by Kim Alexis
Finally her words seemed to register. In a flash his rage seemed to evaporate and leave in its wake only sorrow.
“Please, Greg. For Val. Let it stop here. Don’t hurt anyone else.”
“I have no choice,” he whimpered, eyes again filling with tears. “I already explained that to you.”
She took in a breath and held it for a long moment. “And me? Will you kill me too?”
His grip tightened as he began to sob. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to. You’re the only one who. . . . You actually cared.”
“I did care, Greg. I do. Please. Don’t do this. It’s not too late.”
“Yes, it is. You’re already too close.”
“To the truth?”
“No. To me. You’re too close to me.” He tilted his head back and wailed sobs of pure agony.
Despite everything Crystal’s heart ached for this man. Somewhere deep inside he seemed to know what he was doing was wrong, and to regret it.
And yet that wasn’t enough to stop him. He was so far gone now, nothing she could say or do was going to bring him back.
JULIETTE HEARD SOMEONE CRYING out. She listened, startled. There was such . . . agony in those cries. It took a few moments, but she finally identified the voice. Greg. If he sounded like that, then he was near the breaking point. Which meant there wasn’t time to take the car and go for help, especially if he had a gun. She would have to stay here, act now, before Greg hurt anyone else.
Maybe she should free Ty. He could probably be trusted—in this matter, at least. Then again, why risk the leap from frying pan to fire? Instead, she gave him a quick, “Sit tight, I’ll be back,” and then set off into the darkness.
She made her way to the boulder in a lesser arc this time, praying Greg wouldn’t spot her. Once there she pressed her back against the cold stone and listened. Poor Crystal was doing her best to calm him, but it wasn’t working. He seemed to be growing more hysterical by the minute.
It was time.
Holding her breath, Juliette hoisted herself onto the boulder. It was an easy climb, thanks to the stone’s craggy face and numerous footholds. She hoped desperately she wouldn’t dislodge any loose stones to alert Greg. When she got to the top, she made her way to the other side then lowered to her stomach and dared a quick peek over the edge. Greg’s back was to the rock. Crystal faced him, her wrist clutched in his hand. In his other hand, he held a big flashlight. So where was the gun?
If only they weren’t standing so close together!
Juliette pulled away from the rim and considered her options. She had just one chance to get this right, and the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt Crystal in the process.
At least she had a good distraction at her disposal. Heart pounding, she stood, reached into her pocket, and carefully pulled out the car keys. Then she got in position at the edge of the boulder, held the remote toward the car, and pushed the alarm button.
The rented SUV sprang to life, honking repeatedly as its warning lights flashed on and off. She looked down to see Greg’s reaction. As she’d hoped, he turned toward the sound—then he dropped the flashlight, pulled a gun from his waistband, and pointed it in that direction.
Oh boy.
Gun or not, it was now or never. He would probably move any second, and then her advantage would be lost. Though she dreaded the thought of another hard landing for her sore body, Juliette bent her knees, summoned her nerve, and jumped.
She hit her mark, the full force of her weight knocking Greg forward onto the ground. The gun flew from his hand and skittered off into the darkness. He must have lost his grip on Crystal as well, because she took off running for the car.
At least he was disarmed for the moment, and Juliette prayed the fall had also rendered him unconscious, or at least incapacitated. No such luck. With surprising power and speed, he twisted around and threw her off of him with a guttural growl. She slammed back against the boulder, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs.
She slid to the ground, gasping for air, certain this was the end for all of them. Greg began a frantic search for the gun, and as soon as he found it he would pick them off one by one.
But then came the sound of a scream in the distance. Crystal.
Greg jerked upright, and then he took off in the direction of that scream, the gun still nowhere to be found.
If Juliette could just get some air in her lungs, she realized, she could find that gun herself before it was too late.
She closed her eyes, told herself to calm down, and focused on breathing. Once it no longer felt like she was about to die, she opened her eyes, forced herself to her feet, and began to search. Almost immediately she spotted the flashlight.
Then, with the help of its beam, she found the gun, lying in brush.
Heart pounding, she lifted the cold, hard steel with one hand, flashlight in the other, and trained its beam until it landed on Greg, who had managed to catch up with Crystal and was dragging her back to the scene.
“I’ve got the gun! Let her go!”
“I’ve got Crystal!” Greg yelled back in reply. “Drop the gun!”
“No way.” Juliette tightened her grip and widened her stance. She had no clue how to shoot, but she’d seen enough TV shows and movies to fake it.
She waited, squinting. As they came closer, she realized Greg was holding Crystal in front of him this time, a muscular arm around her neck, like a shield. Crystal clawed fiercely at his forearm, but he barely seemed to notice.
Juliette feared this would be a standoff, one where she’d have no choice but to drop the gun in the end. She couldn’t shoot at Greg, because she couldn’t risk hitting Crystal by mistake.
Soon, however, Juliette realized he had something else in mind. Rather than moving in her direction, he dragged his prisoner toward his old house. When they were a few feet from the back steps, he stopped.
“Here’s the deal,” he called out to Juliette. “Drop the gun and I’ll let her go. Nobody else gets hurt.”
She took a deep breath as she considered his words. It sounded reasonable, but for all she knew, he had another gun and was planning to shoot them both as soon as hers hit the ground.
She needed to buy time while she tried to think of a plan. “How ’bout this? I’ll lower the gun, you let her go, and nobody else gets hurt.”
“Fine. On one condition. When I do, I want both of you to head around behind that boulder and stay there for five minutes.”
“While you escape? No way.”
“That’s my offer, take it or leave it.”
Juliette hesitated. What did he have in mind? Was this a trick, or was he just that crazy? She didn’t know, but she had the gun, she had all the power. She would agree to whatever got Crystal out of his grip—then decide from there what her next action would be.
“Okay, here goes.” Slowly Juliette lowered her arm until the gun was pointed toward the ground. In response Greg leaned down and whispered something in Crystal’s ear.
Then he let her go. As soon as he took away his arm, she ran straight toward Juliette.
“Just do what he says!” she cried, running for the boulder. “Go! ”
Juliette didn’t understand exactly what was going on, but something told her to do as Crystal said. Together they ducked around behind the giant rock, but then she back leaned out from behind it to see what was going on.
Again she trained the beam toward the house, expecting Greg to be gone, but there he was, still just standing there. As she watched, he turned and mounted the steps, put one hand on the doorknob, and pulled.
Then, with a massive kaboom, the structure exploded, lighting the sky as bright as the desert sun.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
EVERY TIME THERE WAS a knock at the door of Marcus’s hospital room, his pulse surged. Then someone other than Juliette would appear around the corner, and it was all he could do to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. He just didn’t understand what was taki
ng so long! She’d been down in the ER for more than an hour—for injuries that he’d been told weren’t too serious. At least he had his own personal news source to keep him posted: his mother, who’d been monitoring the status of almost everyone involved and reporting back to him with each new development.
Now his mom was back again, and she plopped into the chair next to his bed, still looking peppy despite the fact that it was after midnight. She’d been here at the hospital for almost two hours—the first hour worrying about Marcus and the second worrying with him about Juliette and the others.
He was eager to hear what she’d learned this time around, but first she wanted to know if he’d been able to reach Zoe.
Marcus nodded. “I tried to play things down as much as possible, but she got upset, of course, especially once I told her I was an inpatient at the hospital. She started crying, wanted to hop on the first plane out.”
“Poor dear.”
“I got her to calm down, told her no, that we’ll be heading back soon as I’m cleared to fly.” Marcus sucked in a deep breath, despite the pain to his ribs. He hated it whenever Zoe cried, it broke his heart. “She’s all set to stay with Alison in the meantime, once the class trip is over, but I hope that’s not for more than a few days. She needs to see for herself that her dad is fine.”
“Maybe we could text her a video later. That might reassure her.”
Marcus’s eyes widened, and then he grinned. “You never cease to amaze me, Mom, you know that?”
“Why, ’cause this old lady knows the 411? What can I say, I learned it from some of my new BFFs.”
Marcus laughed out loud, again wincing from the pain at his ribcage. “Okay, no more comedy till I’m healed. Got any updates for me?”
She nodded. “Yep. Here’s the scoop.” She placed her eyeglasses onto her nose and referred to her notes. “Juliette was still in with the doctor, so nothing new to report on her yet.”
“Okay.” Marcus tried to sound like his heart wasn’t in his throat.
“Didi definitely needs surgery on her ankle, but they won’t know until the specialist gets here whether it’s going to be done tonight or if it can wait till tomorrow.”
“Got it. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.” She scanned her notes. “Let’s see . . . Crystal has been admitted, I think they’re getting her into a room even as we speak.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. “I thought you said all she needed was a few stitches.”
His mother peered at him over the rim of her glasses. “That’s what Juliette told me earlier. But apparently the doctors have other concerns. And the girl hasn’t spoken a word since the explosion.”
Marcus grunted. What could he say? After what that kid had been through, she had the right to keep her mouth shut for a while if she wanted. “So they’re doing a psych eval?”
Beverly shrugged. “Probably that too, but I think primarily they’re running tests to rule out physical issues—like a brain injury, tissue damage to the throat, that sort of thing.”
Marcus nodded. In his field, though he’d mostly dealt with natural disasters, he had been involved in the aftermath of the occasional man-made tragedy as well, including bombings. To his experience, the injuries sustained from explosions were unique, much like those found in combat.
In his work with Nate in the past six months, Marcus’s job had been to create disaster-response plans for various Atlanta-based scenarios such as “terrorist cell flies a plane into the Bank of America Plaza” or “cell bombs Underground Atlanta.” The work hadn’t been fun, but it had been eye-opening, and his reports dealt with everything from where to channel the various injuries—depending on severity of impact, quantity of people needing care, and location of the incident—to how to mobilize and assist MARTA’s Emergency Preparedness Unit.
Marcus had learned that explosives were categorized as either “HE” or “LE”—High-Order, such as C-4, or Low-Order, such as a pipe bomb—and tonight he’d been waiting to learn which of the two types they had been subjected to. His own injuries—two broken ribs, a brief hearing loss known as a “temporary threshold shift,” and a nasty gouge from a plank that tried to fly through his leg—was more typical of LE explosives.
But considering that Agent Wilson was down in the ICU with pulmonary contusions and an abdominal hemorrhage, Marcus had to wonder if HE explosives had been used instead. Hopefully he’d get a report soon from either the FBI or the local detectives and find out.
In the meantime, at least he had Beverly Stone, ace reporter, who’d done her information gathering not through medical personnel, who were bound by strict confidentiality laws, but by hanging out in the ER’s waiting room and quizzing the various patients as they went in or out.
“How’s Reggie?” Marcus asked.
She checked her notes. “‘Critical but stable.’ Most folks seem optimistic about his recovery, though, because of how well that other young woman has done, the therapist who was poisoned when giving the mud wrap to Raven?”
“Brooke?”
“Yes, Brooke. She’s still an in-patient here, but rumor has it she’ll be going home tomorrow. God willing, Reggie will rally in a few days too, once the atropine is out of his system. Of course, he’s also dehydrated and has a broken leg, so that does complicate things a bit.”
Marcus nodded. “Do they know how the poison was administered to Reggie?”
Beverly shook her head. “Nothing definite, but I was chatting with that nice young detective in the waiting room, and he had a theory. He said they found a container down in the well holding a few datura seeds. He thinks Greg threw Reggie into the pit and when that didn’t kill him, he tossed down that container and forced him to ingest them at gunpoint.”
“Why not just skip the seeds and shoot him instead?”
“Too noisy. They believe Greg lured Reggie out there during an afternoon break, so he probably didn’t want to draw any attention with a gunshot, especially because that’s when he would’ve been putting the finishing touches on the false floor on top of the pit. He had to go back to work after that, so he must’ve assumed that Reggie would be dead by the time he returned to carry out the rest of his plan.”
Marcus closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Who could believe that shy, polite young man had had it in him to cause such devastation and destruction? Worse, the kid had managed to pick up important information from Marcus himself, simply by staying near and being helpful when Ty called in and arranged for the time and location of their meeting.
At least Greg wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else.
“Are you okay, hon?”
Marcus opened his eyes and was warmed by the concern reflected on his mother’s face.
“Yeah, I was just thinking about the tragedy of it all.”
She nodded, and he marveled at her calm. And that she hadn’t asked yet for an explanation about Marcus’s feelings for Juliette, though he knew it had to be on her mind. She’d witnessed too much tonight: his frenzy when Juliette was missing and no one could find her, his desperation when he got word of another explosion, his utter joy when he learned that Juliette had survived. Through it all Marcus’s mom had kept her mouth shut and her “calm face” on, but she had to be full of questions.
Questions that deserved some answers.
Marcus shifted on the narrow hospital bed—daggers of pain shooting through his midsection despite ample medication and a rib belt—and reached for his mother’s hand.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Sorry for what, son? For being a hero? For trying to protect Juliette from harm? For caring so much about all of these people?
He studied her for a long moment. “No. For not being completely honest with you.”
She looked at him, eyebrows raised. Waiting.
“It’s kind of a long story.”
She sat back. “Well, it’s about time, son. I’m all ears.”
CRYSTAL WISHED EVERYONE
WOULD just leave her alone, starting with the guy who couldn’t seem to find a vein to draw blood. At least the other bed in her semi-private room was empty, so maybe once all this stuff was over, he would go away and she would get a little peace and quiet.
Well, quiet at least. She’d probably never feel peace again.
For the past hour she’d been poked and prodded and questioned at length, and though she’d willingly submitted to all of their physical demands, she hadn’t had it within her to respond to their words. She couldn’t speak at all, as if that blast had sucked away every sound from her being, forever.
“Bingo,” the phlebotomist said, hitting his mark.
Crystal watched the dark red liquid pull up through the needle and fill first one tube and then another, surprised that blood still pumped through her veins at all.
How could she be so alive when she felt nothing but dead inside?
How would she ever recover from the trauma of this day?
Those questions echoed so loudly in her mind that she couldn’t believe this guy didn’t hear them. But no, he simply finished his task and went on his way, leaving her there.
Alone.
She would always be alone—had always been alone. Whether back in Seattle or here in Cahuilla Springs, she woke up alone, went to bed alone, and spent every moment in between trying to carve out relationships, like they were accomplishments she could name, or possessions she could hold.
But what good had they done her, really? What consequences had they held for others around her? She still didn’t understand all of the details, but she knew this much, that good people had gotten hurt—physically hurt—because of her relationship with Greg Overstreet, because they trusted her and she trusted him, so they had trusted him too.
Could she ever get over the guilt of that? Ever stop wishing she’d never come to this place, never met these people, never even tried to change the sad trajectory of her life? Who had she thought she was, moving so far from home and thinking she could start fresh here? When life put a target on your back, it stayed there, no matter where you ran.