by Shayla Black
Mystery wasn’t simply going to take his word for it, but it sounded as if he’d planned two steps ahead of her and done all he could to prevent her escape. “You don’t have to kill me to keep your secret. I’m just—”
“Give me the SD card you found in her safe-deposit box.” He stepped closer, avoiding all negotiation with her. “And I’ll need that cross from around your neck.”
Automatically, she lifted her hand to her chest to cover it. “What?”
She didn’t love the piece, but her mother had left it to her. She couldn’t imagine why he wanted something that had mostly sentimental value. Sure, it was worth something, but Peter Grace had millions—tax free. He didn’t need to steal her mom’s cross.
“I inscribed our initials on the back and gave that to her. Once, she was my . . . special follower. She came to me for spiritual guidance after her new, troubled marriage was falling apart due to Mullins’s infidelity. I counseled her for several months and encouraged her to bring him in for couple’s therapy, so I could show him God’s way. He refused. Apparently, they saw a secular marriage counselor. I applauded them for getting any sort of help until Julia realized Mullins had lain with the very woman they’d hired to help them resolve their troubles. She found out while her husband was out of the country filming a movie. She came to me in a state—confused and angry and wanting revenge. She tempted me, and Satan can sneak up on a man when he’s not always vigilant.” He sighed. “It wasn’t my finest moment. I’ve suffered for my sin ever since.”
Mystery just stared. In his custom suit, Italian loafers, and perfect manicure, Peter Grace didn’t look like he’d suffered a bit. Nor would he suffer in killing his illegitimate daughter.
She had to figure out how to get out of here. She couldn’t take on both Reverend Grace and her aunt at once. Somehow, she’d have to eliminate them one at a time. Maybe she was grasping at straws, but she had nothing better now.
Slowly, Mystery removed the cross from around her neck. Knowing she’d received it from the reverend who’d blamed her mother for his own lust, just like an utter creep, made Mystery’s skin crawl. Once she’d unclasped it, she handed the piece of jewelry to him. “All yours.”
He took it in his palm, looking way too placid for someone about to commit murder. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He tucked the cross into his pocket. “Now the SD card. Have you read anything on it?”
“Not a word. We haven’t had time since retrieving it from the bank.” She wished now they’d had time to grab Heath’s computer from the trunk of the car so she’d know what secrets her mother held sacred, but she’d gladly trade the knowledge for her life.
“Excellent.” He nodded. “The good news is, not only will destroying this file help me, but Mullins, too. If this is the same text I read on Julia’s computer after her sad death, many of that man’s secrets will never see the light of day. So this debacle will at least end happily for a few.”
Just not for her, if he got his way.
Mystery tried to focus moment by moment as she reached into her purse for the SD card. She knew exactly what pocket she’d secured it in but pretended otherwise to buy herself time to look for anything that could be used as a weapon. She found a hairbrush, lipstick, wallet, breath mints . . . but nothing sharp or blunt.
“Hurry up,” her aunt demanded. “Give the card to me.”
“Or I’m afraid we’ll be forced to shoot,” Reverend Grace added.
Since he’d pushed the mother of one of his children off a cliff to her death, she believed him.
With shaking hands, she started to do as he bid, then realized that once she gave him the disc, she was disposable. He would kill her and not think twice. He might also kill her if she played dumb, but her odds were better if she stalled.
“I can’t find it,” she lied.
“How can that be?” her aunt cried. “You said you had it. Did you already lose it, you terrible spawn of sin?”
Mystery looked at Gail again. Had the woman felt this way about her during every childhood visit? Every craft project they’d done together? Every cookie they’d baked? The thought saddened her, almost defeated her. But Mystery knew she couldn’t dwell on that. The woman under Gail’s façade was petty, small-minded, and fanatical. This “pious” woman believed she was a soldier of God and would rejoice in her own niece’s death.
“Maybe it fell out of my purse,” Mystery suggested with a shrug, secretly scooping it between her fingers while pretending to scour the insides of the bag.
“Give that to me,” her aunt snapped, gripping the leather straps and giving them a good tug.
As her aunt seized the bag, Mystery managed to catch the disc in her palm. Instantly, she shoved her hand in her pocket like it was a nervous habit. That wasn’t the best hiding place for the card, but stashing it bought her more time. Maybe by then Heath would find her. She’d love to think that Axel would come looking for her, too, but . . . Don’t go there. One second at a time. Deal with heartache tomorrow.
Still, she wished she could go back in time to the moment she’d seen Axel with the waitress—the actress—and handle everything differently. She had to stop knee-jerking and seeing everything through her mom’s filter. She had to start using her own head.
If she lived through this ordeal, Mystery swore that’s exactly what she’d do.
Gail dumped the purse upside down, and the contents splattered all over the floor. The woman knelt, setting the gun at her feet, then sifted through everything, prying into her belongings and either throwing or shoving them away when the invasive search proved fruitless.
Mystery couldn’t reach the firearm without reaching across her aunt’s body, and either the crazy bitch or the psycho would kill her for it. Still, she had to try.
As she tried to inch toward it, Gail picked the bag up by its bottom and shook vigorously. With a frustrated grunt when nothing new fell out, she tossed the purse across the room and retrieved the gun.
“Before we left the car, you said the disc was in here.” Her aunt sent her an accusing stare, pointing the ominous barrel of the weapon at her.
“I thought it was,” Mystery lied, shrugging. “Maybe it fell out in the car or on the walk over here. Or maybe . . .” She pretended horror. “At Osborne’s office. I don’t know.”
Her aunt huffed, then looked at Reverend Grace. “I told you she’s a foolish jezebel, like her mother.”
He raised a brow at Mystery, then knelt to retrieve the letters she’d retrieved from her mom’s safe-deposit box. He opened one of the love notes and scanned. “Jealousy is such a destructive emotion. Your mother resented every female who flirted with her husband. He is a man easily led by lust—a weak man she should never have fallen in love with—but Julia allowed that jealousy to drive a wedge between them that never healed.” He turned to Aunt Gail. “It’s the same jealousy that allowed hate to fester in the older sister for the younger.”
Gail blinked at him in shock. “Jealous? I had no reason to feel a moment’s envy for Julia.”
When Mystery realized her aunt’s hand wavered at the accusation, she piled more on. “You totally did. You resented that she horned in on your ‘adventure’ to Hollywood. You were pissed off that she got a bit part in a movie and some TV roles when you never even received a callback. You especially hated that my father”—she sneered at Reverend Grace—“tossed you out of his bed because he preferred my mother. And he married her. He may not be perfect, but you wanted Marshall Mullins. And he loved her.”
With wide, furious eyes, Gail curled her finger around the trigger of the gun and steadied her stance. “Give me the word, Reverend.”
“Not yet. I think your niece knows exactly where that disc is, and I think I know exactly how to make her give it to me.” The minister sauntered closer to Gail.
What he lacked in style, he made up for with a calm, knowledgeable charisma that probably spoke to his lost and confused followers who desperately sought a leader in their daily
lives—like her aunt. How gullible a mark she must have been for him.
“Did you sleep with Gail, too?” Mystery blurted.
“Of course not!” her aunt gasped out.
Reverend Grace shook his head. “No. You will never believe me when I say that Julia was the only woman with whom I strayed from my marriage. I truly do strive to build a Christian empire God would be proud of and live by His teachings. Occasionally . . . unfortunate situations present themselves, and I’m still paying for my most terrible sin: you.” He sent her a tight little smile. “Julia really was the prettier sister.”
Mystery could barely take in all the craziness dripping from that speech, but the verbal slap across her aunt’s face came through loud and clear.
He reached for Gail’s hand, the one currently gripping the gun, and wrapped his fingers around hers. As he did, a shaft of sunlight leaked through the ceiling, and Mystery saw then that he wore flesh-colored latex gloves. He gripped the weapon firmly over her hand and raised the weapon. As he raised it to Gail’s temple, he entwined his finger with hers, smiling into her gaping expression. “You really have been a good soldier.”
Then he pulled the trigger.
Mystery gasped so loudly, the sound reverberated through the entire building. She shook as she watched her aunt collapse to the ground, her brains sprayed across the tile floor. Blood splattered everywhere. Gail’s eyes were still open.
“Do I have your attention now?” he asked, retrieving the gun from her aunt’s limp hand.
She jerked her gaze away from the corpse and over to the supposed man of God who’d pulled the trigger as if doing nothing more out of the ordinary than starting a car or opening a window.
“Yeah.” She gave him a jerky nod.
“Excellent. Poor, distraught woman simply couldn’t handle the stress of seeing all the personal effects her sister left behind and that drove her to kill herself . . .” He affected a sad pout.
Mystery wanted to choke. “How can you treat people as if they’re expendable?”
“The lives of the lowly many simply aren’t worth those of the exalted few.”
Her jaw dropped. “Like you?”
“Precisely. Now, let’s search your pockets. If that proves unsuccessful, I’ll have to retrace your steps and . . .” Wearing a bland expression that probably soothed his gullible followers, he tsked at her, indicating that it wouldn’t end well for her.
That scared the hell out of Mystery.
A siren wailed in the distance, and she prayed that Heath had noticed her missing or someone had heard the gunshots and called for help. A rattling at the front door sounded through the eerie still next, as if someone gave it a few good tugs, then realized it was locked tight.
Reverend Grace’s gaze zipped to the door. “I’d hoped to have the peace of knowing you further before . . . But I need the disc more. Let’s get down to business and not dwell on unpleasantries. Turn out your pants pockets.”
Once she did, he’d know that she’d plotted and lied. He’d pull the trigger. He’d spew her brains all over the floor, too.
Mystery cut her stare to her aunt’s lifeless body, surrounded by a thick pool of her coppery blood. The smell nearly made her wretch. She started shaking again. Think fast. Now!
If she could lure him closer to her, she might be able to swipe the gun from him. Or if he came at her like an attacker, she could fight him off. After feeling so helpless in that shack with nothing but sand and shrieking wind around her, then having Axel rescue her and insist that she learn to defend herself, Mystery had.
“Make me.” She shoved her fists on her hips for effect, praying it needled him.
Instead, he just looked weary—and pointed the gun at her. “Do it or I pull the trigger.”
She swallowed as she stared down the barrel. Her father—the one who mattered—would suffer a huge blow if she didn’t make it out alive. Mystery wanted to live to explain the truth about her mother’s murder to him. She wanted to live long enough to apologize to Axel and tell him that she loved him. She wanted to have his children and grow old and . . . For any of that to happen, she had to be smart.
“No, you won’t, because if I don’t have it in my pocket, I’m the only person who knows exactly which path I walked all day. Gail could have helped you, but you were hasty and impatient and you murdered someone who idolized you.” What would his followers say about that? Mystery wanted to taunt him with that but if she did, he’d probably only kill her sooner. She was definitely a loose end he wouldn’t leave dangling.
The wail of the siren came closer. Something rattled at the side of the building, a noise of metal scraping wood. Mystery couldn’t place it but she prayed it was someone trying to help her get free and live.
Reverend Grace lowered the gun from her head, aiming for her thigh. “I’m running out of time, I fear. I’ll wound you. It will hurt, but you’ll still be able to help me retrace your path to find the disc. Now hurry and turn your pockets out or you’ll learn that God has far more mercy than I do.”
“And if you get your hands on the disc, you’ll kill me.” She shrugged. “You’re not getting out of here, you know. Someone is on the other side of the wall, looking for a way to save me.”
A trickle of sweat ran from his temple down to his cheek. “You’re right. You’ll make a much better hostage.” Without warning, he grabbed her arm and smacked her on the side of the head with the gun in his hand. Pain exploded through her skull. She gasped, feeling dazed. She stumbled. Her world nearly went black.
Reverend Grace used the opportunity to jerk her back against his chest. He gave a vicious yank on her hair—and wedged the barrel of the gun to her ribs. Then he shoved his left hand in the empty pocket of her jeans and turned it inside out.
When nothing emerged, he heaved a frustrated sigh. “Don’t move.”
He leaned away, switched the gun to his left hand, and fumbled a bit. Despite her head throbbing and the nausea churning in her stomach, Mystery knew she had to act. Because if he put his hand into her right pocket, it would be game over for her.
Summoning her balance and strength, she raised her foot and stomped on his toes. He hopped on one foot behind her with a nasty curse.
In the same moment, the siren screamed ever closer. Her head throbbed. Something landed on the roof of the building with a thud. A metallic creaking filled the room. She whirled around, looking for the source of the sound.
Instead, Reverend Grace got right in her face. “Bitch! I mourned Julia. It saddened me to kill Gail. You? I’ll enjoy.”
Then he pointed the gun directly at her head, mere inches away.
He would do it, Mystery knew. She wasn’t ready to die, and she didn’t want to hurt her father—not this sperm donor, but the one who’d actually raised her. Marshall Mullins would grieve terribly. For that, she was sorry. She knew Heath would feel guilty that he’d failed to save her, just as he’d been unable to save his wife. And Axel . . . the selfish part of her hoped that he’d mourn her, but then she shut that down. What she really wanted to know before she died was whether he loved her. But it would be better for him if he didn’t. He could easily move on with his life, maybe make peace with his mother, find someone he could love, and live happily ever after.
She’d be lying, though, if she said she didn’t want to be the woman next to him in that vision. She had one opportunity to make that happen before this “devout” piece of trash in her face pulled the trigger.
“I’ll make it look as if your distraught aunt shot you before turning the gun on herself. What a terrible shame.” He gave her a cruel sneer.
“How are you going to get out of here without being seen? We’re surrounded.”
He looked around the building, the sweat rolling down the side of his face a bit faster. “I’ll think of something. I always do. I have the Lord on my side.”
The only thing he had was flat fucking craziness.
“Now give me the disc. Turn out your damn pocket!�
��
Mystery shoved her hand into her pocket, pretending she needed to widen her stance in order to dig deeper. Her head was still swimming, and dizziness began to overtake her. She dragged in a deep breath of air. The smell of blood made her stomach turn once more, and she almost lost her lunch, bucking and heaving.
“No fucking way. Empty your pocket now!” he screamed.
The sirens now sounded right outside the door. Another noise on the roof snagged her attention. His finger tightened around the trigger.
It was now or never.
She gathered all her strength—and kicked him in the balls.
With a cry, he dropped the gun, sending it clattering across the tile to the back of the room as he clutched his genitals with a terrible groan. “Cunt.”
“Asshole,” she tossed over her shoulder as she ran for the door. Safety and freedom awaited her out there if she could just get the door open.
Heart racing, every muscle trembling, she struggled to retain her balance and reach the front entrance of the building. She barely held her nausea at bay as she gripped the knob of the dead bolt and turned it. But when she tried to push the door open, it wouldn’t budge.