Текст книги "You're Not Safe"

Автор книги: Mary Burton

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

The old man’s edict had been clear and strangely unavoidable. Jack would go to the Shady Grove treatment facility for therapy until the old man decided he should be released. They’d concocted a story so no one knew the truth . . . that Jack had murdered his sister during an attempted rape.

Jack had refused. He declared that he wasn’t sick or broken like the poor losers dumped at Shady Grove. He had no desire to die or hurt himself. Sure he’d lost his temper and Meg had paid a price, but he was fine. It wouldn’t happen again. He promised. He swore.

However, his father had moved with lightning speed, wrapping long smooth fingers around his neck and pinning him to the wall. In a quiet whisper the old man told him that there’d be no public accusations or trial. He would lock Jack, his only son, in the basement of the house, where he’d stay for the rest of his life. Go to Shady Grove and get help or go to hell.

Jack choked, struggling to draw in air, staring into old eyes filled with sadistic satisfaction. Unable to draw in a breath, he’d simply nodded. He’d agreed to a stay at Shady Grove and to get better.

The coming weeks and months had been a string of endless boring days. He met with a counselor, talked about his feelings, and learned what he needed to say to gain freedom. He’d not changed but had been biding his time.

And then he had seen Elizabeth for the first time at camp. He’d known in that instant he’d found a kindred spirit.

Though she was broken and damaged he learned quickly she was a healer and a caregiver. The other broken birds at the camp flocked to her and fluttered around her hoping she would say the right word to erase their pain.

He’d kept his distance but he too hadn’t been immune to Elizabeth. He’d stayed on the fringe, but he always made a point to linger close. The others had little time for him. Wrapped up in their own sorrows, they ignored him. But not Elizabeth. She’d brought him into the circle.

That last night at the campfire he’d known he was half in love with her. He’d taken the group picture not so he could remember the others, but so he could remember her. The next day the others began to leave. After they’d left Elizabeth had drawn back into herself. She didn’t have a smile or a kind word for him. She’d gotten lost again. And then she’d left. And he was alone and left to languish in the camp intended to make him better.

“I rotted in that camp for a year.”

“But you’re a clever boy. You finally won Father over.” No missing the anger rumbling under her laugh. “But your sweet Elizabeth was gone. And you never could find her.”

He hated the sound of her voice. “My suffering gives you pleasure.”

“Poor, poor baby boy.”

He had had no choice but to go on with his life. He’d gotten an education, married, divorced, and lived like any other man. And then eight months ago he’d seen Greer Templeton on television. His Elizabeth.

In that moment he’d known what it would take to make her truly happy: re-create the old group and ensure none of them ever abandoned her again.

The others were dead.

They’d been granted their dying wish.

Now it was time for Greer.

Chapter Twenty

Monday, June 9, 9 P.M.

The drive up Route 12 took Winchester deep into the Hill Country and it was pitch black dark when he arrived. Despite the late hour, heat rose up off the stone driveway.

Sycamore’s home was a modest one-story ranch with a wide wraparound porch stocked with a couple of rockers. Chipped white paint on the house suggested the home had weathered too many summers without attention. Not surprising. From what he’d heard about Michael, the guy traveled a lot for business. He worked for an accounting firm in East Texas and now only retreated up here when he needed a few days off. It had been five years since Michael had been here last.

Michael had not reported into work for seven days, but no one had expected him to return to work. The word was he had stolen client money.

Winchester got out of the car and, jangling his keys in his hand, surveyed the property. A black Range Rover was parked by the weathered ranch house. No flowers or knickknacks to show a woman’s touch, this place was plain and simple, a suitable getaway for a man. Thirty, engaged, and by all accounts a success until he’d been caught embezzling.

Winchester walked around the house. The grass had browned and dried up in the heat making it more like the bristles of a brush. A rusted weather vane squeaked in gentle hot wind.

According to Greer, Michael had threatened to shoot himself with his daddy’s shotgun when he was eighteen. His mother had persuaded him to give her the weapon and when he’d complied, the parents had shipped the troubled boy to Shady Grove. There the family had learned he had been crumbling under the weight of his father’s need for perfection in his only son. By all accounts Shady Grove had helped the boy grow into a successful man.

Winchester’s boots thudded against the porch steps as he moved toward the front door. Hand on his gun, he stood to the side of the door, poised to knock. Before he could wrap his knuckles against the door, he saw that it was ajar.

Winchester drew his gun and stepped to the side as he pounded a fist on the doorjamb. “Michael Sycamore! Texas Rangers.” No answer. “Mr. Sycamore, are you in the house?”

When he received no answer he pushed on the door with his boot. The rusted hinges squeaked and groaned, as it swung open.

Winchester spotted Michael Sycamore immediately.

He sat on the center couch. A shotgun lay on the floor at his feet. And his face had been obliterated by a shotgun blast.

The blood staining Sycamore’s chest and splattering the wall behind him was fresh. He’d been shot within the last hour.

Winchester backed out of the house and reached for his phone. Two rings and he heard Bragg’s curt reply. “This is Winchester. I found what’s left of Sycamore.”

While his conversation with Winchester still replayed in his head, Bragg pulled up into the Central Austin neighborhood just before eleven. The Hyde Park area was exclusive, home to many professors and professionals who preferred the character of the older, smaller homes built in the 1920s and 30s. Moonlight glowed over shade trees drooping over sidewalks and yards with picket fences. Lights glowed in the windows.

It had taken Bragg less than an hour to get the search warrant for the Shady Grove records. The rich liked to keep their secrets but they even turned on their own when three Texans from well-connected families had been murdered within the week.

According to the records, the boy had been sent to Shady Grove because he’d taken an overdose after his older sister had drowned in the family pool. Jack had been devastated by the loss. More phone calls revealed that Jack’s parents were dead but his surviving younger sister lived in Hyde Park.

Kate Trenton’s house wasn’t large but very nice. Made of brick, it had a shade tree in the yard and a planter on the front porch filled with bright yellow flowers. The house would have been inviting if all the shades had not been drawn closed.

Bragg rang the bell and stood inches to the left of the door as he waited. Finally, footsteps sounded inside the house and he saw the flutter of curtains in the window by the door.

Locks clicked open and the door cracked open a fraction. A tall woman in her mid-twenties stared up at him with bright blue eyes, which set off pallid skin.

Bragg touched the brim of his Stetson. “Ms. Kate Trenton?”

Her gaze narrowed. “That’s right.”

“Ma’am, we are trying to find your brother, Jackson Trenton.”

Her body tensed and she drew into herself. “I haven’t seen him in a year.”

“When was that?”

Her fingers curled into fists. “He came to our father’s funeral last year, but I’ve not seen him since.”

Bragg tried to restrain his impatience. “Ma’am, may I come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions about your brother.”

She hesitated. “Why?”

“Ma’am, I don’t think you want us to have this discussion outside.”

She closed the door and he heard the scrape of the chain leaving the lock. She opened the door wide. Dressed in jeans, a red short-sleeved shirt, and tennis shoes, she hesitated and then invited him into the house.

Bragg stepped inside to a central living room with polished wood floors. It was furnished with neat crisp European furniture and Oriental rugs. Light from a crystal chandelier glistened on a round glass coffee table.

Bragg removed his hat. “Ma’am, I need to cut to the chase, if that’s all right.”

Kate smoothed her hands over her jeans. “Sure.”

“Your father sent your older brother Jack to Shady Grove Estates twelve years ago.” Not a question, but a statement.

Her lips flattened and her skin paled all the more. “That’s right.”

“According to your brother’s records, he tried to take an overdose.”

She raised her chin but didn’t answer. Her gaze darted away before returning to him.

“Your brother lived at the facility for a year.”

Again she held back.

“Ma’am, I need answers, pronto. Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not hesitating.”

Bragg struggled to keep his patience in check. “Ma’am, I need for you to be honest with me. I need to find your brother.”

“Why are you asking?”

“We are investigating several murders.”

For a long moment she didn’t speak, as if the burden of an old secret weighed on her. “Who was killed?”

“Former residents of Shady Grove.”

Her hands trembled. He’d hit a bull’s-eye.

“Ma’am, I can tell by the look on your face something is wrong. Tell me about Jack.”

“Like I said, I haven’t seen him since our father’s funeral.”

Bragg didn’t speak but waited, sensing her story bubbled under the surface.

When she didn’t speak, he said gently, “Ms. Trenton, you need to tell me. Why was Jack at Shady Grove? His file said he tried to overdose after your older sister’s accidental drowning.”

A bitter smile twisted the edge of her mouth. “He didn’t overdose.” For a long moment she didn’t speak. “He drowned our sister.”

“What?”

“I was twelve. He was twenty and Meg was twenty-one. Dad and I came home and discovered Meg floating in the pool. Jack was nowhere to be found. Dad pulled the security footage of the pool area. And he saw what Jack had done.” The words rushed out as if she’d released infection from an unhealed wound.

He ground his teeth. “Jack drowned your sister.”

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “There was no audio so we don’t know what had been said but we watched as Jack approached our sister and then she shook her head and shouted. He got angry and dragged her to the pool.” She closed her eyes. “He held her under the water until she stopped moving. And then he ran. Dad followed his wet footprints to his room and then to the garage. His car was gone. Jack came home several hours later. Dad had cleaned up the footprints and called the police. He told them she’d killed herself.”

“And he moved Jack to Shady Grove.”

“Dad thought if he kept Jack medicated he could control him. And he did. For a time. And then Jack convinced him he was desperately sorry over Meg’s death. Dad wanted to believe him. Finally the old man relented, and he let Jack go.”

Bragg drew in a deep breath, trying to control the anger rolling through his veins like liquid fire. “Has Jack contacted you at all?”

She swallowed. “He’s afraid of me. I have the security video from the night Meg died. If anything happens to me, it goes to the police. Dad set it up that way years ago.”

“Do you have a recent picture of your brother?”

“No. But when I saw him at the funeral I was shocked. He’s changed a lot. His hair is short and dark and he doesn’t wear his glasses anymore.”

Digging up a grave in a cemetery was no easy task. It required permission of the family, viable reasons, court orders, and of course a crew of workers. But Jack had none of those. No one would give him permission to dig up a grave and day workers were a suspicious lot and fearful of cemeteries at night.

So Jack had abandoned the idea of digging up the grave. The tall granite headstone was a powerful image and would suffice. He picked up the wilting white roses, sniffed them, and then tossed them into the shadows.

“What time is it?” she said.

He checked his watch. “Time to go.”

“This is the last one. You can’t screw this up.”

Irritated, he shut his eyes and clung to his temper. “Shut up! I’m sick of hearing you talk, Meg.”

She laughed. “That’s too bad. Because you’re stuck with me until the day you die.”

“Bitch.”

“Murderer.”

The time had come. Time to act.

As he turned, he tipped his head to the headstone: JEFFREY ROBERT TEMPLETON.

Chapter Twenty-One

Monday, June 9, 10: 45 P.M.

A rustle outside her window had Greer rising from her desk. At the window she pushed back the curtains and stared into the night. A light by the barn caught her attention. Mitch had already bunked for the night, and José would be fast asleep. So who was outside?

She tugged on her boots, laced them up, and, grabbing a flashlight, headed outside into the day’s lingering heat. Her flashlight cut through the darkness as dust and gravel crunched under her boots as she moved toward the barn.

“Mitch?” she asked.

The black mare brayed and snorted. Nothing unusual but the brown horse now swished his tail with worry. That wasn’t right.

With Bragg’s warnings to be careful, fear rose up Greer’s back as she approached the corral toward the horses. Both were agitated.

It wasn’t like her to get spooked. She’d been running this place for years and was accustomed to chasing off wild animals, even vagrants.

She paused as the rush of footsteps barreled toward her. As she turned, a sharp sting bit against her neck. Electricity shot through her limbs, and she crumbled to her knees. Strong hands grabbed her arms and kept her from falling face-first into the ground.

Mitch had heard the car when it had arrived on the property. Since he’d served in the Middle East, it didn’t take more than a shift in the wind or the rustle of branches to wake him. He still slept in basketball shorts, T-shirt and boots by his bed. Mortar fire in Central Texas wasn’t likely. Logic told him that. But a gut trained to be ready for IEDs, sniper shots, and explosions didn’t care about logic. So he was always ready for trouble. Just in case.

When he heard the car door close he sat up alert and wide awake. Jasper perked up his ears as Mitch slipped his feet into his boots, pulled the laces tight, yanked on his shirt, and grabbed his cell phone, wishing it were his service revolver.

Shoving a hand through short hair, he left the dog in his room and headed outside in time to see Greer drop to her knees and a man haul her up. His arm banded around her waist, and if he’d not been supporting her she’d have fallen.

Fuck. His heart pounded as he gripped the phone, wishing he could chamber a round. “Hey, what the hell?”

The hooded man turned and in the dusky moonlight glared at Mitch. “Fuck. What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer. No hint of worry or fear, just a grim determination that reminded Mitch of an insurgent who’d blown himself up. Determined fanaticism.

In the next seconds, Mitch barely shook off his shock as the other’s hands twitched and reached for the .45 tucked in his waist. Training had Mitch diving to the ground as the man fired.

But Mitch wasn’t fast enough. As he hit the ground the bullet cut through his side. Pain burned through his body.

Greer’s muffled anguished cry nearly broke his heart but also told him she was alive.

Anger and frustration blocked all the fear. Ignoring the pain, he rose up on his knees as the man dumped Greer in the truck’s front cab. Still gripping his cell, Mitch staggered to his feet.

“We can’t leave him.” Greer’s voice slurred the words.

The truck started, turned, and headed toward him. He stood his ground, one hand pressed to his side and the other gripping his cell. Mitch waited, knowing he’d have just one shot. The truck picked up speed. Seconds before it hit him, he tossed his cell into the trunk bed as he jumped to the right. The cell clunked against the bed as he hit the ground. Pain burned through his gut. He’d accomplished the task but had he failed Greer?

He tried to push up and get back to his feet but the pain burned at each twitch of a muscle. He rolled on his side and pulled his hand from the wound. Blood turned black by the moonlight glistened on his hand. Tears stung his eyes.

Mitch wouldn’t survive losing someone else he cared about.

As soon as Bragg left Kate Trenton’s house he’d called Greer and when she didn’t answer, he’d called Mitch. Two no-answers had added up to trouble. He’d not hesitated to call the Rangers and the local sheriff. He wanted every officer within fifty miles of Bonneville.

As he barreled down the dark highway, he called Winchester and gave him a brief description of the situation. Winchester was an hour away, still at the Sycamore crime scene.

When he arrived he saw the flash of lights from a dozen police cars and two paramedic trucks. His heart sank and for an instant he imagined the ground shifted under his feet as his world crumbled.

He rushed toward the stretcher as the paramedics were loading it on the truck. Mitch’s colorless face stared back.

“Mitch.”

The boy’s eyes snapped open and he grabbed his uncle by the forearm with surprising strength. “Bragg, I tried to save her but I couldn’t.”

“Greer?”

Mitch winced as he tried to sit up. “There was a man. He took her. Shot me.”

Bragg’s heart twisted for the boy before him and for Greer who’d been taken. He wanted to stay with Mitch but had to trust him to the paramedics. His gaze nailed the paramedic. “How is he?”

The paramedic checked the IV running into Mitch’s arm. “He’s sustained a gunshot. We won’t know until we get him to the hospital.”

Bragg was an expert at pushing back emotion and dealing with the worst kind of situations. Now, however, he struggled to keep focus. He took Mitch’s hand and squeezed it hoping he could convey in deed what words could not. He loved this kid like a son and would do whatever it took to save him. “Okay.”

He released Mitch’s hand and latched onto his own fears with an iron grip. Mitch winced as the paramedics raised the gurney. “I threw my cell phone in the bed of his truck.”

The first flicker of hope cut through the mire. “And if I know you, it’s fully charged.”

“They left here an hour ago. There’s plenty of battery life so you can ping right in on that asshole.”

“Good job.”

Mitch winced. “I had the chance to save Greer and I blew it.”

“She’d have been completely lost without you, and at the end of this day when I find her alive it will be because of you.”

Mitch swallowed back emotions and nodded.

Bragg leaned close, his gaze pinning the boy. “And your buddies, you didn’t let them down. They know that. Greer knows it. I know that. Now you need to believe it.”

Mitch nodded.

Bragg patted Mitch on the shoulder. “Mitch, can you describe the man that took Greer?”

Mitch’s eyes darkened. “I can do better. I can give you the motherfucker’s name.”

Greer awoke in stages, her mind a muddy, waterlogged mess. She was vaguely aware of cool grass and a warm breeze blowing over her. She was outside and for a half second wondered if she were camping.

And then her senses cleared enough and she immediately remembered the sting of her attacker’s stun gun and of her legs crumbling. He’d pressed a rag to her face when she’d started to rouse and the foul chemical had knocked her out cold.

Now, she sat up, ready to fight. Her head spun. Her stomach churned, and she thought she’d throw up. She turned to her side, prepared to wretch. But after a few deep breaths, her stomach held steady. A small victory in a war she suspected was long from over.

She glanced up expecting to find someone looming over her. To her surprise she was alone under a sky filled with too many stars to count. She moved to stand but found her legs wobbly and unsure. Drawing in a breath, she tried again but her body would not cooperate.

What was wrong with her?

She studied the stand of woods in front of her and realized they were familiar. The woods at Pinewood Cemetery. She glanced back around her and found herself nose to nose with a headstone.

JEFFREY ROBERT TEMPLETON.

Jeff’s headstone.

Panic rose up in her, choking her throat and she scrambled away from the slab of granite, now afraid to be close to it. Her legs and arms would not function, and she found herself crawling away from the marker, more desperate with each inch. This had once been a place of comfort, solace, and guilt, and now it terrified her because she remembered the dying wish she’d confessed to the group all those years ago . . . to be with her brother.

Her heart thundered in her throat as she struggled to crawl. Panic clawed and sliced at her. She’d loved Jeff. In life she’d followed him like a silly puppy. And she’d carry her brother’s death with her for the rest of her life.

But she did not want to join him in death. She wanted to live.

“Where are you going?”

She glanced up. To her shock she recognized the face. Only instead of kindness simmering behind the eyes, she found crazed longing. “Dr. Stewart?”

“Greer.” A smile tipped the edge of his lips. “I guess you figured out by now why you’re here.”

“I don’t understand, Dr. Stewart. Why are you doing this?”

“I’m hurt you haven’t figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” She’d beg if she had to. “Please, I don’t want to die.” She tried to sit up but her head spun.

He knelt just a couple of feet from her and studied her face. “We’ve known each other a long time, Greer. You just don’t remember.”

Her mind blurred, she searched his face. Eye color, hair color, weight, and the way he held himself didn’t produce any matches. But there was an intensity emanating she’d not seen in him before. That intensity triggered memories. The first conclusion to spring to mind didn’t make sense but despite logic she couldn’t help but whisper, “Jack?”

A grin tugged at the edge of his lips. “I knew you wouldn’t forget me.”

But she had forgotten him until just a day ago. If not for the deaths of the others she’d likely have never thought about him again. At the camp they’d barely spoken. He’d been a passing acquaintance. Clearly, his attachment to her was much stronger. “No. I didn’t forget.”

“I’ve thought about this moment a lot over the years. Dreamed about it. I know life has been a struggle for you. I know it’s been hard.”

“Dr. Stewart, I don’t want to die. I’m not that girl anymore.”

“But you must. I just killed Mitch, a boy who reminds you of Jeff. You must be feeling the sharp knife of loss.”

“Mitch.” She could barely speak his name. “He can’t be dead.”

“He is,” Dr. Stewart whispered. “Dead like Jeff.”

Tears clogged her throat and spilled over her cheeks. Oh, God. What would Bragg do?

“Our core selves do not change, Greer, or should I say Elizabeth. You confessed your deepest desires that night at camp. And when you spoke I knew we were connected.”

Dear God, he’d held on to an image for over a dozen years of a girl who no longer existed. “I’ve changed. My life has changed. I don’t want to die.”

“I’ve seen you come here often. I’ve listened as you talked to your brother.”

Her mouth felt dry and her breathing grew labored. Whatever was in her system was burrowing in and pulling her closer to unconsciousness. “I don’t want to join Jeff.”

“That’s not true.” His voice was soft and soothing. “That was your dying wish.”

Before she could respond, he straightened for a moment and glanced behind him. Eyes narrowing, he shook his head. “Shut up, Meg. Shut up.”

She searched the darkness but saw no one. “Who is Meg?”

“No one.”

He grimaced and turned again. This time he seemed to wave someone away. “Shut up.”

She searched the darkness but saw no one. “I don’t see anyone.”

“How could you not see her laughing face? She’s mocking us both right now.”

Dr. Stewart was hallucinating. If only her brain wasn’t cripplingly drugged she could argue. “Dr. Stewart, let me go.”

Hands fisted at his side, he turned from his invisible tormentor. “Not until I give you your dying wish.”

“What are you talking about?”

He smiled, dragged a shaking hand through his hair, and calmed. “You don’t remember what you said that night?”

She moistened her lips. “My mind is getting foggy, Dr. Stewart.”

He smoothed his hand over her hair. Gentle. “I know. I know. I won’t make you work for this.” He hesitated and then said in a low voice, “You said you could die happy if you knew for certain there’d been a second driver on that lonely road. You wanted to know the accident that killed Jeff and Sydney wasn’t your fault.”

A jolt of energy shot through her system, cutting through the haze. “What are you talking about?”

“My dear Elizabeth, you were right all those years ago. There had been a second driver on the road. A drunk driver who had caused you to drive off the road.”

“I don’t understand. The police said there was no other driver.”

“They found no skid marks. The driver intended to crash into you. That driver wanted to crash head on into your car and to die. But you veered. You saved yourself and you saved her. Unfortunately, Jeff and Sydney paid the price for her selfishness.”

She studied his face, blinked to clear her fading vision. “Who?”

A satisfied smile eased from him. “Jennifer.”

“What?”

“Jennifer Bell.”

“She never said a word.”

“Not to you, but she caused your accident. She killed Jeff and Sydney. She kept the secret close but all these years that secret has eaten into her soul far deeper than the demons that had originally sent her out on that road long, long ago.”

“I don’t believe it. She had a brother. He dove into a lake.”

“A lie.” He pulled a tape recorder from his pocket. “Listen.”

Jennifer’s slurred drugged voice said, “I wanted to die. The fight with my boyfriend had been awful. So I got behind the wheel of the car . . . and when I saw the headlights I thought if I could crash into that car my life would end, and I wouldn’t have to be perfect anymore.”

A heavy silence and then Dr. Stewart’s gentle voice: “And what happened, Jennifer? It’s okay. You can tell me.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Tell me. Tell me.”

“The other car swerved. It missed me and I drove past. I drove for at least a mile before I decided to turn around and go back.” She sighed. “I saw what I had done. Two people were dead. And the other girl, I recognized her. I’d seen her at the club. She was in so much pain.”

“You didn’t try to help that girl.”

She whimpered. “No.”

“And then you took the overdose and ended up at Shady Grove.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell Elizabeth?”

She began to weep. “I wanted to tell her and I almost did. And then I left the camp and life went on. I thought what was done was done.”

“Do you want to say you’re sorry to Elizabeth now that you’re dying?”

“I don’t want to die!”

“Are you sorry ?”

“Yes.”

The tape clicked off.

Tears dampened Greer’s face as she mourned not only for Jeff and Sydney but also for Jennifer. Greer understood carrying a burden so heavy your knees threatened to buckle.

“So you see,” Dr. Stewart said, “the accident wasn’t your fault.”

Greer wasn’t sure if she’d ever truly believe that. She shouldn’t have been driving that night. She’d been too young and too inexperienced. Would an experienced driver have avoided Jennifer? She’d never know.

Though she struggled to keep alert, the drugs took a stronger hold. Though her mind rapidly fogged, one thought was razor sharp.

She wanted to live.

“You must hate her,” Dr. Stewart said.

“No,” Greer said. “I don’t. I want to move on with my life.”

He smoothed soft fingertips over her hair. “You can’t move on. You’re trapped in the past. You have been since the accident.”

She had been trapped. But she wasn’t like that anymore. Somewhere along the way that first forced step toward the vineyard had been her journey to freedom. And now she had the beginnings of something with Bragg. A future to anticipate.

Her tongue felt thick in a cottoned mouth. “My head is spinning.”

He picked up her wrist and traced the faint scar. “Yes, it must be spinning hard. Soon, you’ll fall asleep, and as you do I’ll cut into this tender flesh as you did once. That’s what you wanted all those years ago . . . to just slip away. Now you can.”

She clung to consciousness. That last time she’d cut her own wrist it had been seconds before the drugs had pulled her into unconsciousness. She’d not cared as her life had seeped from her body.

Now, an unwelcome specter of death frightened her. She blinked hard and thought about Bragg and Mitch. Would they know this man had killed her or would they believe she’d taken her life? And dear God, her mother. What would she say when her body was found on Jeff’s grave? She’d be devastated.

Anger rose in Greer and cut through some of the fog. “I’m not going to die. I am not.”

His smile was gentle. “Of course you are, but don’t worry, I’m going to be right behind you. When you’re gone, I’ll find the courage to finally take the leap and follow you. We will all be together forever. Happy. Complete, just like at Shady Grove.”

“Why do you want to die? You have so much.”

His dull gaze reflected sadness. “Not really. The only person I ever really cared about was Meg and then you. I stayed here for you, but Meg keeps telling me I can’t stay here anymore. She is tired of waiting.”

“What?” She struggled to sit up and when she couldn’t she focused on stringing her thoughts together.

“My sister. She is with me always. She won’t leave me alone.” His voice grew agitated and he cursed.

The connections between her thoughts frayed more and more with each passing second. She wanted to understand him. Wanted to ask questions but she couldn’t summon her voice.

He rubbed his hand over her head. “That last night at camp you said we’d all be friends together and we all made a pact. We all promised we’d be friends. And then everyone left one by one. I thought you’d stay but you left and simply vanished.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think you’d leave me.”

“We barely spoke at camp.” She tried to pull her wrist away from his grasp but he held her steady. She barely had the energy to lift her head.