Dawn felt a pang. What if that was true? What if—?
What about the money?
She'd left the bag stuffed beneath the seat of her car.
Explain the money, Jerry.
He kept talking but his voice faded a little as he moved from the living room into the dining room. It seemed he'd read her thoughts.
"There's somethin I oughta tell you, Dawn. When your momma came on to me the other night, well, she offered me that cash as well as herself. I gotta confess, I took the cash. I know it was wrong, but I figured it might come in handy if the game project fell through. You know… tide us over until things picked up again. I never told you because I was kinda embarrassed."
Could that be ture? It wasn't totally impossible, but somehow it didn't ring true. Something in his voice… like not only did he not believe it, but doubted she'd believe it.
Liar!
She wanted to scream it in his face, but didn't dare. Because if he was lying, it meant he'd killed Mom. And that meant she'd been living with and was now hiding from a murderer.
Her bladder spasmed, begging to empty. But it calmed as she heard him trot upstairs. She wondered if she should make a run for it.
No. Stay put. If she ran, he might catch her. If she stayed hidden, he'd cross this off as someplace to look for her.
"Dawn, darlin," he said as he came down the stairs. "Where are you, damn it."
His voice had changed. The sweet-talking tone had developed an angry edge. He was getting pissed.
He limped through the living room and headed for the kitchen. She heard the door to the garage open. She guessed he'd been so sure she was here that he hadn't bothered to check for her car. About time.
The door slammed closed.
"Shit!"
More footsteps, louder this time.
"That bitch! That fucking cow! Where the fuck is she!"
Tears sprang into Dawn's eyes. So now it came out. Now she knew what he really thought of her. Still cursing, he slammed out the front door.
Dawn stifled sobs as she waited for the sound of his car leaving. When that died down she crawled out from her hiding place. But instead of getting to her feet she lay on the carpet and cried.
What a fool she'd been, what a total jerk. How could she have let herself be sucked in like this? Jerry didn't care for her. He had some whole other freaky agenda going on.
After crying awhile longer she struggled to her hands and knees and crawled through the house. Shed been feeling her way in the dark before Jerry came. But he'd left the lights on. Still, she didn't dare stand. Someone might see her from the street.
She crept upstairs to her old bedroom—no, her new bedroom, her only bedroom now. She stopped at the door to Mom's room and stared at the yellow crime-scene tape across the master bathroom doorway. It pulled her closer.
Here was where Mom had died—not killed herself—been killed. Murdered. She was sure of that now. Just as she was sure it was all her fault.
She crumpled to her knees and stared at the tub.
I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry for believing that asshole instead of you, I'm sorry for believing that you'd ever come on to Jerry. God, that must have totally hurt you. I so should have listened. You were right all along and I acted like a total jerk. You'd be alive now if I'd paid attention.
Mom dead, because her Dawnie had been sleeping with her own father. Her life had turned to shit.
God! Somebody shoot me!
Shoot…
Mom kept a gun hidden somewhere. Dawn had found it once as a kid. A little silvery automatic or whatever they called those things. But empty at the time—Mom had kept the little thing with the bullets somewhere else. A good idea because Dawn might have hurt herself had it been loaded.
She rose and hunted until she found it in a wooden box. This time it was loaded—the slot at the bottom of the handle had been empty before, now it had something in it. What did they call it—a clip? Guess she'd felt safe leaving it loaded now.
See you soon, Mom.
Without giving herself time to think, she raised the gun, pressed the muzzle against her temple, and pulled the trigger.
But it wouldn't pull. She tugged on it again. Wouldn't budge.
She lowered it and looked at it. She didn't know anything about guns. Was it locked or something?
With a cry she hurled it across the room.
What a total loser. She couldn't even shoot a gun when she needed to.
She'd have to find another way. And she would. Because she couldn't stand being who she was, or even being with herself. One way or another, she was going to end this nightmare for good.
She totallv deserved to die.
12
Jack had seen the garage light go on during his last pass. It finally must have dawned on Bolton to check for Dawn's car. Now he'd either settle down and wait—assuming he was sure she'd show up—or go looking for her.
Betting on the latter, Jack had pulled around the corner and waited where he had a view of the house. Turned out to be a short wait.
Sure enough, a minute later Bolton came storming out and drove off, chirping his tires as he accelerated. He looked like he had a destination in mind.
Jack followed. If Bolton knew where Dawn was hiding, Jack wanted to be there when they met up.
He trailed him out of town onto the Grand Central where he headed north. When he switched over to the Deegan, still going north, Jack had a pretty good idea where he was headed. When he segued onto the Thruway, Jack was sure.
Destination: Rathburg.
And the only reason he'd be heading there tonight would be to see the author—the supposed author—of that letter.
You wanted to see what a provoked Bolton would do, Dr. Vecca? Well, lady, you're about to find out.
13
"Hey, doc. How's it going?"
Julia sat up in bed with a start. That voice. She knew it. She fumbled for the lamp on her nightstand and turned it on.
Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Jeremy Bolton sitting on the foot of her bed, some folded sheets of paper in his hand. She slept in an oversized T-shirt and comfy pants, revealing nothing, yet for some reason she found herself clutching her sheet and blanket up to her neck.
Two black eyes and a bruised, swollen nose made him look even more threatening.
"Jeremy. What… what happened to you?"
He sneered. "As if you didn't know."
She didn't know… why would he think she did? But a more important question arose.
"Why are you here?"
"Ohhhhh, I think you know."
She forced some indignation into her voice and hoped it sounded convincing.
"No, I don't, Jeremy, and I want you out of my house right now."
"That ain't gonna happen." The finality in his tone jarred her. "We got things to discuss."
"Well, whatever they are can wait till morning. Call my office first thing and I'll—"
"Tonight, doc. Tonight."
Something in his eyes frightened her. She'd always felt in charge with him—as much as anyone could be in charge of someone with that much oDNA—but tonight was different. Someone or something had unchained the beast in him. A very scary thought.
She considered screaming but dismissed that. No one would hear her, and it would immediately relegate her to a subordinate position. She had to maintain her rank as his overseer.
"'tV'i v well, then. Lei me pul on some clothes and I'll meet—"
"No. Here. Now."
And now she detected a new undertone in his voice, his expression. Fear? Had he got himself in trouble?
Robertson!
Had he gone wild and done something that could be connected to him?
"You didn't do anything foolish to that detective, did you?"
"7b him? No." He pointed to his nose. "But he did a tap dance on me—as you knew he would."
"Don't be ridiculous. You didn't… do to him what you did to Gerhard, did you?"
"No. Not yet. But I ain't here about Robertson. I'm here about you." Fury lit in his eyes as he raised the papers. "And these… your recent correspondence."