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Ray Watkins had been dead for hours.
And whoever had killed him was now stalking Lucy and Renee.
Ian punched in Zhou’s number as he began running up the path to the Jacoby cabin. At the sight of another vehicle, he clicked off.
Heart clambering, he recognized his ex-wife’s RAV4 and paused to look inside, to brush off the ice and snow and shine his light through the windows, all the while bracing himself, telling himself that he might find Lucy or Renee, trussed and killed as Watkins had been.
Please God, no.
But the interior was empty and he prayed the truck, too, had no body stuffed in it as he raced up the hillside, his heart thundering, the icy pellets of snow raining down.
* * *
Clark?
Clark was attacking her?
Why?
And where—oh God, where the hell was Renee?
Lucy struggled, but her half brother held her fast, one arm pinning both of hers, pressing her spine to his torso, his other hand forcing the back of her skull against his chest, his hand firmly over her mouth.
“Surprised?” Clark whispered into her ear, causing her skin to crawl. “Or have you remembered? Mom and Marilyn both said you were recalling what happened that night.” He let out a huff of disgust. “That’s too fucking bad. Y’know? I thought we’d gotten past that, but between you and Ray Watkins, I couldn’t take a chance.”
What was he talking about?
“I know Mom thinks Ray pulled the trigger and that you stabbed her—by mistake, of course—so I’m safe with her and Marilyn, who’ll never talk because she stabbed Mom that night and let you take the blame. You knew that, right? Marilyn was mad at Mom for stopping her from seeing Ray. I think Marilyn did it on purpose. But you . . . I couldn’t be sure.”
Clark shot their mother?
“I was really trying to shoot Ray because I hated that prick, and I never thought I’d have the chance to put him out of the picture permanently. That was my chance, y’know. But in the dark, in all the craziness, the gun went off and . . . well, you know the rest.”
Lucy’s mind whirled. She did know. She did.
Mama had nearly died, but survived her injuries. Ray was disfigured, but went to prison. And Marilyn and Lucy were shipped off to boarding school, Marilyn knowing she’d stabbed her mother, Lucy thinking she was the guilty party. There had been no clear prints on any of the weapons, except for her mother’s on the gun. No real evidence. The only credible witnesses were Tina Champagne and her children, who had all agreed that Ray Watkins had initiated the attack and tried to strangle his lover.
And now?
Holy crap!
Where the hell was Renee?
As if reading her thoughts, Clark asked, “Where’d you stash the kid?”
He didn’t know? Instinctively, she glanced to the peninsula of cabinets that were her daughter’s protection.
Clark picked up on it. “In there?” He nodded toward the kitchen, and Lucy’s heart sank. She shook her head, her hair scraping against the zipper on his jacket, but he wasn’t buying it. “Let’s take a look-see, shall we?” He walked her toward the cabinets, his hand hard over her mouth and nose. Her heart was jackhammering with dread, pumping adrenaline wildly into her bloodstream. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, harm his own niece, would he? But the deadly calm of his intent, the slow, determined dragging of her over to the kitchen convinced her otherwise.
As they turned the corner, Lucy braced herself.
“Oh, Renee,” he said in a singsong tone. “Come on out. Uncle Clark is here.”
They rounded the corner and Lucy expected to find her daughter cowering where the cabinets met the stove, but the area was empty, the only sign that anyone had been there the door to the basement still slightly ajar.
“Son of a bitch,” Clark said and reached for the door.
In that instant, when her arm was free, Lucy bit down hard on his gloved hand and heard her brother suck in his breath in shock. In the same instant, she reached under her jacket for the bayonet. She grabbed it, felt the skin on her stomach slice open, almost painless. She whirled, stabbed blindly, jabbing, swinging crazily, cutting through the down of his jacket, causing Clark to jump backward and blood to bloom over the white stuffing.
