Vengeance (21 page)

M
ax drove the silver SUV as fast as possible without attracting the attention of the police. He wiped his sweating palms against his pant legs and ordered himself to stay calm. They were almost at the Pacific Science Center. If he could get there before the fire Val saw in her vision started, and before she was spotted by someone on her way to Delilah,
and
if he could force Georgie to confess in front of an audience, then…he didn't know.

The plan was crazy. It wasn't as much a plan as a desperate attempt by two desperate people to reclaim their futures from a fate that'd so far been worse than cruel. If he could finally be free of the invisible strings that had controlled him his entire life, and be with Val without the specter of Robby's unresolved death hanging over them, then the recklessness they'd been forced to embrace would be worth it.

His heart stopped when a police cruiser with its lights flashing screamed up behind them, but it flew past. He glanced in the rearview mirror but didn't spot any other cops or pursuers, thank God. Georgie wept in the passenger's seat, his fat cheeks jiggling with his sobs. Max frowned as pity for the pathetic accountant tempered his anger. He didn't like to see a grown man cry.

“You're going to be okay,” Max said to Georgie, aware it was probably a lie. “Once everyone knows the truth, the people who've been chasing you will have no reason to come after you anymore.”

“Bing,” Georgie cried. “I just left him.”

“Who?”

“My cat. I just left him behind in my car. What kind of monster have I become?”

Max repressed an eye roll. “Everyone deserves a second chance, if they're committed to making amends.” Max certainly hoped that was true—he wanted a second chance. “How much money did you embezzle away from Carressa Industries for my father anyway?”

Georgie hiccupped, then swallowed hard. “About, uh, a little less than, um, forty million, I think.”

“
Forty million dollars?
” Max's anger surged back. “What the hell was he planning to do with that kind of money?”

“I don't know. I never—”

“Yeah, I know, you never asked.” He could guess why his father would hoard that much money—it was Lester's escape fund in case Max ever wised up and turned on him, so he could sip daiquiris in the Bahamas instead of facing the consequences of molesting his own son for years to pad his bank account.

Too late, Dad.

Georgie wiped tears from his eyes and looked at Max. “Do you think someone found Bing and—”

“Your goddamn cat is fine. Shut up, please.”

Five minutes later the Space Needle dominated the sky directly above them, the Pacific Science Center nestled at its base. A stream of people heading to the event cut across the road at more frequent points as he got closer. Within a block, he saw folks running, talking excitedly with one another, pointing toward the Center. Flashing lights emerged in the distance, around the glow of fire.

Max squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He was too late to reach Val before the fire. Now she was somewhere inside the Center, either fighting for her life, or…He didn't want to think about the other possibilities her first vision had proffered. He needed to ditch Georgie and get in there and help her as soon as possible.

Traffic in front of him stopped as other drivers noticed the disturbance on the far side of the Center and craned their necks to look. Ahead of him, a local news van—probably in the area to cover the science outreach event—sat crooked in the grass where it had rushed to pull over. The camera crew spilled out of the back, untangling wires and snapping pieces of equipment together in a mad scramble to capture the surprise story. A platinum blond news reporter yelled at her colleagues to pick up the pace while she hunched in front of the van's side mirror and applied powder to her face. Her butt partly obscured the logo of the TV station familiar to every Seattle local: KIRO 7 News.

The number 7 is important…

Max hit the gas, dodged the car in front of him, and cut onto the lawn. Georgie yelped and braced himself against the dashboard as they bounced across the grass and slammed to a halt three feet from the news crew. Max jumped out, ran to the passenger's side, and dragged Georgie from the SUV while the crew stared in stunned silence.

“Want a
real
story?” Max said to the wide-eyed reporter while he held a struggling Georgie in place. “Today's your lucky day.”

“Are you
Maxwell Carressa
?” the reporter asked like Santa Claus had appeared.

“Yes, and this is the accountant who was colluding with my defense lawyer to steal my company's money.”

The blonde—Bridget Pearson, Max recalled from the handful of news broadcasts he'd seen her in—looked back and forth between him and Georgie. “Oh my God.
Oh my God!
Carl, get over here
now
!”

A young man with a giant camera perched on his shoulder rushed forward. Bridget fluffed her hair, snatched a microphone from Carl's hand, and shoved it in Max's face.

“Mr. Carressa, are you saying that your lawyer, Dean Price, who you and your girlfriend killed yesterday, was framing you for your father's murder so that he could steal your money?”

Max eyed the camera, saw the red light that meant it was recording. He frowned; he hated the media. Even before his father's death made national news, the paparazzi harassed him constantly. They'd lurk in the bushes to snap pictures of “Seattle's most reclusive millionaire bachelor” getting into his car or some other banal action that would pop up on the Internet a few hours later. Slow news days often featured an update on his love life. Why anybody cared, he'd never know, though the ever-present nuisance meant he spent a lot of energy avoiding them, in case they stumbled upon one of his real secrets. At least now he finally had a use for the vultures.

“We didn't kill Dean Price,” Max said to the camera, “Dean Price killed himself. And for the record, Valentine Shepherd isn't my accomplice. She's innocent of any wrongdoing. People were trying to kill her, and—”

He stopped himself, glanced at the Center. He was wasting time with the cameras when he needed to get in there to help Val. Besides, he should talk to a lawyer—one who wasn't plotting against him ideally—before saying anything more. He'd already delivered Georgie to the media. Mission accomplished. Time to get the hell out of there.

Max shoved Georgie toward Bridget. The accountant stumbled forward and fell to his knees, eyes wide and lips trembling.

“Talk to him,” Max said. “His name is George McOwen, and he can tell you all about how he and Dean Price embezzled my company's money.”

Georgie shook his head. “They made me do it!” he cried. “I was afraid. I wanted to keep my job and—”

Max didn't stick around for any more of Georgie's blubbering. He turned away and trotted toward the Pacific Science Center's entrance. A mob of cops and firefighters grew each second as waves of emergency vehicles appeared on the scene. If he kept his head down, he could ride the crowd of confused and excited civilians into the Center before the area was locked down.

“Wait!” Bridget called after him. “Everyone still thinks you're a murderer. Don't you want to tell your side of the story?”

“No,” he said, and disappeared into the chaos.

V
al breathed hard where she crouched against the pallet in the service hallway, trapped. Ten feet away, the Italian's body continued to leak blood onto the white-tiled floor, his gun still cupped in his slack hand. She balled her hands into fists and forced herself to rally. There was a way out of this. There was always a way. If she could get to the dead man's gun, she could fight back—

Pallet merchandise ten inches from Val's chest exploded when Barrister shot through her cover. She gasped and hit the floor. Chunks of a destroyed plastic toy dug into her forearms. She needed to move, or die. Her escape was just twenty-five feet away, across the hallway through the door marked “Wing C”—

Another bullet blew through the pallet. It left a divot in the tile where it ricocheted off the ground to her left. He was shooting downward. He knew she was lying on the ground to minimize her profile. He knew all these tactics. Any second he'd realize she was out of bullets rather than panicked. Then he'd just walk up and kill her. But since he hadn't stepped out of his cover, he didn't yet realize she had no ammo…

Val grabbed the discarded revolver from behind her as another bullet ripped through the pallet and took out a chunk of her thigh. She cried out as pain shot up her leg, though thankfully the leg still worked. The pain fueled her anger and fortified her resolve. If he thought she'd roll over without a fight, he was dead wrong. Fuck that bastard. She leaned around the corner with a careless rage, pointed her gun straight at Barrister's exposed torso, and pulled the trigger.

The gambit worked. Barrister ducked behind cover as the revolver's hammer clicked into an empty chamber. She flung the gun down the hallway at his position to buy herself an extra second of confusion. As it sailed through the air, she lunged for the Italian. She heard the revolver hit the floor and slide as her fingers scooped up the dead man's gun. Slipping a little on his blood, she sprinted for the alcove. A bullet whizzed past her head and crashed into the wall behind her just as she crossed the alcove's threshold. She threw open the door to Wing C and rushed inside.

Val pressed her back against the wall next to the door and gasped for breath, her heart pounding like a Tomahawk war drum. He wouldn't follow her, not now that he knew she had a fully loaded gun to ambush him with. He'd try to waylay her at some other point up ahead. Her eyes cast about for any sense of where she was, for an exit sign. The room was dark, illuminated only by emergency lights sparsely dispersed along the periphery. In the corner she saw the silhouette of a giant globe hanging from the ceiling, the rings of Saturn extending from it.

“
No!”

She'd stumbled into the closed space exhibit, probably from the opposite side this time. At least she had a weapon now, the Italian's Glock—which just happened to be the same make as her own gun, like in her vision…son of a bitch. Despite all the things she had changed, events were still playing out toward the same conclusion.

A more calculating man would've retreated back to the Center's main hall, found the police, claimed a mad gunwoman was stalking him, and pinned the Italian man's murder on her.

That's what a rational person would've done—not Norman. He was coming to kill her.

She'd be damned if she let that bastard choke her to death. He wouldn't get away with what he'd done, so help her God.

Val followed the wall, hoping it would lead her to the exit like in a traditional maze. But an asteroid display cut her off after a few feet, and she was forced to go deeper into the exhibit. She swerved around models of stars, exoplanets, black holes. Past a panel illustrating the history of the universe. She took a right at a pile of disassembled display parts—and ran into the asteroid display again.

“Goddammit!”

She rushed around the display, turned left, and stumbled to a halt when a replica of the Mars Rover came into view, next to a “Fun Facts about Mars” placard.

Oh no.

She spun around, and of course, just like in her vision, Barrister was there. He clocked her in the face so hard she flew backward and crashed into the wall. Her gun fell out of her hand and disappeared somewhere on the ground. He grabbed her sweatshirt in both hands and threw her against the wall again. Val pounded his chest with her fists and kicked him in the shins, but his massive frame absorbed the blows with more irritation than pain. He lifted her in the air and slammed her into the ground, knocking the wind out of her. Then he wrapped his giant hands around her neck and squeezed.

Val clawed at his hands, but they were like metal vises. She looked away from his grotesque face, warped in homicidal fury, as stars popped in her vision and blackness closed in around the edges.

Please don't let it end like this.

She didn't know who she pleaded to—God, the Fates, whoever pulled the invisible strings of the future, whatever gave her the ability to predict this moment. The woman in white, with a voice like a Baroque sonata.

“
You know what you must do, and yet you keep dying.”

Her fading gaze settled on the display to her right—a kiosk dedicated to Olympus Mons, the tallest mountain in the solar system.

“
Pray at the base of the mountain that touches heaven.”

This was it. She pawed at the kiosk, her strength quickly waning. Her hand fell, and she groped around the floor underneath it.

Please. Please.

Then she felt it—the Italian's gun. It must've slid under the kiosk after she'd dropped it. She grasped it with weak fingers and put the barrel to Barrister's head as blackness devoured her world. With all the strength she had left, she pulled the trigger.

Through her sliver of consciousness, a pop. Then the vise around her neck loosened. Val gasped, sucking in precious air. It burned through her bruised throat and flooded her lungs. She blinked as the dark outline of Olympus Mons came into focus again, towering above her. Barrister's heavy, dead body slouched on top of her chest. After pushing him off with shaking arms, her whole body a mass of trembling jelly, she slowly sat up. She touched her throat, felt the raw skin where Norman had nearly crushed her windpipe. Maybe he
had
crushed it; every breath felt like fire, though the pain was a bargain for the sweet air it provided.

She couldn't believe it. She'd lived. She'd changed the future.

Justice for Robby had been delivered. What now for her and Max? Did Delilah still need her help, and would Barrister's wife still come through with evidence to incriminate her husband? How would she explain any of this to the police? Would they still try to kill her? Would Max go to prison for killing his father? All the questions she'd put off thinking about jumped to the forefront of her mind now that Robby and Chet, and Dean to an extent, had finally been avenged. She couldn't think of any answers. The relief of just breathing, of feeling her heart beat, dominated her thoughts.

With great effort she hefted herself to her feet. Val stood still for a moment to ensure her wobbly legs would hold, then shuffled forward to renew her search for the exit with significantly less urgency. She limped on her injured leg, the adrenaline that had compensated for the pain now dissipated. Finally the exit revealed itself behind the Mars section, a simple glowing red sign above a black door that reminded her of the Red Raven's entrance—a doorway into another world.

She pushed open the exit and stepped into a loud room full of anxious people, a stage wedged against the far wall where Barrister was supposed to be addressing his fans about his love for science. The noise from the commotion outside had apparently masked the firefight that'd taken place inside the service hallway.

For a moment no one noticed her, the wanted fugitive, standing there holding a gun, bullet wounds on her arm and leg, fresh bruises marring her face and neck. Then a woman looked at her and shrieked. A shock wave rippled through the crowd as everyone's attention jumped away from the explosion outside and onto Val. People backed away, and a bubble formed around her. From the corner of her eye she saw a flurry of movement. A second later a college-age version of the colonel pushed his way through.

“Where's my father?” Norman Junior demanded.

She opened her mouth and tried to ask him where his mother was, but the words came out as a wheeze through her mangled throat.

Junior narrowed his eyes and stepped toward her with the same arrogant bravado as his father. However Norman had terrorized his wife, his son seemed ready and willing to carry on his violent-asshole legacy. “I'm not afraid of you, bitch—”

Val's mouth curled into a snarl and she raised her fist like she might punch the little fucker's face in. The crowd gasped and the bubble grew wider as Junior recoiled from her and backed away. Before she could break his nose, a sign above his head caught her eye—“Puget Sound Model and Saltwater Tide Pool,” with an arrow pointing to a corridor on her right.

Puget Sound
…that's where Max's visions had told him to go. That's where she'd find him—if he was alive. Wherever Delilah was, she was safe from her husband now. Val could track her down and get the evidence she had after making sure Max was okay.

Val lowered her fist, though the invisible cordon around her remained. No one followed her as she limped toward the Puget Sound exhibit, praying she'd find him there.