Killer Swell (24 page)

The shot came from behind Emily. It ricocheted off one of the metal signs next to me, the clang nearly deafening me.

Emily flinched, then turned and fired into the darkness.

I heard Carter yell, “Goddammit!” and then an unmistakable thud onto the dirt path.

I leapt at her. She came back toward me, and I swung my open hand at the gun as it came around. It went flying back behind to my left.

My momentum carried me into her, my shoulder hitting her in the chest, and we tumbled to the ground.

I reached for her, but she rolled to her right, creating a small cushion of space between us, and spun around toward the ledge. I pushed myself up and pivoted on my knees. I saw the gun near the edge of the cliff where Randall had fallen.

Emily scrambled to her feet, glanced at me, and charged for the gun.

I got up, took two steps, and dove for her. We collided in front of the gun, shiny and bright in the moonlight. I reached for it, and she bit down on my biceps. I screamed and reached for her with my other arm, but she slapped it away, her teeth sinking deeper into my flesh. I reached again with my free arm, found a handful of hair, and yanked back.

She yelped but managed to move forward toward the gun. I reached for her and grabbed at the waist of her jeans. We wrestled for a moment, and I twisted as I tried to pull her away from the gun. She looked back, her face tight with anger, and jammed her foot into my crotch. The air left my body, and I lost my grip on her.

I rolled onto my back and watched her get to her knees, reaching for the gun now near my shoes. She brought herself to her feet, squatted, and started to turn to me as she stood up, the gun barrel flashing in the moonlight as it came around.

The air wouldn't return to my body, a screaming pain burning its way from my groin to stomach. I knew I had one chance at not getting shot, and I knew either way the end result would be tragic.

As she turned, I watched her eyes, now completely unfamiliar to me. Fury raged in her face and body. I couldn't believe I'd been fooled.

I brought my knee back to my chest, then shot my leg at her as hard as I could, a deep, ugly grunt emerging from my mouth.

I caught her flush on the hip. Her body bent in half, then whipped back the opposite direction as she left the ground. The gun flew up in the air, and Emily flew over the cliff, her eyes still angry as she disappeared over the side.

“We found them both on the rocks,” Liz said.

She and I were back in the hospital the following morning. Carter was back in the bed, and we were sitting next to it. Carter had broken his arm, falling down while avoiding Emily's fire. He'd left the hospital after I'd called him, against doctors' wishes of course, but they couldn't stop him. If they had, I would've been dead.

I owed him, to say the least.

“Preliminary ballistics matches the bullet in Charlotte Truman to a gun we found in Randall's rental car,” Liz continued.

Liz had arrived at the scene to find Carter sprawled in the dirt and me lying prone on the clifftop. She thought that I'd been shot. I didn't ask her how that made her feel because I figured the chances were fifty-fifty that I'd like her response.

“Her prints will probably be on the letter you found,” Liz concluded. “That should close the deal.” She looked at me. “We'll need to get a formal statement from you this afternoon. Probably take a couple of hours.”

I glanced at her and nodded. “I'll come down.”

She looked at Carter. “And if you'll get that howitzer you call a handgun registered this week, I'll pretend it was registered when you used it last night.” She gave him an I've-been-waiting-for-this-forever kind of smile. “And I promise not to tell the guys downtown that you fell down and broke your arm while shooting a gun.”

“I was taking cover,” he said, making a face. “It could happen to anyone.”

“No,” she said. “Just to you.” She turned to me. “Can I see you outside for a second?”

I nodded, and we both stood. She looked back at Carter.

“I'm glad you are okay, Carter,” she said. “And I'm glad you realized that your jackass of a friend was going to need some help.”

“He is a jackass,” Carter concurred, pulling at the sling on his newly broken arm.

Liz and I walked out into the hallway. She leaned back against the door to Carter's room, her eyes hard and sharp. She started to say something, then stopped.

“What?” I asked.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes. “Nothing. Just a lot to think about.”

“I know,” I said. “I can't believe she killed her sister. And Randall and Charlotte.”

“That,” she said, opening her eyes, “I can believe.”

I looked at her, not understanding.

“What I can't believe is that you almost died last night.” The corners of her eyes twitched. “You didn't listen to me. Again. You went to see Randall. You didn't wait for help. You nearly screwed up the whole thing.” She paused. “Same old, same old.”

I knew that my anger had gotten the better of me, but I wasn't sure how rehashing my mistakes was going to improve the situation.

I shook my head. “I don't know what you want me to say, Liz.”

She stared at me for a moment, chewing carefully on her bottom lip. Her eyes were looking for something and apparently weren't finding it.

“I don't know either,” she said finally.

She walked down the hall and disappeared around a corner.

I watched her go, unsure of what to do. I knew that I'd disappointed her. Maybe she thought that what had happened between us in the last couple of days was going to change me. I knew that it wouldn't, and yet I wasn't sure I was comfortable with that.

I walked back into the room.

“Is she really gonna tell them I fell?” Carter asked, frowning.

“What does it matter?” I asked, walking over to the window.

“My reputation will be shattered,” he said, sounding like a child who lost his favorite toy. “All that work to establish myself as a badass. Gone.”

“You'll recover.”

I felt his eyes on my back. “How are you?”

I stared out the window. The view was to the north, and I could see both Torrey Pines State Beach and the condos up on the hill where Emily had lived in the distance. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“No. But I will be.”

I knew that I would be, eventually. But death has a way of screwing you up. And not just the deaths of those around you, but the possibility of your own. I wasn't sure how long it would take me to find that sense of normalcy again.

“We should go do something,” Carter said.

I turned back to him and looked at his cast and sling. “I don't know that you're in any kind of shape to be doing anything.”

“They're gonna let me outta here tonight,” he said. “But I mean doing something like getting out of town. Away from all this crap.”

I liked that idea. “Okay. Where?”

He grinned. “I was thinking Cabo.”

I nodded, again liking the idea. “Good choice.”

“No Ice Queen,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Just me and you.”

“No problem,” I told him, thinking about what had happened out in the hallway with Liz. “Just me and you. And the trip's on me.”

“As it should be,” he said, the grin returning. “A little food, a lot of alcohol, and a lot of surfing.”

“Your arm gonna be up for getting in the water?”

He made a face at the cast. “It'll be fine.” He looked back at me. “Yeah. Cabo. Food, booze, and we'll surf until we're dead in the water.”

I hadn't been to Cabo San Lucas in a couple of years. There was a strong right break known as Zippers just up the road from the resorts, on the Sea of Cortez side of the point, that produced solid waves and took a lot out of you on a good afternoon. I pictured the azure colors of the water, paddling out to the lineup, and leaving a lot of things out on those waves.

I was already looking forward to it.

This book may have my name on the cover, but it belongs to many others, and many thanks are owed. Mario Acevedo, Jim Cole, Heidi Kuhn, Margie Lawson, Tom Lawson, Sandy Meckstroth, Jeanne Stein, and Bob Stricker all read the book in its infancy and took the time to offer numerous suggestions that made it infinitely better. Victoria Sanders took me on as a client and made all of this happen—I will forever be grateful. The hardworking folks at Dutton—particularly Brian Tart, who was willing to take a chance on an unknown, and Martha Bushko, who in her wit and wisdom found the book I didn't know I'd written—have made the entire process more enjoyable and more enlightening than I ever could've hoped for. And to my wife, Stephanie, who endured countless hours of whining, moaning, and mood swings and still managed to provide plenty of encouragement, support, and kicks in the ass when they were required—you are simply the best person I know.