Unraveled

by Allie Hawkins

  The imaginary baby carriage disappeared. Quinn hugged her waist and hobbled back to her coat. A part of her knew she teetered on the cusp of hysteria. The trembling in her arms worsened as she tore the envelope out of her coat pocket. Her brain gyrated like clothes in a dryer. Her throat muscles refused to swallow. She collapsed into a nearby chair and focused on the block printing. Her lungs pumped oxygen into her brain. She sniffed the expensive paper.

  Only one way to know for sure. Her hands barely shook as she ripped the single, folded sheet out of the envelope.

  Seeing was believing. The next to the last line jumped off the page.

  He never loved you, Sarah Quinn.

  “Sarah Quinn.” Her ears rang.

  In her mind, she saw a row of dominoes toppling.

  ****

  Quinn shuffled to the restroom like a long-dead corpse. She splashed cold water on her face. When she lost feeling in her fingers, she stood and dried her face with a paper towel. She avoided her reflection. The skin on her whole body felt as if it had shrunk on her bones. She swished her mouth out twice, but couldn’t wash away the metallic taste of fear.

  The fear expanded and contracted in shorter and shorter cycles. Her pulse hammered as she picked up one foot, then the other, lurching toward the ICU waiting room. The hall was deserted. The nurses remained behind closed doors. No one could see her from inside the unit. The perfect setting...

  Her legs quaked. The truth about who wrote the note convulsed in her stomach as if she’d taken a vicious punch. She laid her clammy hands against the cold metal bar on the waiting room door.

  Now or never. She pushed the bar, charged inside and faced the nightmare she’d denied for too long.

  Sitting on top of her coat, Michael held her laptop on his knees. The corner of a white envelope was visible in his shirt pocket.

  Chapter 23

  Hope ruptured inside Quinn like a toxic balloon. She licked her lips. “Why didn’t you return my calls?”

  Michael’s head snapped up from the computer screen, and he scrubbed his red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t call you every time I get a hangnail, Sarah Quinn.”

  “Murder’s not a hangnail.”

  “I should never have called you on Monday.”

  “You should’ve called me eight months ago.”

  His laugh raised several generations of goose bumps on her arms. “So you figured out the bank gave me the axe.”

  Disbelief choked Quinn. “I swallowed your Federal Reserve story like a fish swallows bait.” Her heart felt as if she’d swallowed a rusty hook. “I can’t believe you haven’t had a job for almost a year.”

  “I’ve had a job.” His gunmetal eyes flashed contempt. “Leaving all those cyber-clues pointing to Rex was hard work.”

  She winced and stared, clenching her jaw. Did he want applause? “Why didn’t you get a real job?”

  “Try being married to Luce and see what kind of real job you need. Take my word. The woman spends money like the golden goose lives with us.” He swiped a hand under his crimson nose.

  Quinn made an umpire’s time-out sign. “I’d have helped—”

  “Newsflash, Sarah Quinn. I am your baby bro, but you can’t always help me.” He scrolled down a page, glanced at her, clicked the mouse with lightning speed. “Besides, crime pays. Selling coke, you don’t have to worry about stock options that aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on.”

  Her vocal cords tightened, but she whispered, “What about going to prison?”

  “I’m not going to prison.” He slammed the laptop shut.

  Her shoulders snapped back. “Won’t Patagonia feel like prison without friends or family?”

  “Ta-daaah!” He pounded imaginary piano keys on top of the closed laptop and flashed a ghastly grin. “Cybersleuth Quinn Alexander found the bank account in Argentina.”

  “It wasn’t so hard once I figured out—”

  “Bet you didn’t know Bariloche’s called the Switzerland of South America.”

  “I know you used Daddy’s name on your unnumbered account.”

  “Another bingo for my favorite cybersleuth.”

  She felt like shaking him—except she doubted she could shake him long enough to get his attention. She wasn’t sure she could even touch him. “Daddy’s name with your social security number makes me wonder if you want to be caught.”

  His bark of laughter gave her the willies. “Wonder no more. I see skiing every day in my future.”

  “How about throwing snowballs?” She didn’t wait for an answer as the night on the golf course unwound in her head. “You could’ve killed Pierce.”

  “Boo hoo. I should’ve cut him off at the knees before you got in his car. Right up until you and the bastard sucked face, I thought you might help me.”

  “Where was Tony while you were zooming around in his Jeep?” Quinn took a long shot—one that felt like shooting at the moon with a dart.

  “Tied up in the back of the Jeep. Right behind me.” Michael set the laptop on the floor. “I never planned on killing him.”

  Her heart stopped.

  “I had to kill him,” Michael said, his voice reasonable, untinged by remorse.

  “Sounds like the only rational solution.” She dabbed her eyes.

  “Tony was like you—a Goddamned bloodhound. He saw right through the system clues and cookies I left in BOTN. Took him awhile, but he figured out I’d made Rex the scapegoat.”

  “How?”

  “Like you did. Dumb luck, mostly. He sniffed and searched and poked around until he found a trap door I forgot. By Monday morning, he was breathing down my back—ready to tell Pierce he’d made a mistake about Rex.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “A letter. I routinely hacked into Tony’s files. Which he did not suspect.”

  His bragging tone taunted Quinn, but she let it go for the moment. She had to understand. “A letter to—?”

  “To a big KC law firm. Tony was so worried about His Pierceness. Afraid Rex might sue once the truth came out that yours truly had been having a little fun.”

  “Rex wasn’t in on the scam?” Quinn massaged a spot under her left breast.

  “Not until he got pierced. Then, he started poking around. Found enough interesting stuff he demanded a meeting. Didn’t give a damn about snowstorms or that Luce was losing it.”

  Dozens of questions danced in Quinn’s head, but she only wanted to know about Tony. “Why—”

  Talking more to himself than to her, Michael continued. “Rex had his uses. Like imitating Tony in that call to His Pierceness.” In a dreamy voice she recognized from their childhood, Michael said, “Of all people, my ole bud should’ve known better than to threaten me.”

  Her scalp prickled. Message received, but she didn’t understand. She said, “What time did you leave St. Louis the day you kidnaped Tony?”

  “Three A.M. One of the many blessings of coke—you don’t need sleep.”

  “Coke?” Quinn repeated the word like a moron.

  He laughed. “Now I’ve shocked you, huh?”

  Another piece of the puzzle dropped on her like a lead pipe. Ryder hadn’t waited in the garage for Tony. He’d waited for Quinn—figuring the love of coke ran in the family?

  “Don’t look so cow-eyed stupid, Big Sis. Everybody uses.”

  “I don’t. Mom doesn’t.” She jutted her chin at him.

  “No, you and Mom are too cool for school.”

  “Cool enough to know you’re crazy to use that stuff.”

  “I use that stuff so I won’t lose my mind. It’s not like I’m an addict.”

  “Of course not. How many people would you’ve killed if you were too cool for school?”

  He wagged a finger. “Watch the sarcasm. For the record, I saved Pierce’s neck. Rex had every intention of killing him.”

  Whether it was the casual tone or her wobbly knees or something she couldn’t fathom, Quinn couldn’t move. Her brain simply couldn’t wrap arou
nd the disconnect between the man she’d known as her brother and the murderer sneering at her denseness.

  “Did you come here to kill me?” Time slowed. He avoided her gaze, and she took hope when he didn’t answer right away. She loved him. He loved her. They’d sworn an oath...

  His mouth curled. “I don’t know.”

  Shaken by memories of them gazing at the stars, giving voice to their childish hopes that Daddy would return, swearing eternal loyalty to each other, Quinn said, “Why don’t you know?”

  As if taking pity on her, he shrugged. “You thought I’d say no, didn’t you?”

  Unshed tears choked her. “Silly me.”

  “What about me? You gonna turn me in?”

  “What other choice do I have?” Every breath she took hurt her ribs. Dammit, she should’ve taken the Vicodin they’d offered her in ER.

  “Let me leave. You know I’ve already bought my one-way ticket to Buenos Aires. You and Pierce paid off the bank. I’m off the hook for Rex. The cops won’t figure out for a while who killed Tony.” He turned his palms up. “Looks like a happy ending to me.”

  Each sentence hit Quinn between the eyes like a jackhammer. “What about—what about Baby Quinn?” What about Pierce? What if he doesn’t know I love him?

  Michael shook his head, then focused on the ceiling. “Honest to Christ.”

  “You wouldn’t abandon your unborn baby?”

  “Duh.” He ground his forefinger against his temple. “Leave the country, go to prison. Either way, my kid never knows me.”

  “Luce could bring the baby—”

  “Hold it.” Michael formed a camera with his fingers. “Let me get a clearer shot of this—Luce coming for conjugal visits with the wee bonnie babe.”

  Heat stung Quinn’s cheeks, and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. He didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

  He said, “Luce’s already figured out that, thanks to our old man, I’m genetically unfit for raising kids.” The stranger set the imaginary camera aside. “Too bad she didn’t figure it out nine months ago. She got damned huffy when I suggested an abortion.”

  “Imagine that.” Quinn’s stomach rolled. “I don’t buy your bad-gene theory. Daddy wasn’t a bad man, and you weren’t always like this.”

  Grinning like a caricature of the brother she’d known, he winked. “You mean I didn’t tear wings off flies or torture animals or build bombs in the basement—so I must’ve been normal?”

  “That about covers it.”

  His gaze—flat and cold—locked with hers. “Believe it or not, I’ve always been a little bent. Two guesses why I hung with Rex—and compassion isn’t one.”

  When Quinn just stared at him, Michael sighed a my-stupid-sister sigh. “Scapegoats serve useful functions, you know.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “Huh-uh. Honest. It was a game Rex and I played all the time. Getting any attention beats getting no attention. He loved it—right up to the end.”

  “Right up until you shot him?”

  “He didn’t like leaving any witnesses.” Michael stuck his right hand deep in his coat pocket. “It was Rex or you...”

  ****

  Two giant orange eyes glared at Quinn.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Michael yanked on her arm and pulled her out of the snowplow’s path.

  She bit down on her lip. Any movement—especially quick, jerky ones—hammered her ribs, and the icy wind swirling in the parking lot knocked the breath out of her.

  Michael took no notice she walked hunched over. He said, “We’re not in the movies. You can’t jump up on the plow and escape.”

  Jump up on the plow? Her ribs felt like sticks of dynamite as the hot pain swelled around them. Did he think she’d lost her mind?

  A shovelful of snow topped off a nearby mound. Huge fluorescent lights turned the piles an ugly blue. Gears grinding, engine roaring, the gas-propelled dinosaur lumbered away. Quinn shielded her eyes from the stinging sleet.

  “In the movies, you could push me under the blade,” Michael said. “I’d end up an ice sculpture, and you’d end up a heroine.”

  Conserving her breath, Quinn kept her head down as he dragged her forward. Could she kill him in such a gruesome way?

  Was there any way to stop him without killing him?

  Think about how he hurt Pierce.

  Wind slammed them in a frontal assault. She stumbled, he jerked her upright. She cried out, but he didn’t slow down. Her feet were useless.

  “Why didn’t you park in the garage?”

  “A parking garage is like dropping a rat in a maze,” he said. “Out in the open, with a hostage, I’m in the catbird seat.”

  Intuition found no fault in his logic, but her brain had long ago turned to ice. Michael could say he didn’t intend to kill her, but if she tripped over her frozen feet, fell down, drove a rib through her lungs and died instantly, would his intentions comfort her? Would her death cause him a moment of grief?

  “Dead ahead.” His laugh rose to a chilling cackle. “No pun intended.”

  A thin blanket of snow covered the car she recognized immediately recognized. Surprise exploded under her ribcage. “Pierce’s Corvette?”

  “Rex coveted it.” Michael held her elbow, popped the trunk, but stopped the opening with her laptop. “Get ready for a shocker.”

  He removed the computer. The trunk snapped up. The sparkle of earrings flashed before her mind registered Brittany’s neck at an odd angle, her eyes open, a bloody slash across her forehead.

  “Oh, my—”

  “The earrings are fake. So was the affair with Tony—as I’m sure you’ve figured out.” Michael tossed the laptop on the curled body. “Brittany made Rex’s mistake. She thought she was more important to me than I did. In my book, sex fails to trump survival.”

  Salt burned Quinn’s throat and her head filled with white noise distorting Michael’s calm, factual report of his year-long affair with Brittany, her part in the scheme to discredit Pierce, her misguided attempt at blackmailing Michael...

  The slam of the trunk lid cracked like the gunshot in Pierce’s bedroom. Heart leaping, Quinn felt her legs wobble. Her body began a slow descent.

  Michael yanked her upright and hauled her around to the driver’s door. “Get in, slide over.”

  His confession of a third murder had stripped his normal bass of all traces of familiarity. Her apathy earned her a vicious shove that sent a hot knife slicing down her spine. She bit back a cry and called him sadist—half expecting a blow to the back of her head.

  Instead he laughed. Terrified, she supported her ribs with both hands and scrabbled across the bucket seat, then the gear box. Something hard in her coat pocket cut through fabric and flesh and bit into bone. Between jabs and curses from Michael, she ignored her cell phone. Conscious, stay conscious.

  He climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. “Rex wanted the ’Vette as a getaway car.”

  “That Rex. Always thinking ahead.” Quinn rubbed her numb hands together.

  “His idea of total, absolute bliss was taking you with us to South America.”

  “Taking me—?” Quinn squeaked like Minnie Mouse.

  “C’mon.” Michael grinned. “You women always know when a guy’s ga-ga over you.”

  “Are you craz—” The nasty taste in her throat swelled. She clamped her mouth shut. If she threw up, would he shove her out of the car?

  “Excuse the cliché, but I’m crazy as a fox. Rex had wet dreams about you.”

  The skin on her arms crawled like a snake crossing a dry rock. She dug fingernails into the top of one hand.

  “Buckle up.” He clicked the locks in place. “And forget those movies where the heroine jumps out of the car.”

  “I’m not an idiot.” She snapped her seatbelt.

  “Does that mean you won’t grab the wheel and steer us into a tree or a snow truck?”

  “Now there’s an idea.” She laid on the sarcasm, wanting to t
hrow up on him until he came to his senses.

  “Think Brittany. Her smart mouth put her in that trunk.”

  What’d she say? Quinn closed her eyes. Forget Brittany. Where were they going? Mother Nature’s little tantrum must’ve socked in KCI—maybe airports as far east as O’Hare and as far west as Denver International.

  Could coke keep Michael awake five hundred miles to Dallas?

  The clack of the wipers ratcheted up the dull ache in her side to a searing, unrelenting pain. Could she take advantage of his fatigue—somehow turn the tables on him? Could she send him to prison?

  God, why hadn’t she told Pierce sooner she loved him?

  “Hellooo.” Michael spoke from a distant planet. “I hear those cerebral cogs turning, turning, turning.”

  Her brother the stranger. She opened her eyes. As kids they’d read each other’s minds so frequently they’d amazed themselves.

  “I was thinking about what happened at Pierce’s.”

  “Nosy, nosy, nosy.”

  “You and Rex screwed up the plan.” At this moment, she doubted she’d ever had a clue how her brother’s mind worked.

  “Quite a deduction, Sherlock.” Michael shifted into neutral and glided to a stop. A city street department truck spewing salt lumbered into the intersection at Westport Road and Southwest Trafficway, blocking all four directions.

  Slamming his fist on the steering wheel, Michael swore, then tapped her temple. “Those guys can’t help you—so don’t do anything stupid, because I don’t have a damn thing to lose.”

  His accuracy about her intentions took her breath away, but she said evenly, “Mom raised us to use our heads. Which I usually do except when it comes to you.”

  “Can I help it if I filled that tender spot in your heart?”

  “I loved you.” Please, hang on, Pierce.

  “Trusted me, too, right?”

  His sarcasm twisted her insides, turned them to liquid. She switched her gaze out the misty window. Another car had drawn up next to them.