by Nancy Bush
“You think I’d risk Customs finding it? You know I barely was ahead of the gendarmerie.”
“I can smell them,” he said, switching subjects. “You overdosed them and now they’re rotting.”
Callie could feel herself quivering. Her hand cradled the phone. She ran her finger lightly over its face. She’d memorized West’s number. She could call him. But she had to be careful. If she messed up digits she wouldn’t get a second chance.
“I immobilized them,” Aimee corrected. “Didn’t you see the ankhs?”
“The ankhs?”
Callie had a brief flash of memory. A chain around the nearest body’s neck. A cross at the end. She’d strangled them.
“Like the one you’re wearing.” Aimee’s voice had changed from angry to softly persuasive as she moved closer to him. “Like the one you used to control Teresa when you were having sex.”
Andre made a sound that could have meant anything.
“Yes, she told me,” Aimee went on, “but I still wanted you. Kept telling myself it was just a matter of time until you realized I was the right partner. Knew the handmaidens were just a distraction . . .”
A heavy moment passed. Callie hesitated, ready to push the first button, afraid it might make a small sound in the sudden silence.
“But I was wrong,” Aimee admitted. “So, I did what you couldn’t, or wouldn’t, and I got rid of them. And Lumpkin.”
Callie pressed the first number. No sound. She pressed the second, and third....
“I didn’t mean for you to kill them,” Andre said.
Callie pushed the fourth and fifth....
“Yes, you did. Of course you did.”
“No,” he denied.
“Y’know, I knew you were going to say that. I knew you’d back down. That’s why I had to use the ankhs. They’re your ankhs,” she reminded, sounding regretful. “For your whole Messiah thing. When the police get here, the evidence will look like you set them up as sacrifices. Strangled them with your own crosses . . . robed them and covered them with ashes.”
“What?” Andre inhaled a sharp breath.
“You shouldn’t have brought the boy here,” she said. “Now, they both have to die too.”
“You set me up?”
“I loved you. More than anyone else ever would—”
Callie quickly pushed the sixth and seventh.
“But you weren’t worthy and now you’re sick!”
Quickly she depressed the eighth, ninth, and searched for the tenth number.
BANG!
The gun exploded and Aimee shrieked. She jabbed at Andre with the hypodermic.
BANG! BANG!
Callie lost her hold on the cell and it slipped away from her. She almost cried out with fear. She saw its lit-up face inches away and reached for it. Andre was swearing viciously. He yanked out the needle from his thigh. Aimee took three steps and toppled over. Callie grabbed the phone and pressed the tenth number, praying it would go through.
Seconds later she heard the front door open at the same time West’s cell phone started ringing. She’d reached him and he was already here!
“Look out!” she screamed, struggling to get her feet under her. “He’s got a gun! West! He’s got a GUN!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Carmella Lane was a short street that teed into a dead end with no streetlights other than the one near its entrance. West had found it easily enough, and had driven its length, getting a cold feeling when he spotted a black Xterra parked facing the exit at the curb. It was probably Andre’s SUV. He’d looked over the other homes along the street, mostly all remodeled, pre-World War II bungalows, when his cell phone had rung. He’d snatched it up, praying it was Callie, and had been disappointed to see it was Dorcas.
“Yeah,” he’d answered, his gaze still roaming from house to house.
“Man, you gotta get to the Cantrell house. Neighbor called. There’s a guy dead on the driveway.”
“What? What guy? Anyone else there?” he’d demanded, his heart clutching.
“Just the dead guy. Neighbor thought it was Jonathan Cantrell, for a moment. Spooked him. Door was wide open.”
“Maybe Derek Cantrell,” West had answered, thinking of what Diane had said about her brother going to see Callie. He’d climbed from his car in a sudden panic. “I’ll call you back. I’m at Carmella.” He’d hung up before Dorcas could say anything else.
BANG! Then, BANG! BANG!
Gunshots.
Coming from the brown bungalow with the steep drive and the Civic in the driveway.
West had immediately grabbed his Glock from beneath the front seat and climbed from the car in sudden panic. He’d wanted to race to the Cantrell house, but the gunfire took precedence. Where were Callie and Tucker? Who’d killed Derek Cantrell? He hoped Andre wasn’t somehow involved.
He ran lightly uphill to the bungalow through a chill October wind. Just as he reached the door, he saw movement near the hedge that ran around the house. Lifting the Glock, he’d held it in front of him with two hands and was about to identify himself as a police officer when he’d seen the small form shoot out from the greenery.
“Tucker?” he’d called softly, his heart seizing with fear.
With a hiccup of fear, the boy had skidded to a stop, then had veered his course toward West. “Calleeee . . .” he’d whispered tearfully, pointing to the house.
That had been all West needed. He’d twisted the handle, readying to break down the door, if necessary, when to his surprise the knob turned in his hand. He’d opened the door when his cell phone suddenly rang and Callie’s cry burst out: “Look out! He’s got a gun, West. He’s got a GUN!”
Blast!
The wood paneling near West’s head exploded and he dived for the floor. “Stay down!” he screamed to Callie, shifting wildly away, anticipating another shot.
From farther down the hall he heard footsteps running away. Immediately he rolled to his feet and gave chase, stepping over a woman’s body, pausing briefly at Callie who was struggling to her feet. “You all right?” he asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice.
“I’m fine . . . fine . . . Tucker’s in the room . . .”
“He’s outside. In the front.”
“Oh, oh . . .” She heaved herself toward the front door. “I’ll go . . .”
“Keep him safe. I’ll be right there. Who’m I chasing? Andre?” West demanded, already turning to the back of the house.
“Yes.”
“That smell . . .”
“Dead bodies,” her voice trailed after him, as he burst through the half-opened door into the backyard.
West was here. He’d found her. Callie reached the front door, feeling a surge of hope and adrenaline. Tucker was outside. Safe. At the front of the house. She had to get to him before Andre found a way around.
She ran outside and felt the wind grab at her hair. “Tucker?” she called. “Tucker!”
“Ici! Ici! Calleee . . .” He darted from the shadows and into her arms. She hugged him close and wanted to cry with relief.
“How’d you get out?”
“The window. I climb up on bed and out. Michel show me.”
“Good old Michel,” she whispered. “Come on.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the steep slope to the street. She was worried sick about West, afraid to hear more gunshots. What if Andre killed him?
No. She couldn’t think that way. She wouldn’t. She had to get Tucker safe.
“We’ve got to go down the hill. Find some help.” Regretfully, she realized Andre’s cell phone was still on the floor where she’d dropped it. “Maybe knock on some doors.”
Tucker ran toward the nearest neighbor’s door.
West led with his Glock through the open back door. It was dark in the small, hedge-enclosed yard. Was there a gate to the front of the house? Could he get away?
Mindful of the fact that he had a weapon, West edged into the yard, hugging the house wall. He felt expos
ed and open, but he saw nothing to hide behind.
At the back of the yard something moved. Immediately West crouched down, the figure in his sights. He stepped sideways, farther away from the door, half-expecting a hail of gunfire.
A groan met his ears as his eyes zeroed in on the prone figure lying up against the hedge. Knowing it could be a trap, he moved carefully forward.
“Help me,” the pain-filled voice called weakly.
“Andre?” West responded, once again sidling quickly away after he spoke, in case the sound of his voice could pinpoint his position if Andre had laid a trap.
“She stabbed me . . . drugged me . . . I got it out . . . I got it out . . .”
As West drew nearer he made out the gun on the ground, just outside the reach of Andre’s right hand. Andre was lying on his back, his arms outstretched, staring up at the sky.
West moved in quickly and kicked the gun farther out of reach. Then he bent down to him. “She stabbed you?”
“Aimee . . . hypo . . . dermic . . .”
“Aimee Thomas?” he asked incredulously. That was the woman Andre had apparently shot?
Andre seemed to focus on him. “West?” he asked.
“We need to get you to a hospital.”
“I am The Messiah . . .”
Before Tucker could get to the house on the adjoining property the door of a dark SUV, also aimed down the hill, swung open. The interior light didn’t come on, and Callie skidded to a halt, alert to danger. What was this?
But Tucker, whose young eyes seemed to see through the darkness with ease, stopped short, then ran directly toward the man stepping out of the driver’s side. “Knock, knock!” he yelled, and threw himself into the man’s arms.
“Teddy?” Callie asked, hearing her voice crack with relief. “God, is it really you? What are you doing here?”
“I heard there was some action going on here,” he said lightly, hanging on to Tucker. “Need some help?”
“He is a bad. And Aimee is bad!” Tucker declared, pointing toward the house.
“Yeah?” Teddy Stutz asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Better get in the car, then, and be safe,” he said, opening the back door.
“Wait,” Callie said, alarm sizzling down her nerves. “Who gave you this address?”
“Oh, I think you know,” he said as Tucker jumped inside.
“What do you mean?” Callie blinked in the darkness. Was that a gun held loosely in his hand?
Yes, it was a gun. Because now he waved it at her. “Get in the car, Callie.”
“No.”
“You want to save your little friend here, don’t you?”
“You wouldn’t hurt him,” she said, her mouth dry.
“You don’t know what I’d do. Get in, before I stop asking nicely.”
West would be here. If she stalled, West would be here. “You’re a part of this?” she asked in disbelief.
“I told you I knew Teresa,” he said. “I knew what she was going to do long before she went through with it. The way she flirted with Edmund Mikkels . . . He was no match for her. I had to work pretty hard to make him pull that trigger, though. But Stephen had to die, otherwise he’d inherit everything.”
His tone was conversational, but he’d stepped forward while he was talking. Callie jerked backward, but he pressed the gun straight into the hollow at her throat. “Get in the car,” he said in a pleasant tone that made her muscles quiver with fear.
This time she did as she was told, climbing into the passenger seat. West, where are you? She prayed to God he was okay. But she couldn’t count on him to save them. There wasn’t enough time.
Maybe she could stop Teddy. Get the gun away. “Don’t try anything,” he warned her, correctly interpreting her hesitation. “You don’t want me to wreck the car with the kid in the back, like your husband did.”
She buckled herself into the passenger seat, sending a smile back to Tucker that she hoped wasn’t as tremulous as it felt.
Gotta keep him talking . . .
“Why would it matter to you if Stephen had inherited?” she managed to get out.
“Have you been asleep all this time? Victoria loves my father. And she should, because he’s a good guy. Me, on the other hand. The proverbial bad seed. Gambling . . . shirking work . . . stealing . . . Oh, yeah. I’ve earned all the labels.” He grinned as he turned the ignition. Callie hoped West would hear it. Would somehow sense she and Tucker were in trouble.
“Good old Cal’s never given up on his only son, though,” he went on, “so, I’m next in line, as long as the dominoes all fall in place.”
“Like getting rid of Stephen,” she accused.
“You just don’t know how hard I had to work to orchestrate that, and then Teresa gets all conflicted. Can’t trust a woman,” he said. “Actually, you can’t trust anyone but yourself. . . .”
He pulled out and started to drive down the hill. Callie was beside herself. How was she going to save them?
“Stephen never did the job around the ranch that my dad did,” Teddy said. “When I knew Teresa wanted Stephen out of the picture, I saw the opportunity. And then I knew when she was going to Martinique. I hacked her e-mail account. Who do you think told Victoria to get the computer expert? Moi,” he said on a short laugh. “So, I went to Martinique myself and met the love-sick and thoroughly misguided Aimee Thomas.” He glanced in the rearview. “And saw Tucker again. Didn’t know he’d recognize me and the knock-knock joke I told. That shook me up a little.”
“You were in Martinique?” Callie asked, stealing a glance in the side mirror. No sign of West and they were approaching the main highway.
“I tried to tell Aimee that Andre was a no-go, but she had to see for herself and even when the whack-job showed up two weeks ago and she got to see his full-on crazy for herself, she wouldn’t quite let go.”
“You’re the one who got Teresa on the boat,” Callie realized.
“With Aimee’s help,” he said with false humility. “She can be surprisingly imaginative when she has to be, but I couldn’t count on her with Andre. One moment she loves him, the next she hates him. Totally dysfunctional.” He smiled, then asked, “Who shot who, back there?”
Soon they would be in a busier area. Could she hit him at a stoplight? Have time to get out of the car and save Tucker? “Andre shot Aimee.”
“What about Aimee’s hypodermic?” When Callie didn’t respond, he said, “Oh, she tried and failed.” He snorted in disgust. “You know what she uses? A little gift from me. A tranquilizer used to subdue cattle on the ranch. I just helped myself to some. It’s been a boon having to ‘help out’ Cal during this trying time while Victoria decides whether she’s going to live or die.”
“You tell me jokes,” Tucker accused from the backseat.
“Well, one joke,” Teddy confided to Callie, as if Tucker wasn’t all that bright. “The wharf rat was only there the one time when I met with Aimee.”
“You’re the real black sheep,” Callie said coldly.
He laughed. “You just figured that out? Oh, I get it. West isn’t the black sheep. He couldn’t be, could he? He’s the white hat in this fiction you’ve created.”
“You’re taking us to the ranch,” she guessed.
“Now, why would I do that? I wasn’t really counting on having to deal with the boy so soon, but Andre pushed up the timetable by bringing you both to the house. Guess it’s karma, how these things work out.” His smile chilled Callie to the soles of her feet. She and Tucker were doomed to die unless she came up with a plan.
Keep him talking. You need more time.
“West will find us,” she predicted with more confidence than she felt.
“After he gets done chasing Andre? Sure. He’ll find you. Just don’t know . . . when.”
She understood that he believed West would find them after they were dead.
“Then, he’ll have to be dealt with, too, apparently,” he added. “Victoria always acted like h
e didn’t even exist, but that all changed when she hired him.”
“How did Teresa meet Stephen?” she asked, desperate for anything to say. They were driving with traffic but they’d entered a main surface street.
“I’d seen Teresa around LA. Even in this town, she was hard to miss when she was trolling for a guy with money. I wanted to test the waters and so I told her I was part of the Laughlin family who owned Laughlin Ranch. She must’ve gone straight back to Andre with that information because she suddenly wanted to get real friendly—until Andre figured out I wasn’t Stephen. Then they went right by me and she started hanging out at the BBQ until the real Stephen Laughlin walked in. Edmund had been dogging after her for a while and he introduced them. Something he was sorry about later.”
They were behind about three cars in the outside lane, slowing for a stoplight. The curb and sidewalk were to her right. Could she do it? Leap out and round the car to get to Tucker in time? Could she yell at him to jump out? Did she dare? Traffic was stopped. But could she save him from Teddy?
She tensed, her hand stealing toward the door handle. Tucker suddenly leapt out of his seat and jumped forward, grabbing Teddy’s head and clamping his teeth on his right ear. Teddy let out a howl and lifted the gun still in his right hand. Callie slammed her hand down on his forearm and the Glock discharged. A bullet zinged into the roof of the vehicle.
“Get out of the car!” Callie screamed at Tucker but he was way ahead of her. He threw open his door while she yanked back on the handle of hers. “Tucker, look out!” she yelled, her heart seizing as he stepped into still-stalled traffic.
“Hands up!” a familiar voice ground out. West suddenly appeared at Teddy’s driver’s window.
Teddy’s answer was to slam his foot on the gas and ram the car in front of them. West jumped back, but then stepped forward again, his gun leveled at Teddy’s head through the window. “So help me God, Stutz. Get out or I’ll shoot,” he snapped.
Teddy slowly dropped his gun and lifted his hands, and Callie heard still distant but approaching sirens. West had called in the cavalry.