Traceless (38 page)

In the truck. She'd left it in the truck.

She ran hard in that direction.

Movement in her peripheral vision caused her to stumble.

Clint and...
Misty
.

Misty hit him with a tire iron.

Emily altered her course.

She dived on top of Misty before she could swing her weapon again. They struggled.

Nails dug into Emily's throat. She punched at Misty's face. Fingers twisted in Emily's hair. She cried out but didn't stop pounding with her fists and kicking with her feet. She reared and twisted her torso, tried to throw Misty off.

Misty's head suddenly jerked backward.

Emily scrambled out from under her.

"Get up, you idiot!"

Justine
.

"You can't let her get away," Misty wailed as she staggered to her feet. "She knows! Just like Heather did!"

"Shut up!" Clutching a gun in her hand, Justine glared at Misty.

What was Justine doing with a gun?
Oh
,
God
. It was true.

Emily scooted closer to Clint's motionless body, hoping the argument between the two women would keep them distracted for a moment.
Please don't let him be dead!
She reached out, felt his chest rise and fall.

Thank God.

"Get away from him!"

Emily's gaze collided with Justine's.

"Get up!" Justine aimed the gun at her.

Rage erupting inside her, Emily pushed to her feet. Her head spun and she swayed. "You killed Heather." She flung the words at Justine, her vision blurring. Emily blinked to clear it. "She trusted you... loved you, and you killed her."

"She knew." Justine braced her feet wide apart, like the cops on television, as if she was preparing to fire her weapon. "She was going to tell. Something had to be done."

"Don't say any more, Justine!" Misty screamed. "Just shoot her and it'll be finished."

Justine's face contorted with fury that she turned toward Misty. "If you'd done it right the first time, we wouldn't be having this discussion!"

"You can't do it; let me," Misty sneered. She held out her hand. "I'm the one who took care of all the other problems. One mistake doesn't change the fact that you need me to protect you."

"Heather was the only one who had to die," Justine snarled. "You didn't have to kill Keith. He wouldn't have told anyone. He was too afraid to tell."

"He almost told Troy," Misty argued, her voice rising with obvious frustration. "Keith was weak. He was going to screw up everything. I know it." She pounded her chest. "I'm the smart one!"

"He still loved me."

Misty laughed. "He was finished with you. That's why he spilled his guts to Heather. That's what started all of this. Or have you forgotten?"

Emily was torn between trying to make a move and listening to this insanity play out. And then her emotions made the decision for her.

"You killed Heather because you didn't want to lose Keith?"

Justine glared at Emily, her eyes ablaze with hatred. "Don't be stupid. I didn't kill anyone. Misty did it to protect me. No one can pin any of that on me." She sent a scornful glance at her friend and colleague. "Besides, it was Keith's fault Heather had to die. He told her about us. She confronted me. Snatched my necklace off my throat and had the nerve to say I didn't deserve it. After all I'd done for you girls. The bitch was going to go to the police. I would've lost my job," Justine added angrily. "Gone to jail or gotten lynched by some of the rednecks around here. All for giving a chosen few of my students the biggest thrills of their insignificant little lives."

"Heather had to die," Misty chimed in a depraved chorus. "There was no other option."

Justine glowered at her accomplice. "But you didn't get the necklace back. Ray held that over me all those years. That damned necklace kept him from buying our story that Keith was guilty, even with his blackout that night and the blood we smeared all over him and his clothes. You screwed that up, too."

"Ray was stupid, just like all the others," Misty said with a snort of derision. "Men always hurt you in the end."

"Shut up!" Justine screamed at Misty before turning her full attention back to Emily. "You shouldn't have come back, Em. Austin would have given up eventually if it hadn't been for you." She locked her elbows and adjusted her hold on the weapon. "You ruined everything."

Emily's heart stumbled as she mentally grappled for some sort of plan.

"Let me do it," Misty demanded as she sidled closer to Justine, her big eyes fixed on Emily from behind those thick lenses. "All I have to do is say how these two went crazy and I was protecting you from them." She reached for the weapon. "No one will question us. They wouldn't dare. We've got too much on them."

"No." Justine elbowed her away. "You've done enough already. You're the one who made this mess. This time I'm cleaning it up."

"You're upset," Misty insisted. "You don't know what you're doing."

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Justine argued.

Emily risked a glance in Clint's direction. He still lay on the ground seemingly unconscious, but the bunching of his biceps told her he was bracing for a move.

If he tried to stop them, Justine would shoot him.

"I said, let me have the gun," Misty commanded.

Emily had to do something first. She aimed her full attention on Justine.
She
was responsible for Heather's death. And Keith's... and Ray's.
She
had ruined Clint's life. And Emily's.
She
wasn't going to get away with this anymore.

Justine shoved Misty aside. "Stay out of my way. I don't need any more help from you."

When Misty protested and reached for the gun, Emily lunged at Justine, knocked her arms upward. The weapon discharged in the air, the sound deafening. They hit the ground, Justine on top. Emily's arms shook with the effort of keeping the barrel of the gun pointed away from her. Justine fought harder, tried to turn the gun toward Emily.

A shoe connected with the side of Justine's head. Her grip loosened. Emily grabbed control of the weapon as Clint shoved Justine off her. Misty, her glasses askew, was hanging on his back, her arms locked around his neck in a choke hold.

Emily scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking but closed firmly around the butt of the weapon. "Get off him," she ordered Misty, her voice wobbly.

Clint pried the crazy woman's arms free of his throat. Misty screamed and bit his ear.

"I said get off him!" Emily repeated, louder this time, but Misty wasn't listening.

Justine clambered to her feet, grabbed the tire iron, and rushed Clint.

A decade's worth of pain and suffering coalesced inside Emily in that split second. The images of Heather, Keith, and Ray flashed in front of her eyes.

The weapon fired. Emily jerked with the recoil.

Justine dropped the tire iron. She stared down at the blood bubbling from the hole in the center of her chest. Then she looked at Emily, her mouth worked as if she wanted to say something, but the words went to hell with her. She crumpled to the ground.

Misty howled in agony. She jumped off Clint and dived at Emily. Clint grabbed Misty around the waist and held her back.

The sirens wailing in the distance sent a wave of relief crashing over Emily. Help was almost here. Her head felt woozy and her knees were weak. She hadn't called them... had she?

"Put the weapon down, Emily," Clint urged above Misty's shrieking. "Put it down, okay?"

Emily lowered her arms to her sides as the world started to spin around her.

She'd killed Justine.

The weapon slipped from Emily's fingers, landed in the charred grass. Her gaze shifted from the gun to the woman who had been her coach... her teacher... her friend. Emily's chest rose and fell with the emotion building inside her. The tears spilled past her lashes.

She hoped that bitch burned in hell for all eternity.

Uniformed deputies rushed toward them, shouting orders.

Emily's gaze met Clint's and the corners of his lips lifted reassuringly. It might not be over, but at least they were alive.

5:20 a.m.

Night had grayed into dawn, bringing a light drizzle with it. The trailer was trashed. And cops were everywhere.

The county sheriff had dropped by to make sure backup wasn't needed. According to what Clint overheard, the arrangement had been set up by Ray a couple weeks ago. Whatever happened at Clint's place fell under the jurisdiction of Pine Bluff's finest until further notice. Paramedics had arrived and taken care of Clint's arm. It wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.

Once she'd calmed down, Misty had given her statement, which conflicted in most every way with Clint's and Emily's. As Clint watched, the woman was settled into the back of a cruiser in preparation for transport to City Hall.

Clint had a bad feeling about how this would go down. As much as he wanted to believe that justice would prevail as long as he and Emily stood together, history wasn't on his side.

Mike Caruthers walked over to where they waited. "Clint. Emily." He looked from one to the other. "We need to go on down to City Hall and get this done."

Clint figured that might be a good idea, considering the press had arrived in force. "The sooner we get this over with, the better," he said to Emily as he put his arm around her. They were both soaked and exhausted. "You okay with this? You want to call someone first?"

As much as Justine had deserved what she'd gotten, he hated that Emily was the one who'd had to do the job. That moment would forever be indelibly etched on her psyche.

She looked up at him, her eyes sad, her expression weary. "Let's just finish this."

Caruthers escorted them toward the waiting squad cars. "My men will make sure the press doesn't follow. Clint, you'll go with Deputy Fitzpatrick, and Emily'll ride with me."

Emily looked unsure of the arrangement.

"Look, Caruthers," Clint argued. "I don't see why we can't ride together. You already have our statements. Nothing we said is going to change."

"Sorry, Clint, we have protocol on these matters."

Clint knew there was no point in arguing. He kissed Emily's forehead. "I'll see you there." Then he refused to get into the car with Fitzpatrick until Emily was settled.

Once Clint had climbed in, Fitzpatrick pulled out onto the dirt road right behind Caruthers. Clint tried to relax, but with Emily out of his reach, he couldn't. It was a short drive to town. He had to believe in the system that had failed him once already... it was all they had. No need to get himself worked up like this, but his instincts wouldn't stop humming.

When they reached the intersection at 18, Caruthers took a right. Clint sat up straighter

Fitzpatrick took the left that led directly into Pine Bluff. Clint turned around in his seat and watched Caruthers drive off in the other direction.

"Why the hell is he going that way?"

"My orders are to take you to City Hall." Fitzpatrick met Clint's gaze in the rearview mirror. "I'm certain Caruthers knows what he's doing."

The vehicle carrying Emily faded out of sight... taking her farther from Clint's reach.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Emily didn't want to think. She kept her eyes closed and tried to block all the things Justine and Misty had said from playing over and over in her head. Now she knew what Heather had intended to tell her. About Justine. Heather was going to tell Emily and then they could have gone to the police together.

Tears scalded Emily's eyes, leaked past her clenched lids.

Damn Justine Mallory and Misty Briggs both to hell.

Emily would see that Misty got what she deserved, too.

The car suddenly slowed and started to bump over the shoulder of the road.

Emily's eyes shot open. She sat up, looked around. Didn't immediately recognize their location.

She leaned forward. "Deputy Caruthers? Mike?"

The deputy shifted the car into park, released his seat belt, and turned sideways to look at her. "You all right, Emily?"

There was no reason to be afraid. She knew Mike Caruthers, not all that well, but he'd married one of her closest friends.

But she'd known Misty and Justine, too.

Emily blinked, stared at his profile. Recognition slammed into her... the blondish hair... he was one of the guys in the photo she'd taken from Justine's house. Emily had only seen his profile in the picture. His profile and the blond hair that wasn't quite blond. It was him. She remembered now. He'd hated his carrot top so bad, he'd tried to go blond one summer. As a freshman, she vaguely remembered making fun of him behind his back.

Mike Caruthers had been one of Justine's
boys
.