Tell Me No Lies (27 page)

Charlie crumpled without a sound. Bailey let out a sob.

With a guttural roar, Gage launched himself at Ridge. They stumbled back, grappling for the gun. Gage was stronger, but Ridge was police trained. Plus, he was insane, which seemed not only to make him oblivious to pain but to give him additional strength. He brought up his knee, aiming for Gage’s groin. Gage punched him hard in the face. They slammed into the wall near the door, and the flimsy structure collapsed under the impact. The gun fell from Ridge’s hand and clattered out of reach.

I prayed. There was nothing else I could do, as the men rolled around on the ground, fists pounding. I went to the end of the rope, almost able to see the entire living room now that much of the wall was missing.

Ridge was on top, one fist aiming a blow. Gage arched and twisted, slithering out from under him and leaping to his feet. Ridge met him halfway, the two appearing locked in a strangely graceful dance as they exchanged powerful blows. Ridge stumbled back toward the outside door, breathing hard. Gage stepped toward him, every movement full of rage. Ridge took another step back. Was he going to run? Gage would never let him go.

I started to breathe again.

“You’ve learned a thing or two since we wrestled in high school,” Ridge said, a note of admiration in his voice.

“You learn a lot in prison,” Gage spat.

“Not enough, apparently.” Ridge brought out Bailey’s gun that he’d taken from Gage earlier.

My heart sank.

Gage lunged, and Ridge fired. Gage’s body jerked.

“No!” I cried.

I couldn’t see where the bullet had entered or how much damage had been done, but Gage was still in motion, hammering into Ridge with his fists and body. Ridge fell to the ground, his head making a solid popping sound as it collided with the old hardwood floor. The gun skittered away from them. Gage fell on top of Ridge, and I couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or it he’d collapsed. The light was too dim for me see if there was much blood.

Gage raised his fist, and it slammed again into Ridge’s face.

“You’ll all go with me!” Ridge reached up his hand and jerked the chair holding the kerosene lamp. It fell to the ground. For a second nothing happened, and then flames burst out on the old curtains. I heard a light whooshing sound as the fire eagerly rushed up the ready tinder. Just the beginning. The whole place would be devoured within minutes.

Gage punched Ridge again, and his body went slack.

The fire crackled as Gage pushed himself to his feet. He took two steps toward me and stopped. With effort, he lifted his foot again, teetering.

He fell.

“Gage!” I screamed.

No answer.

Fire licked across the ceiling.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I
had to do something or we would all die. I looked around me, searching for an answer. Bailey was kneeling next to Charlie, patting his cheek. “Charlie, Charlie. Wake up.” She repeated the pitiful request like a litany.

I thought about helping her. If we could get him up, he might free us.

Or he might free Bailey and leave the rest of us to feed the fire.

Better to find another plan, though what I could do in my tied-up, wounded condition escaped me.

Wounded.

That’s when I remembered the glass falling from the window and cutting my leg. Collapsing to my knees, I dived under the bed where I’d shoved it with my foot, cutting my fingers as I lifted it. Apparently sharp enough. I wedged it under the rope on my wrist, and something warm dripped down into my left hand. My brain registered pain, but I had to keep pushing.

Beside me, Bailey was sobbing.
Not so fun when you’re the captive, is it?
I wanted to taunt, but my wrist hurt too much, and I was too worried about Gage. And Dylan. If he’d hidden upstairs, I might not free myself in time.

Besides, if I said anything to Bailey, I might lose all my nerve and collapse in a shivering lump of fear.

The rope parted at last, and I dropped the glass before I did more damage. My entire hand was running with blood, but I wrapped it in the bottom of my T-shirt and pressed it against my stomach.

“Don’t leave me here,” Bailey whined. “Please.”

I had no choice but to pick up the glass again and work on her ropes. No choice because I wasn’t a monster, and I didn’t want to be the cause of her death. I sliced her ropes more cleanly than I had my own, not even scratching her with the glass.

“You have to help me with Gage,” I told her. “I’ve hurt my wrist, and I don’t know if I can carry him alone. Once we get him out, you come back for Charlie while I search for Dylan. He’s hiding in the house somewhere.”

I didn’t wait for her reply but hurried to where Gage had fallen. The sound of the fire was louder here, crackling merrily as if happy to be freed from its long prison. My face grew instantly hot. Near the window, only feet away from Gage, Ridge’s body was aflame. My stomach twisted at the terrible sight, but there was nothing I could do for him.

I knelt beside Gage, feeling for a pulse. Relief spread through me as I detected a steady beating. He was alive—for now. But the bullet had hit him in the upper chest, and he was losing blood fast.

I glanced behind me at Bailey, who hovered uncertainly over her brother’s body. “Help me!” I shouted. “He’s bleeding. I need your help!”

Bailey took a step toward me, her face frozen as she stared at Gage. Only one step, and she stopped, her face a mask of indecision. Then she turned and grabbed her brother’s arm, dragging him out of the little bedroom and past me to the outside door.

I wasn’t surprised. Not really. She’d chosen her brother once before, and nothing had changed in all these years. She loved Gage, but she cared more for Charlie—and herself. Maybe she was hoping we’d all die in the fire and her secret would remain safe.

Bailey stumbled at the door and fell. Coughing, she wrenched it open and reached for Charlie again.

“Gage!” I yelled in his face. “I need you! Wake up!” No reply. I slapped his face hard with my good right hand. Once. Twice. His arm came up to stop the third blow. He tried to speak, but I talked over him, yelling to be heard over the greedy fire. “We need to get you outside.”

He shook his head. “Dylan.”

“I’ll come back for him as soon as you’re out.”

“We’ll get him together.”

The whole ceiling was aflame. There wasn’t time to argue. “Where would he go?”

“Kitchen. He always hides in the kitchen when we play inside.”

I prayed he was right. I helped him to a crouch as best I could. He was a big man, but I had no idea he was so heavy. We stumbled together toward the open kitchen door. Several times I didn’t think either of us would make it. We should have crawled, but I couldn’t have helped him then. I dared a look behind me and saw that Bailey had succeeded in getting outside. The oxygen from the open door only fueled the fire more. It was too much to hope that she’d come back to help me with Gage.

Once in the kitchen, Gage shut the door behind us and immediately the roar of the fire dimmed, but I knew it was only an illusion of safety. Smoke still poured around the door, and the air was so hot that sweat dripped from our bodies. “To the floor,” I said, dropping flat. Gage followed my example, grimacing at the pain.

The kitchen was brighter than the bedroom had been before the fire, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through an intact, unboarded window. Unlike the rest of the house, it seemed to have much of its original furniture and other contents. Dishes and pans sat in piles along the short countertop and had obviously been used without washing. More transients, I supposed. The table was metal with a Formica top and matching chairs. Ugly and out-of-date, but sturdy and unbroken. Cupboards and closets filled the better part of two walls. I crawled toward them. Gage started for the other side, but he was moving slowly.

“Dylan!” I called. “Come out now.”

“Dylan!” Gage echoed. “I’m here.”

He wasn’t in any of the closets, cupboards, or under the sink, and a feeling of horror crept into my mind. If I hadn’t sent him away to hide, he would have been safe with us now.

“Look for something you’d never guess was big enough.” Gage had slumped up against a cupboard, apparently unable to move. He looked terrible and sounded even worse. “Something that couldn’t possibly hold his size. He’s good at pulling stuff over him. Lying down. Making himself small.”

Impossible. The only thing in any of the cupboards besides loose trash was a wooden box that I was sure had once held potatoes because it resembled a box my grandmother had used. A burlap bag lined the bottom. Surely there hadn’t been enough room inside to hide even a tiny little boy.

I back-tracked toward the pantry where I’d seen the box, tears running down my face. “Dylan,” I shouted. “It’s okay, you can come out now. Please.”

I reached the pantry and shook my head at the box in the corner, which stood about eighteen inches tall. No way. Too small. I felt the burlap anyway, finding the box inside was far shallower than its sides indicated. Beneath the burlap was hard wood, not a soft body, and I cried out with disappointment. Behind me, I heard Gage coughing.

Would there still be enough time to go upstairs to search for Dylan? Was anything even there? Bailey had referred to it as a glorified loft.

A pinpoint of light came from the bottom of the box through the hard surface under the burlap. My imagination? I grabbed at the box and pulled. It resisted slightly, and then Dylan was blinking at me from the space under the box, holding his flashlight to his chest. At once I understood. Small holes had been drilled in the bottom to allow the air to circulate under the potatoes to keep them fresher. Dylan had turned the box over to have enough space to squeeze into, and what I’d thought was the inside was actually the underside.

The frightened look on his face subsided when he saw me. “It’s okay,” I said, gathering him into my arms. “Your uncle’s here, and we’re safe.”

“Did you call for me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I thought Bailey was trying to trick me. Or my mind was doing the tricks.” He hiccupped the last words.

I wiped his tears with my undamaged hand. “You’re just fine. But your uncle’s hurt, and I need your help to get him outside. There’s a fire. That’s why there’s all this smoke.”

“We have to crawl,” he said. “And get out quick. They said that in school.”

“They’re right.” I’d been edging out of the panty as we talked and at that moment, Dylan saw Gage. Forgetting everything he’d been taught in school, the little boy flew through the smoky air toward Gage. I followed as fast as I could.

“A good hiding place, huh?” Gage said.

Dylan nodded. “Tessa’s as good as you are at finding. Maybe better.”

“Go open that back door over there, okay?” Gage said. “Crawl.”

Dylan scrabbled across the floor like a crab, coughing now. I reached Gage and nudged him. “Ow,” he said.

“Get going.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?” He started the painful journey across the peeling linoleum floor.

“My sister.”

How such a tiny kitchen could have such a long floor was beyond my understanding. It was like some kind of optical illusion. I crawled one-handed, dragging my hurt leg behind me, goading Gage on with my head or shoulder or whatever was available. Dylan waited at the door, urging us to hurry with encouragement and coughs. We fell on top of him as we rolled out of the house and as far away as we could from the fire, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Better call an ambulance.” Gage lay on his back, pressing his hand to his wound.

“She took my phone.”

“Mine’s in my pocket.”

I reached into his back pocket, wanting more than anything to run my hands over him to make sure he had no other serious wounds. The way he and Ridge had gone at each other, he might have internal bleeding as well as the chest wound from the gunshot.

“Here, take this. “ Dylan stripped off his shirt and pressed it to his uncle’s chest.

Gage smiled. “Thanks. Keep pushing on it hard while Tessa calls, okay?” He looked at me. “What about Bailey?”

“I cut her loose. She got out. Charlie, too.”

“Good.”

I wondered how he’d feel if he knew she’d chosen her brother over him—again. Did forgiving her mean he still loved her? Now that he’d been cleared of the death, the only thing standing between Gage and Bailey was her past.

And me.

I made the call to 911 and returned Gage’s phone to his pocket, shrinking a little at the intimacy of it all. I wasn’t his wife, and yet I felt like I was.

“Tessa.” Gage was staring at me.

“What?” I knelt by him and used my good hand to take over from Dylan, my cut wrist pressed once more against my stomach. Gage winced as I pushed on his chest. Blood had soaked Dylan’s shirt, but I thought the flow was easing. I hoped that was because of the pressure and not because he’d lost too much blood.

Dylan turned Charlie’s flashlight onto the dirt. “Hey, there’s bugs out here.” He moved away, following something only he could see.

Gage pulled me down to the weed-stubbled ground next to him, and my hand slipped from Dylan’s shirt.

“Stop,” I ordered, replacing my hand. “We need to keep pressure on your wound.”

His grip didn’t ease. “The last thing you said to me in Mia’s kitchen was that I’d never find you. Thinking you went to your sister’s was bad enough, but after seeing the blood at Bailey’s, those words kept playing over and over in my head until I thought I’d go crazy. I knew I’d been the stupidest man alive.”

The stars overhead seemed to reverse their course. “What do you mean?”

His face was tight with the pain of his wound, and something else as well. “I mean that I’ve loved you for a very long time, even when all you could think of was him. Even when I knew there was no possibility of a future or of you looking at me like a man wants to be looked at by a woman.”

“You love me?” I felt a little giddy, but that could have been because the stars were dancing above us.