Lisa Jackson - Born To Die

“A wound here—” The nose of the weapon swirled against her spine, in the small of her back, just over her buttocks, “will take a while to bleed out. And you’ll feel it, the life oozing from you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

But there wasn’t a roaring blast that echoed through the house. No searing pain cutting through her flesh.

Why didn’t he pull the damned trigger?

Because he wants to make it look like an accident. Just like the others. A gunshot wound to the back can only mean homicide. So, think, Kacey. You’re in the kitchen! The knives are in the block at the stove. .

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispered, as if he could read her mind. “If I have to, I’ll blow your sweet ass to hell and back.”

“Then why don’t you just—”

BAM!

Pain exploded through her brain and she crumpled to the floor.

Trace held fast to his pitchfork. His heart was hammering, his muscles tight as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The smell of dung and urine filled his nostrils. The lights had gone out while he’d still been in the barn, still wrapping the damned pipe. He’d finished the job though it had taken longer than anticipated, then headed to the stable.

He’d noticed the house was dark, getting colder by the minute and he felt the urge to hurry, to get back to Kacey and Eli. He’d hoped she would have drawn the water and brought the boy downstairs, near the fire for warmth.

Then he’d stepped into the stable and felt something was wrong.

More than the damned electricity being out, or the worry of frozen pipes.

No, this was a danger within.

The horses were restless, almost spooked, shifting in their stalls. He heard the sounds of rustling straw, nervous snorts, and every so often an anxious whinny.

Sarge, too, was out of sorts. Stiff. He’d growled once and stared at the windowless rooms where the oats and other grains were stored. Bonzi, not knowing the drill, hadn’t been all that concerned, but his ears were up. At attention. Aware of an unseen being hidden in the darkness.

The back of Trace’s throat went dry.

An animal?

Or human?

His skin prickled under the collar of his jacket and he knew the answer. An animal would elicit a different response from his dog. This threat was definitely a person skulking in the shadows.

He thought of shouting out. Maybe it was just someone who’d come in for shelter from the storm. But why not stop at the house? Someone on the run? Someone scared?

Or someone intent on doing harm?

His heart grew stone cold.

He thought of his rifle, hidden deep in his closet, the ammunition locked away in an overhead cabinet in the kitchen. Then his mind went to Kacey alone in the house with his son.

Sarge growled again and Trace heard a noise… the tiniest squeak of the stable’s floorboards. Every muscle in his body tensed.

Blood pounding in his ears, he held his pitchfork like a spear and began moving slowly through the darkness.

“You can’t die, damn it!” a female voice whispered harshly. “Who’s going to take care of Eli? Who?”

Oh, Lord, now she was imagining things, hearing the voices of angels, Kacey thought, pain surging through her body. She fought back the urge to vomit, and when she opened a bleary eye, she saw only darkness. Lying on the kitchen floor, the room spinning, she tried to pull herself to her knees.

Agony ripped through her skull. Get up! Pull yourself together.

The house was still, aside from the wind outside. Her attacker had fled. But he would be back. She knew it. Just as she knew Eli and Trace were in danger.

If they were alive.

She listened for the voice in her head again.

Heard nothing.

And tried like hell to get to her feet.

At the Johnson estate, Alvarez glanced out to the frigid night. Where was he? Where was the killer who had wreaked so much damage? What was he doing?

“And Kathleen?” Pescoli pressed, bringing up the other Johnson daughter who had died.

“She. . she was killed in a skiing accident,” Gerald said, scowling, as if his own words tasted bitter.

“Skiing accident ,” Alvarez repeated. “Any of her brothers present the day she died?”

“What?” Noreen blinked and fiddled nervously with her collar. “What are you suggesting, detective?”

Pescoli’s smile held zero warmth. “Let me guess. Was it Cameron?”

“No!” Noreen said, her face shattering as tears came again. “I mean, yes, he was there. But… but so was most of the family!”

“Convenient.” Pescoli was irritated as she glowered at this couple whose entire married life had been shrouded in secrets.

Cameron? One of the twins? He was the one Pescoli was zeroing in on? Alvarez thought of the two men who looked so much alike, whose jobs took them throughout the country. Handsome and smart. But deadly? To his mother she asked, “Do you know exactly what happened the day Kathleen died?”

Noreen glanced at her husband and then worried her lip. “Of course… Cameron was skiing with Kathleen on that last run, but that doesn’t mean. . there were hundreds, probably thousands, of people on the mountain that day.” She sounded as if she were trying desperately to convince herself.

Alvarez was trying to remember everything about Cameron Johnson. He worked for the family business, lived on the outskirts of Grizzly Falls, on the way to Missoula. .

“Poor, poor Kathleen.” Sighing, tears filling her eyes, Noreen added, “She’d finally found a man who loved her despite. .”

“Despite what?” Pescoli asked.

“Nothing.” Noreen shook her head quickly. “Nothing at all.” She beseeched her husband silently but he threw up a hand, his own face a mask of sadness.

“Kathleen battled bipolar disorder,” Gerald admitted sadly, one of his hands actually trembling. “I was a doctor, wouldn’t believe it. At the time we really didn’t know what to call it. We said, ‘She had spells’ or she was ‘manic,’ or ‘depressed.’ I couldn’t really accept that she was suffering so.”

Seriously? Alvarez wondered. The second child who’d died from an accident had mental issues? Was there a connection? Seemed unlikely. Then again, everything about this case was slightly askew.

“Gerald, don’t you see?” Noreen interjected. “They’re. . they’re saying anything they can. Grasping at straws!” Glaring at Pescoli, her nostrils flaring, she added, “They’re insinuating that Cameron killed Kathleen! Can you believe it? Cam!” She was shivering in rage. “And that’s not the end of it, they’re also trying to pin those other accidents, where the women died, on him. As if he were able to. . This is unbelievable!” Noreen started pacing again, growing hysterical. “But it’s not true. It just can’t be!” Spinning on a heel, she pointed at Pescoli. “Get out! Now! Get the hell out of my house. You’re despicable. Both of you!” She was crying in earnest now, her eyes trained on the large window facing the drive.

“This isn’t over. We’re not done,” Pescoli said, rising to her feet.

Alvarez took her cue, checking her cell phone and starting for the door, just as headlights pierced the paned windows, washed against the walls. Over the whistle of the storm, the roar of a powerful engine surged through the night.

Noreen’s shimmering eyes widened. The faintest of sad smiles tugged at the corners of her lips. “Oh, thank God!” she said, dropping a relieved hand over her heart. “Judd’s here!”

Judd?

The oldest son?

Why?

As Gerald got to his feet and tried to stop his wife, Noreen raced into the hallway, her heels clicking on the marble floor as she flung open the door. A tall man, broad in the shoulders, his expression grim, entered. The family resemblance was unmistakable, Judd’s bearing and facial features almost identical to his father’s. He gave his mother a quick, almost obligatory hug as he surveyed the group in the den.