carefully plucked brows came together. “Protecting Henry?”
“Well, her book must’ve implicated him in Anita’s murder.” At Bettina’s funny little smile, the jigsaw pieces squirmed into a tighter fit. Kit whispered, “You killed Anita, too.”
“Of course I killed Anita. Good grief, someone had to do something. If I’d waited for Henry to divorce her, I’d probably still be waiting. Never trust a man when he says he’ll leave his wife for you, dear.” A breezy laugh accompanied this bit of sisterly advice. “Somehow they never do get around to it.”
“You... but you were only...”
“Nineteen.” Bettina raised the hypodermic and tapped it as if to assure herself it had an adequate load. “But I knew what I wanted. And I was smart enough to do it cleanly and to tie up all the loose ends. It was different with your friend Joanne, of course, more of a hands-on operation as it were, but fortunately all went well. The element of surprise really does put one at an advantage.”
An advantage she lacked with Kit. And that’s where the gun came in. Bettina was using it simply to control her. As for the instrument of death, clearly she intended to stick to her weapon of choice: curare.
Kit recalled the day she’d met Noah, and his reluctant recounting of Jo’s torturous last minutes. In that instant she decided she wouldn’t make this easy for Bettina. She wouldn’t make it “clean.” If Kit was going to die today, she swore it would be by a bullet in the back from that little gun—with plenty of “loose ends” for her killer to worry about. She wondered if a bullet removed from her corpse could be traced to Bettina’s gun.
“Where’d you get the curare?” Kit asked. “From Wescott?”
“The hospital? Good heavens, dear, they keep substances like this under lock and key. Think of the mayhem if just anyone could get their hands on it. No, back when I was in college, I worked in my father’s pharmaceutical company, Conti-Meeker. It was shamefully easy to make off with a vial of their curare derivative.”
Her stomach roiling in fear, Kit nodded toward the syringe. “This is from the same vial you used with Anita? It’s thirty-two years old?”
“Yes, but don’t get your hopes up. Curare is an amazingly stable drug, as your friend Joanne discovered.”
Kit recalled the frantic messages Jo had left on her answering machine the day she died. I think it’s this guy I’m seeing. That took my book. Jo must have assumed Henry was doing some of Bettina’s dirty work, not realizing the murderess preferred to work solo. Licking her dry lips, Kit said, “Does Henry know you killed Anita?”
“The man’s not stupid. When Ray tried to blame her murder on Henry, he knew right away it had to be me. Well, I didn’t deny it. Why should I?”
“How did he react?” The dark shape materialized once more, closer this time and for the briefest moment. Kit bored her gaze into Bettina’s face, knowing that if she let her gaze stray even for an instant, the other woman would know something—someone, Kit hoped—was behind her.
Bettina smiled. “He was shocked, of course, the dear thing. But he settled down soon enough. Think about it. I’d killed for him. Do you have any idea what that does for a man’s self-esteem?”
“What about Jo?” Kit made no attempt to hide her bitterness. “Did murdering her also enhance your husband’s precious self-esteem?”
Bettina’s eyes narrowed. Keeping the gun trained on Kit, she dropped a shoulder, letting her purse slide to the ground. She took a step toward her, and Kit backed up, struggling futilely with the bindings on her wrists.
“Bettina!”
Kit’s gaze snapped to the source of the voice, the dark form now standing out in the open about thirty yards away. Bryan! Startled, Bettina jerked toward him for a split second, long enough for Kit to start running. Instinct kicked in to abruptly alter her course, some primitive brain fold deciding it was time to stop zigging and start zagging.
A fiery pain sliced into her thigh and the next instant she was eating mud. Helplessly she looked up to see Bettina facing her, sighting down the barrel of her revolver. Where was Bryan?
A blur of movement from behind the boulder coalesced into a large, solid force hurtling into Bettina from behind and tackling her to the ground. The gun discharged harmlessly just as Kit recognized Noah. He yanked the gun out of her grasp and tossed it away, then seized her wrists behind her back as he anxiously looked toward Kit lying a few yards away.
“Bryan!” he hollered, but the boy was already sprinting toward him from out of the trees. Noah let Bryan take charge of a sputtering, crimson-faced Bettina, lying prone in the mud. None too gently Bryan shoved a knee into the small of her back and whipped off his belt to secure her wrists.
Noah raced to Kit’s side and pushed her skirt up to take a quick look at her wound, then gently turned her and untied her hands. She felt the slight trembling in his fingers and knew how close she’d come to losing her life. Her leg burned like hell, her skirt blood soaked on that side.
“You’re going to be okay, darlin’,” he said. “Easy now, this is going to hurt.” He wrapped the scarf around her thigh, directly over the bullet wound, and tied it tight.
She stiffened and gritted her teeth against a cry of pain. In the next instant she was in his arms, his embrace so tight she didn’t know where she stopped and Noah began. His heart drummed against her breasts as she shivered violently.
“Darlin’... my Kit... my sweet, sweet darlin’.” His voice quavered. “I almost lost you.” He pressed hard, desperate kisses to her hair, her eyes, her lips. His warm hand closed over her wound. “The bullet missed the bone, thank God. It exited cleanly.” Something close to a chuckle escaped him. “Undid all my beautiful needlework, though. Would you believe she hit the same damn spot?”
“I... I was trying to swerve... to make a harder target.” She buried her face against his chest.
“That’s probably what saved your life.”
Bryan called, “What’re we going to do with her?” indicating the woman he held pinned to the ground.
Kit felt Noah flinch as if he’d been slapped, felt herself slide out of his loosened embrace. When he spoke, the thick Vermont accent made her heart lurch.
“I’ll take care of her.”
Chapter Fifteen
RAY WELCOMED THE surge of raw, cold fury that sang through his veins. His veins? He grinned. Okay, borrowed veins. Borrowed blood. Borrowed flesh. But the sweet, vengeful wrath was all Ray’s. He’d waited a hellishly long time for this, he thought, advancing on Bettina where his grandson held her down.
Bryan stared intently at him, and Ray knew the kid sensed a difference. Kit screamed, “Noah! Ray! Don’t!” and the boy turned pale.
Ray pulled Bryan off the murderous bitch. Grabbing the full syringe lying in the dirt, he hauled her upright and slammed her back against the boulder, holding her by her throat. She was helpless, her hands tied behind her back. He brought his face close to hers and trailed the tip of the needle down her cheek. Her eyes were round, her pupils constricted to tiny pinpoints. “It’s been a long time, Bettina. Thirty-two years to be pr
ecise.”
“Noah?” she croaked.
He gave her a mock pout. “Aw, now, you hurt my feelings, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your old friend Ray.” He punctuated this with a couple of tiny jabs of the needle. “Maybe I should refresh your memory.”
Kit cried, “Ray, don’t do this.” She struggled to sit up, her face chalk white.
Bryan stood nearby, his stance tense, poised to spring. Ray said, “Stay out of it, son.”
The stark terror on Bettina’s face was beautiful to behold. Her eyes bulged as she gaped at him, an ugly flush mottling her cheeks. He said, “Hey, remember all the good times we used to have? Like that Halloween I came across you and Henry balling in the hunting lodge. I put on a Frankenstein mask and knocked on the window, remember? Hell, I’ll bet they heard you scream in New Hampshire.” He tapped the needle on her nose, with a good-natured chuckle. “God, those were good times.”
Her eyes bulged further, if that was possible. She whispered, “Ray...” He heard Kit gasp.
“Now you’re getting it,” he said. “I knew you would. Smart girl like you.” He pointedly studied the tiny lines around her eyes and mouth. “But you’re not a girl anymore, are you, Bettina? No, you’ve gotten downright haggard. You used to be so pretty. What happened? Oh, yeah!” He grinned, gesticulating with the syringe. God, he was enjoying this. “You got old! Now, me, I never got a chance to get old. And you know why?”
“Grandpa!”
Ray shot his grandson a warning look. “I said stay out of this, Bryan.”
“She’s not worth it, man. Send her to jail.”
“Can’t do that, son. There’s too much unfinished business here. Isn’t that right, Bettina?”
She was trembling so hard that if he hadn’t been holding her up with a hand around her throat, she’d have slid right down to the ground. He felt her swallow convulsively under his fingers, felt the frantic flutter of her pulse.
She whispered hoarsely, “Ray... it... it was Henry—”
“Well, now, that’s what I thought, you know? All that time I figured it was Henry that did this to me. But we heard something real interesting, Noah and me, when we were slipping around this boulder a few minutes ago. We distinctly heard you shooting off your mouth about what you did to Anita.” He tightened his hold on her throat, causing her face to contort. “It was real ugly the way she died, Bettina. You know that?” He turned the hypodermic this way and that, staring at it. “Horrible way to go. No one should have to die like that. Except maybe a murderer.”
He jabbed the needle into her upper arm, his finger poised on the plunger. She jerked at the impact and howled in terror.
Kit screamed, “Ray! This is wrong.” Her voice was choked with tears. “You’re not that kind of man, Ray. I know you’re not.”
“She’s right,” Bryan said, his voice tight. “You’re not a murderer, Grandpa. I always knew you were innocent. Always. Mom and Grandma Ruby, too.”
Bettina was sobbing, her eyes squeezed shut. Ray looked at his grandson, at the strain on his young face. And he saw something else. Respect. Love. The boy had never known his grandfather, but amazingly, he’d believed in him his whole life.
Bryan’s eyes zeroed in on the needle piercing Bettina’s arm. “You’re not a killer, man, you’re a healer. That’s what I’m going to do. Go to med school. Be a doctor. I want to be like you.”
Ray snorted in derision. “You don’t want to be like me, son.”
Bryan’s lopsided smile said he was under no illusions about his grandfather. “I like it that you never took crap from anyone. But you never killed anyone, either. Don’t start now.”
Ray glanced back at Bettina. She stared pop-eyed at the needle stabbing her arm. He said to Bryan, “You’re wrong, son. I have killed before. Ask Noah.”
Kit said, “That was different, Ray. You saved a little girl and her mother. You did the right thing. Let the law handle Bettina. They’ll put her away for the rest of her life.”
“What about the rest of my life!” Ray yelled. “The life I never had. I never got to see Debbie grow up. Never got to grow old with Ruby. This murdering scum deserves to die.”
“Yes,” Kit said. “She deserves to die. But you don’t deserve to become the thing she is. And that’s what’ll happen if you go through with this.”
Ray looked at Bryan. He was relaxed, confident his grandfather would do the right thing. He looked at the syringe. Bettina’s weapon. He stared into her terrified eyes. “Rot in jail, bitch.” He yanked the needle out of her arm and dropped it. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped to the wet ground, senseless.
“Ray...” Kit’s voice was weak, shaky. The scarf binding her wound was soaked through with blood. “I need Noah. Let him come back. Please...”
Ray was inexpressibly weary. He’d lived a rough life and died a rougher death. And found no peace on the other side.
But it was finished now. He’d done what he had to do. The elation he’d expected to feel was strangely absent. Instead there was only a lonely, cheerless sense of closure. But it was more than he deserved, he reflected. He had not been a good man.
“Grandpa.” Hesitantly Bryan approached him, hand extended. Ray knew they’d never meet again. He’d commandeered Noah’s mind and body for the last time. He took the boy’s hand and stared long and hard at him. He could be looking into a mirror. The physical resemblance was startling. But that’s as far as it went. Behind the sheen of moisture in his grandson’s eyes was an undeniable strength of character. Perhaps he’d be the man his grandfather never was.
Ray clasped Bryan’s hand in both of his. He cleared his throat, which was suddenly tight. “Make me proud, son.”
Noah drew a deep breath, blinking. Why was he clasping hands with Bryan? Why was the boy on the verge of tears?
He took in his surroundings in a flash, from Bettina groggily coming around to Kit lying pale and shivering, watching him intently.
“Noah?” she said.
“It’s me, darlin’.” He was by her side in an instant, stroking the damp hair off her face and lifting her into his arms. His lips brushed hers tenderly. “From now on, it’s just me and you.”
Epilogue
“WHY DID I LET you talk me into this, woman?”
Kit looked up from the wallpaper sample book she was perusing to smirk at her husband’s back. Noah was perched on a stepladder, steaming green floral wallpaper—Ray’s wallpaper—off their living room walls with a strange-looking contraption he’d rented for the purpose.
“Don’t blame me,” she said. “I seem to recall a certain sexy young MD waxing rhapsodic about how much fun we’d have redecorating this old place by the sweat of our brows.” Of course, she was more inclined to wax rhapsodic about what was happening under those snug jeans as he reached and bent and steamed and peeled.
He threw a sardonic grin over his shoulder. “Is that ‘sexy young MD’ bit supposed to keep me going for three more walls?”
“I was hoping it would get you through the dining room and a couple of bathrooms, too.”
Holding her gaze, he descended the stepladder and turned off the steaming machine, laying it aside. The look in his eyes triggered an itch that she knew from blissful experience he was more than capable of scratching. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he said, advancing on her.
She held up the big wallpaper book as a shield, but that didn’t stop him from leaning over her and trapping her between his long arms braced on the back of the solitary old threadbare sofa. Everything else—tables, chairs, carpet, lamps—had been hauled away pending delivery of the modern new furnishings they’d selected.
Noah’s mouth closed over hers voraciously, catching her off guard. His long, strong fingers tangled in her hair as his tongue slipped between her lips, darting and receding in a ruthlessly erotic cadence. The itch blossomed and spread, all slick and throbbing, and a hot flush swept over her face and throat. Tearing herself away, she tossed the
wallpaper book aside, pulled him down next to her, and curled into his embrace.
She said, “I forgot to tell you. Jason Daly called with the publication date. Next December.” Jason was Jo’s literary agent. In September he’d directed a bidding war among prospective publishers eager to obtain the rights to Jo’s book, Poisoned Love. The prominent New York publishing house that won out had offered an extremely generous advance, money that would enable Sal Merino to move into a comfortable retirement community.
Noah said, “We have to wait a whole year till it’s published?”
She shrugged. “Apparently that’s par for the course. But by then maybe the sentence will have been handed down and we can include an afterword about Bettina getting life in prison.”
“Doesn’t seem much doubt about that.”
The trial had yet to take place, but Bettina had been denied bail and the case was clear-cut. It was unlikely her lawyers could successfully plead insanity. As for Henry, he’d been arrested as an accessory to murder. The length of his sentence would depend to a large extent on the skill of his lawyers in distancing him from his wife’s crimes. Finding an unbiased jury pool was certain to be a challenge as the case had captured international attention during the past three months since Bettina’s arrest. The world now knew Dr. Ray Whittaker had been unjustly branded a murderer.
The terrifying episode in the woods when Kit had nearly died at Bettina’s hand had been Noah’s final glimpse of Ray. He hadn’t sensed his presence at all since then. At long last, Ray’s soul was at peace, and harmlessly dormant deep in Noah’s subconscious. Noah described it as a profound sense of emancipation. For the first time since his near-death experience at age sixteen, his spirit was carefree and unencumbered. The recurring dream had ceased, as well.
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