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She glanced at the briefcase she’d cast so casually onto the passenger seat. A quarter of a million dollars. Enough to change a girl’s life forever. The lighter clicked, and she found a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. “Oh, baby,” she whispered, imagining her life and how it was going to change.
For the better.
But just wait until Brett realized she’d conned him, pulled a switcheroo. The son of a bitch was going to hit the roof when he realized he didn’t have a son after all, that she’d dressed the twins in each other’s clothing: Adam became Ariel, and her daughter became her son. She’d thought Brett might check but figured he’d been too stunned to discover he’d fathered two kids, not one, to think about it.
“Serves you right,” she said, taking another long drag and feeling the nicotine swirl through her bloodstream.
This way, knowing he had a son, the DNA/paternity report being on a male, Brett would come back to the well. His old man would insist upon it, and then she’d really put the screws to him. No measly two hundred and fifty thousand, no way. This time she’d ask for a cool million. Surely an heir, a male heir, was worth that to that greedy chauvinistic old man.
In the rearview, she saw the Mustang begin to move.
Away from her.
“Good.”
She sped to the spot where the dirt tracks became gravel and slowed for a curve.
Crack!
A sharp report echoed over the valley.
And again.
Crraack!
What?
Gun shots? A car backfiring? What?
Her gaze flew to the mirror again, and then, after a pause, two more shots blasted in rapid succession and then—
Blam!
The earth shook violently.
With the explosion, the Caddy shimmied, tires bouncing.
Panicked, Didi hit the brakes. The big car fishtailed.
In the rearview, she caught a glimpse of a huge fireball rising into the desert sky.
Oh. God!
Night became day.
Brett’s Mustang was nowhere to be seen.
Her heart clenched. Her stomach heaved. Her worst fears screamed through her brain. His car blew up! He and everything in it, including precious Ariel, are destroyed!
“No! No! No!” She screamed, her hands gripping the wheel as she stood on the brakes. The white Cadillac shuddered to a stop. Dust rained down on her. This couldn’t be happening. She twisted around to stare out the back window. “Please, please . . . oh, God, please, no.” Her throat was tight, her grief unbearable. Not her baby. Nothing bad could have happened to her precious Ariel. “No,” she whimpered, starting to sob. Horror scratched at her soul, tears ran from her eyes, and for a split second, she thought about turning the car around, driving to the inferno and . . .
And what? What can you do?
The cops will be out here in minutes, and how can you explain what happened out here? Besides, you don’t know . . .
“Oh, God. Oh, dear God . . . oh, oh.” She was trembling, shivering from the inside out. She had to do something, anything! But the raging inferno illuminating that barren part of the desert was burning out of control. No one could have survived.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, then hit the gas and tore away, gravel spraying, mascara running into her eyes, a bump sounding in the rear of the vehicle. Oh, no . . . not a flat tire, not a piece of the Caddy falling off. She blinked and tried to see. If a part of her car were left out here . . . And did she hear a moan? No, that was the pitiful sound escaping from her own throat.
