That horrible, eerie laugh erupted from Donna’s lips again. “Of course, you did. That night at the charity contest. You had a horrible fight.”
“No, we didn’t.” Something inside Rachel twisted, and bits of memory surfaced. “I hate you.” Had she said that? Her chest tightened. They couldn’t have argued. It was her dad. He was the one. Anger flared, searing her heart. He hadn’t been there because he had someone else. No. There wasn’t anyone else. Just his work.
A low buzzing jerked her thoughts from the past. Erin’s cell phone vibrated against her hip. No! Why hadn’t she checked to see if vibrate was turned on?
“What’s that noise?”
Rachel willed the phone to stop buzzing. Had to be Terri. Or Boone.
“That’s a cell phone!” Donna stuck the gun in her ribs. “Hand it over.”
“No! And I don’t think you’ll shoot me since we’re traveling fifty miles an hour—unless you want to die in a car wreck.”
Donna swung the gun toward the back. “No, but Erin’s not driving. So hand it over.”
The buzzing stopped, leaving dead silence in the car. “Say goodbye to your friend,” she said in a singsong voice.
“I’ll give it to you.” Rachel fished the phone from her back pocket and handed it to her. At least she still had her gun under the seat. As she expected, Donna lowered the window and threw the phone out.
“I hope you don’t do anything else stupid,” Donna said.
Rachel gripped the steering wheel. A patrol car going in the opposite direction caught her eye. Did he speed up? Maybe he recognized her car.
“Did Harrison figure out you killed my mother?” she asked to distract Donna.
She didn’t answer but instead twisted to follow the police cruiser. “Stop asking questions. I can’t think.”
Another wall of clouds rolled in, darker than the first, reminding Rachel that their chances of surviving would diminish with nightfall. She willed the police cruiser to catch up with them, but in case it didn’t, she needed a plan for when they got to wherever they were going.
“How long do you want me to stay on Lamar?”
“Until you get to South Dudley, and then take a left to Elmwood Cemetery.”
Elmwood Cemetery. Was she taking them to her mother’s grave? To kill them there?
Memories slammed her heart. Backstage at the Cook Convention Center. Her dad. Wanting to come home. Looking so hurt.
“You have to let him move back, Mom! You should forgive him! Think about me!”
“Oh, honey, you don’t underst—”
“Yes, I do! I need my dad! Let him move back home!”
“Rachel, that’s enough. He’s not moving back home now and that’s final.”
“You’re so selfish! I hate you!”
It was all clear now, and unshed tears burned her eyes. Rachel had stormed away, left her mother standing backstage. Later she’d called a friend to come get her and had spent the night at her friend’s house. When she finally returned home the next morning, she found her mother dead.
A band squeezed her heart. If she’d just gone home with her . . .
Rachel never got the chance to tell her she was sorry.
“Turn left at the next block,” Donna said suddenly.
“The cemetery is closed. You won’t be able to get in.” Rachel glanced in the mirror. Erin was awake and staring at her like a lost puppy. Rachel could not let her die in this cemetery.
“It’s open. Saw in the paper it’s some anniversary and they’re having evening tours all this week.”
The 165th anniversary. Rachel had forgotten about seeing the poster when she and Erin were here.
The entrance to Elmwood Cemetery came into view too soon, and memories she’d suppressed for so long flooded her mind again. For seventeen years she’d buried the truth—she’d argued with her mother and then ran away, leaving her to go home alone. To die. But she hadn’t been able to just blame herself and had self-righteously blamed her father as well, because if he hadn’t had an affair, he would have been home. She’d gotten it all wrong.
It hadn’t been his fault. The truth speared her heart. And it hadn’t been her fault either. Rachel gripped the steering wheel. Donna had gone to their house that night to kill her mother. Resolve swelled in her chest.
She would not let her get away with two more murders. Rachel had to stop her. If she didn’t, Donna would be free to kill again.
55
HALF-DOLLAR-SIZED RAINDROPS splattered the windshield as Boone’s cell rang. He quickly answered. It was dispatch.
“Elmwood is still open. They were supposed to have tours this evening, but they’ve been canceled. I advised the administrator to evacuate but leave the gates open until you arrive.”
“Good.” At least Donna wouldn’t be locked out. He really wanted to contain her in the cemetery.
“Any sightings of either car?” he asked.
“Yes. The gray Honda was seen on Lamar near E. H. Crump Boulevard. Appears to be two people in the front seat. No sign of a third person. The officer is keeping the car in sight, but not approaching. Looks like it’s headed to the cemetery.”
Had they left Erin somewhere? He certainly hoped so. Boone pictured the entrance to the cemetery. He’d been to Elmwood in the past, and the main access was a narrow bridge over the railroad tracks. There was a fence around the perimeter, but he couldn’t remember if there were other entrances on the bordering streets. “Once the Honda enters, block the main entrance and secure all other points of access.” He hung up and glanced in the rearview mirror. “Any information on Alfred Baker’s grave site?”
“No,” Terri said. “No one is answering at the office.”
Hopefully that meant they were no longer there. At exit 29, he swung off I-240 at Lamar and shut his siren off. The cemetery couldn’t be over five minutes away.
56
AS THEY APPROACHED the narrow bridge leading into Elmwood, Rachel glanced to the right and made herself breathe normally. There. Parked in a lot with tombstones for sale. One of MPD’s unmarked cruisers.
Did Donna see it? A quick glance. No. She leaned forward, focused on the bridge ahead. Was Boone here? Inside the cemetery, waiting? To the west, a bolt of lightning arced across the dark sky, followed by a boom of thunder.
“Rachel,” Erin cried from the back seat. “I don’t like thunder.”
“It’s going to be okay.”
Donna didn’t appear to hear them.
“Where are we?” Erin asked.
“At Elmwood.” They were on the bridge now. “You remember crossing this bridge when we were here Saturday?”
“Mmmhmm. It’s where the angels are.”
“Do you remember the cottage and how we got there?” she asked as they passed the office. A tan car sat parked in front of the building. She recognized it as another unmarked cruiser.
“Yes. We walked from over there.” Erin pointed in the direction of her mother’s grave.
“Good.” Erin had an uncanny sense of direction. If Rachel could distract Donna somehow once they were out of the car, maybe Erin could make a run for the cottage. “Pay attention now.”
“What are you talking about?” Donna demanded. “And turn left at the next crossroads.”
“Just trying to distract her,” she said quietly. They were not going in the direction of her mother’s grave. Another bolt of lightning zigzagged in front of them. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
The cemetery was a maze of winding roads. Her headlights caught the bending trees as the wind whipped ahead of the approaching storm.
“Stop there at that black obelisk, and park so the lights are on the small monument to the right of it.”
Rachel stopped the car in front of a tall three-sided monument and backed up, lighting the smaller stone. “Who is Alfred Baker?”
“My illustrious father. Get out and I’ll introduce you.”
She had to get Donna’s g
un. Or hers. It was their only chance. But how? It was so close in her little car, Donna could see every move she made. Stall for time. She unfastened her seat belt. “Why do you think you’ll get away with this?”
“I just will.” She turned her head toward the grave. “I always have.”
Rachel lunged over the console for Donna’s gun. “Run, Erin! Run!”
The back door flew open as they struggled for the automatic. Donna pummeled Rachel. Rachel balled her fist and slammed Donna right above the elbow. The gun clattered to the floor. No way to get it. Rachel reached under her seat for her own automatic.
57
THE ROAD TWISTED YET AGAIN, and no sign of Rachel’s Honda. “We must have taken a wrong turn.”
“There are so many crossroads,” Terri said.
“Maybe I can hear something if I get out of the car.” Boone shifted the gear to park. “You two stay here. There may be gunfire, and I don’t want you caught in it.”
A wind gust caught the door when he opened it, almost jerking it loose from his grip. Cloud-to-ground lightning lit up the area, illuminating the trees as they bent against the coming storm. He pulled his gun. Was that a light up ahead? He jogged toward it, hearing nothing but the roar of the wind as the rain moved in. More lightning lit up the area, silhouetting a figure running toward him in the distance. Too small to be Rachel or Donna.
“Erin!” The wind snatched her name from his mouth, carrying it away from her. He ran toward her and caught her in his arms. “Erin, where’s Rachel?”
Her eyes were huge. She pointed behind her, toward a faint glow. “D-Donna. Sh-she ha-has a g-gun!”
Suddenly Terri was there, wrapping her arms around her sister. “Go,” she yelled. “Find Rachel!”
Boone sprinted toward the light.
Blood gushed from Rachel’s nose. She felt for her gun under her seat. Gone. Run! She fumbled for the door handle.
“Hold it right there.”
The barrel of the pistol pressed against Rachel’s temple.
“You think I’m stupid enough to leave your gun in the car?” Donna’s breath came fast as she kept the automatic pressed to her skin.
“I don’t think you’re stupid at all.” Her voice shook. “I never dreamed it was you. You’re quite brilliant.”
“I know. And I know you’re just saying that to make me relax.” Even so, she backed the gun away from Rachel’s head. “Put your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them and don’t move.” Keeping the weapon on Rachel, Donna scrambled out of the car and came around to the driver’s side. “Get out.”
As she crawled out of the car, Rachel searched for any sign of Erin, fearing she might have hung around instead of running to the office. “You won’t get away with this.”
Lightning arced across the sky and the skies opened, releasing a torrent of rain, stinging her body in the electrically charged air.
“It’s over,” she yelled over the roar of the storm. “Boone’s here, in the cemetery. He’s found Erin by now.”
“Doesn’t matter!” Donna pushed her toward the monument.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. It’s the only way I can shut him up. And shut Gabby up. They won’t leave me alone.”
Another bolt of lightning split the air. The oak by the side of the lane exploded, and Donna jerked her head toward it.
Rachel charged her. She was not dying on this hill in this cemetery tonight.
“No!” Donna swung the gun toward her and fired.
Boone heard the scream as he rounded a curve in the road. Two people, struggling in the light from the car headlights. A gunshot rent the air, and Rachel stumbled.
Donna lifted the gun again.
“No!”
He saw Lucien Winslow in his peripheral vision. Boone took quick aim and fired.
Donna’s arm dropped, and she stumbled to her knees.
Boone rushed her and picked up the gun she dropped. Then he turned to Rachel lying on the ground. Police cars converged on the scene. He turned her over and felt for a pulse. She was alive. “Call for an ambulance,” he yelled and ripped her shirt away from the wound.
The judge knelt beside him. “Is she alive?”
The rain beat down, soaking him, and he wiped water from his eyes. “Yes. Looks like a shoulder wound.”
“Thank the Lord.”
Rachel’s eyes fluttered open. “You made it,” she whispered. “Both of you.”
58
SIX WEEKS LATER
At the police academy gym, Rachel knelt and tied her shoelaces. It felt good to be back in the swing of things. Yesterday she’d passed the physical fitness test, and Monday morning she would officially be back on duty.
“You sure you’re up to this?”
She looked up. Boone, dressed in a black MPD T-shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders, stood with his feet planted. Warmth spread through her chest. He’d come to see her every day in the hospital and then brought her meals by the house. Not to mention flowers. She had enough to start a shop of her own.
“You afraid I’m going to beat you again?” she asked. He offered his hand, and she took it to steady herself as she straightened.
“Nah. I’ve been practicing. And we can celebrate my victory at your dad’s barbecue tonight.”
“Pretty sure of yourself.” She couldn’t keep from teasing him.
He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug and gave her a devilish grin that sent her heart rate soaring. “I’ve heard my number one competitor isn’t quite at 100 percent.”
He was right about that, and she would probably have trouble with the four-foot cube since her shoulder was still tender. Maybe even with the beam.
“Why don’t you give the competition another month? I want you to be 100 percent when I beat you.”
She rolled her shoulder, wincing at the short jab of pain that shot through it. “Okay. I’ll wait.”
“Whoa! You’re actually going to listen to me?”
Rachel simply grinned at him. She’d come a long way in the last six weeks. From mending the breach with her father and agreeing to go to counseling with him, to finally remembering the argument with her mother and accepting that she couldn’t undo what happened. She’d even been able to cry at her mother’s grave.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
He held her hand as they walked to his pickup.
“Have you finished your sessions with the department psychiatrist?” she asked. Donna Dumont’s death had hit Boone hard, and Rachel was glad that counseling was mandatory after an officer killed someone in the line of duty.
“I have one more session. How about you? Nightmares last night?
“No. None since the first of the week.”
“Good.”
Peace wrapped around her heart. Boone made her feel cared for, safe. Rachel didn’t know where their relationship was headed, but once her stint in Homicide was up, she was ready to give love a try.
“By the way,” he said, swinging in front of her. “My transfer came through today.”
“What transfer?” Boone couldn’t be leaving Homicide. He loved it almost as much as she did.
“To David Raines’s Cold Case Unit.”
Her eyes burned, and a lump lodged in her throat as she looked at the ground. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
He cupped her chin and lifted it until she was gazing in his eyes.
“You probably aren’t aware of it,” he said as he traced his finger down her cheek, “but I applied last year when Brad did, and he got it.”
Her heart beat so fast she could hardly breathe. “But I thought—”
“You’re always thinking, and sometimes you’re wrong. That’s what I meant a long time ago when I told you we could work things out.” Boone’s eyes darkened as held her gaze. “Just in case you don’t know, I love you, Rachel,” he said, his voice husky. “More than the job, more than . . . anything.”
She thought
her heart would burst. He loved her. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment. Slowly she opened them and sighed. “I love you too.”
He bent his head until his lips were inches from hers. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. Boone kissed her gently and then pulled her closer. She melted into his arms and lost herself in his kiss.
She wasn’t ready to stop when he released her, but then she suddenly realized what his transfer meant. “That means we can do this and not get in trouble?”
“You got it,” he said, grinning. Then his eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to make you cry!”
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “It’s okay,” she said. “These are happy tears.”
Acknowledgments
AS ALWAYS, TO GOD, who gives me the words.
Thank you to my readers. Without your support, I wouldn’t be here.
To my family and friends, who believe in me.
To my editors at Revell, Lonnie Hull DuPont and Kristin Kornoelje, and Julie Davis—thank you for making my stories so much better.
To the art, editorial, marketing, and sales team at Revell—Michele Misiak, Karen Steele, Erin Bartels, Hannah Brinks, and Cheryl Van Andel, thank you for your hard work. You are the best!
To Julie Gwinn, thank you for your direction and for working so tirelessly with me and for being my friend.
To Sgt. Joe Stark, MPD, thank you for always answering my questions, even when I shoot them over to you in the middle of the night. And because what you said and what I heard may not always be the same thing, I apologize for not getting it right sometimes.
To Susan Buske, thank you for finding and correcting my medical errors.
Patricia Bradley is a published short story writer and cofounder of Aiming for Healthy Families, Inc. Her manuscript for Shadows of the Past was a finalist for the 2012 Genesis Award, winner of a 2012 Daphne du Maurier Award (first place, Inspirational), and winner of a 2012 Touched by Love Award (first place, Contemporary). When she’s not writing or speaking, she can be found making beautiful clay pots and jewelry. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Romance Writers of America and makes her home in Corinth, Mississippi.
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