Charles looked in his rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb. Tanner had given him the evil eye as he’d shown him out, but Bobby had become complacent and needed that kick in the ass. He thought of how far they’d come since the day they’d met. He’d known there was something there, something worth molding. The baggage Bobby carried made his job all the easier. There had been a drive, a need to dominate.
Part of it came from the man who’d raised Bobby with an iron fist. He was long dead, having raised his iron fist to Bobby once too often. Bobby raised an iron fist right back and beat the man to death with it, along with his wife. Tanner had somehow been involved, to what extent, Charles had never been able to determine. He did know that Tanner had been charged and Bobby had helped the old man escape. Since then, they’d been inseparable.
But Tanner was old, as much a relic as that house. Bobby needed to move on. To claim that birthright, because the lion’s share of Bobby’s desire to dominate was genetic. It was an indisputable fact to anyone who took the time to look, but surprisingly, no one had. No one but me. Charles often wondered why no one else had seen what had been so obvious the first time he’d looked into Bobby’s blue eyes.
It was as indelible as a brand.
Speaking of which, Charles had to admit he was a bit surprised at Susannah. She’d gone to the police and told them about Darcy Williams. He truly had not anticipated that. However, he was certain she’d said no more than she’d had to. Six years ago he’d led her to a place she never even conceived existed. He’d shown her the depth of perversion of which she personally was capable. Not once, not twice, but again and again until she couldn’t pretend it hadn’t been her idea, until she despised herself for the depths of obsession to which she’d sunk and clung.
That’s where Bobby and Susannah were different, he mused. Bobby yearned for the birthright. Susannah spurned it. Both were equally intense in their goal.
Intensity made for vulnerability. This he’d learned the hard way.
This morning he’d pushed Susannah and she’d responded by confessing. In hindsight, he should have seen that coming. She’d turned to her faith after the Darcy episode. Her faith and her career. And in both had convinced herself she was back in control. But Charles knew differently. His mentor Pham always said that once one tasted the forbidden, the flavor lingered. Tempted.
Charles could push Susannah where he wanted her to go. It was a challenge.
Today he’d pushed Bobby. Now he had to stand back and see how his star pupil would respond. He sincerely hoped Rocky would be dealt with. He’d been even less pleased with Bobby’s choice of recruit than he’d been with Granville’s.
Granville tagged Simon Vartanian young, but even then Charles had seen the insanity in the boy. Then Simon had been proclaimed dead by his father. Simon hadn’t been dead, of course, only banished. It was Judge Vartanian’s way of neutralizing the impact of Simon’s bad deeds on his own judicial career. The Judge told everyone Simon had been in a car accident. He’d even had some stranger’s body buried in Simon’s grave. And standing by Simon’s grave back then, Charles had been relieved. Simon had his uses, but given long enough, he would have brought Granville down.
When Granville tagged Mansfield, he’d been optimistic. But Randy Mansfield hadn’t become half the man his father had been.
As for Rocky, she wasn’t insane or worthless. However, she had a softness, a pathos that was a definite liability. And now she knew their secrets. She knows my face.
If Bobby doesn’t eliminate her, I’ll have to.
Atlanta , Saturday February 3, 10:15 a.m.
“Wake up.”
Monica heard the hissed words and struggled to obey. Her eyelids lifted.
My eyes work again. She moved her arm, gratified when she felt the tug of the IV needle. The breathing tube is still in. I can’t talk. But I’m not paralyzed.
She blinked and a face came into focus. A nurse. Panic sent her pulse scrambling.
“Just listen,” the nurse said hoarsely, and Monica could see the woman’s eyes were red from crying. “They have your sister. I have a picture.” She shoved her phone in front of Monica’s eyes and Monica’s scrambling heart seemed to stop.
Oh God, it was true. It was Genie, curled into a ball, her mouth gagged, her hands tied. She was in the trunk of a car. She might be dead. Oh God.
“She’s alive,” the nurse said. “But they mean business, make no mistake. I was supposed to kill you, but I couldn’t.” Tears filled her eyes and she dashed them away. “Now my sister is dead. They beat her to death. Because I didn’t kill you.”
Horrified, Monica watched the nurse inject something into her IV and walk away.
Chapter Twelve
Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 11:05 a.m.
I can’t do this,” Rocky said. “I’ll be caught.”
“You’re afraid,” Bobby said scornfully.
“Yes,” Rocky said. “I am. You want me to walk into the middle of the town and shoot Susannah Vartanian in the cemetery? In front of everyone?”
“There is anonymity in a crowd,” Bobby said. “Once you fire, you drop the gun. There will be so much confusion, you’ll be able to walk away.”
“That’s insane.”
Bobby grew very still. “I thought you trusted me.”
“I do, but-”
“You’ve shown fear at every occasion,” Bobby said harshly. “Yesterday at the bunker. With the nurse. If you plan to hide at every turn, I can’t use you.” Bobby’s brows lifted. “And Rocky, nobody just walks away from me.”
“I know,” Rocky said. If she refused, she’d die here. I don’t want to die.
Bobby was watching her. “You’re afraid. You’re a failure. You are of no use to me.”
Rocky stared at the gun Bobby pointed at her. “You’d shoot me? Just like that?”
“Just like that. If you have no more trust than this, after all I’ve done for you, all your life… You should be grateful. Yet you disappoint me again and again. I have no use for failures. I have no use for you. You’ve failed too many times. This was your opportunity to show me you’re worth saving. Worth keeping.”
Bobby sat calm, confident, and Rocky wanted to scream. Insecurity warred with fear. If she were cast aside, where would she go? She’d be alone. “Can I have a gun with a silencer at least?”
“No. A silencer is a crutch. You have to prove to me that you have the courage to be my protégée. If you are successful today, you’ll never be afraid again. That is what I need in my assistant. What I must have. So choose. Live and serve, or cower and die.”
Rocky stared at the gun in Bobby’s hand. Both choices sucked. Dying sucked more. And she was so damn tired of being afraid.
“Give me the gun. I’ll do it.” But when I fire, Susannah Vartanian won’t be the one to fall. You will. I’ll tell them who you are, what you’ve done. Then I’ll be free.
Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 11:35 a.m.
“Did anybody stay home?” Luke muttered. “Looks like the whole damn town’s here.”
“They are,” Susannah murmured. Standing in the cemetery behind Dutton’s First Baptist Church, she was flanked on one side by Luke, on the other by Al. Chase was somewhere in the crowd, watching, supported by ten plainclothes state cops.
“Do you see anyone that looks familiar?” Luke murmured.
“Just the same old people I grew up with. If you need running commentary, just ask.”
“Okay. Who was the preacher who did the service?”