“Better call off the fuzz, Jimmy. We got a false alarm here,” the crotchety old guard complained into the radio, staring at me with what looked like a mixture of sympathy and disgust. “Just a dumb Halloween prank.”
A prank? That’s what he thought this was?
“Somebody put an old shirt in the water.” He held the shirt in the air to demonstrate what a stupid blonde I was. “Girlie, you need some new friends.”
My legs felt like overcooked spaghetti noodles. My brain was telling me to sprint out of this haunted harbor, but I couldn’t make my feet move. I felt trapped, watched, manipulated. So much for standardized testing and its assessment of my “elite” intelligence—I was an elite idiot to have come here without Liam. His presence might have prevented this. Or at a minimum, he’d be here holding me now.
“Are you OK?” the guard asked.
“Of course,” I lied.
“You’re trembling. Are you cold or somethin’?”
“Yeah, cold,” I said.
“Well, c’mon back to the hut with me and I’ll fetch you a blanket.”
“No, I’m fine,” I said, because I still couldn’t move. But I suddenly noticed the stink of bleach.
Somehow, Silver had managed to come back and destroy all the evidence that Father Michael had ever been here. But that was impossible. How would Silver have had enough time?
“What did you say you were doing out here?” the guard asked, staring at me.
“I didn’t say,” I responded flatly. And I walked away.
As I drove, I kept shoving all the harbor images out of my mind. I tried to think about Liam instead.
The closer I got to home, the heavier my guilt became. I should’ve called 911 and reported what I’d done. Yet, how could I do that with no body? Not even a shred of evidence that anything at all had occurred? Only a discarded wet shirt. Just like with the warehouse killings, I had nothing to back up my story.
I had to get home, to get warm. Maybe then my brain would start working. My ice block of a foot lay heavy on the gas.
I peeled onto my street, anxious to escape the darkness of the worst Halloween night of my life. Luckily, my neighborhood was too snooty to participate in trick-or-treating, so I didn’t have to worry about running over any little witches or wizards. But Big Black—and my heart—skidded to a halt when I neared my house and a dark shadow materialized next to a parked vehicle outside the gate, exactly where the paparazzi usually lined up. Except, the car wasn’t Sammy’s old Pinto.
No, it was Liam Slater’s red canvas-topped Jeep.
I jumped out of Big Black without even bothering to shut the door behind me. Running to Liam, I buried my face in his chest and let his arms encase me. I breathed him in and instantly felt safer.
After a second, he pulled away from me—probably because he’d realized my hair and clothes were wet, not to mention I smelled like blood and fish guts. With his hands on my arms, he scanned my disheveled state with eyes as dark as the night.
“Oh, Ruby,” he said. “What did you do?”
I told Liam the whole sordid story, and he just sat there in my bucket seat, staring down the radio dials like they’d done something horrible to him. Or maybe it was the heater vents. Oops, he was probably sweating in the hot car. I was still cold from being in the dirtiest part of the Pacific Ocean. I turned down the heater, and my seat warmer up. Damn, I wanted out of this car and into a hot shower, but Liam deserved to know what had happened.
I wondered when Liam was going to yell at me. Ask questions. Storm off to the police station. Or any other rational response.
“Liam, I’m really sorry I didn’t wait for you. I was impatient and cocky, and maybe in the back of my mind I felt like you didn’t deserve to be dragged any further into this mess.” I slammed my head back onto the headrest. “I win the contest for Most Screwed-Up Girl and Idiot of the Year.”
I flinched as his fist connected with the dash. Out of all the reactions I could’ve foreseen, that wasn’t one of them.
I gripped my armrest, unsure of what he might do next. I’d never seen this side of him. He was furious.
“Yeah, Ruby, maybe I’m a little pissed that you went to see Sammy without me. And maybe I think you’re absolutely crazy for hunting down this guy alone. But what I’m the most upset about is the danger this dick, Silver, is putting you in. You could have died!” he raised his voice like I wouldn’t get the message at a normal volume.
“Relax, Liam.” I slid my hand halfway over the console between us. “I didn’t die. I’m right here.”
He saw my gesture (which was no little thing for me) and was quiet for a few moments. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it in both of his. “Ruby, this guy is smart and patient. He knew you would go to the boat dock. He had it all planned out. He made it so that either you had to watch the priest die or risk yourself to save him. He obviously told the priest that you were dangerous to ensure the priest would fight back and you’d have to kill him in self-defense. Then he lured you away so he—or his accomplice—could go back and take the body and leave the priest’s shirt, knowing you’d call the cops. He’s not trying to get you caught. It’s almost like he’s trying to protect you.” As he said it, some of the puzzle pieces started shuffling around in my mind, but they weren’t fitting neatly into place.
I pulled my hands away and slumped back in my seat, massaging my sore head. “If that’s true, then he has split personalities or something. First, he puts me in these dangerous situations, forcing me to kill, and then he defends me and cleans up to make sure I could never be prosecuted. The dude gave me back my dad’s engraved handgun! Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, but no matter what, it’s like he’s ten steps ahead of us.” Liam paused and pursed his lips. “I know you don’t like it, but I think it’s time to go to the police, Ruby. Maybe Sammy was right and Detective Martinez would back us up if he knew what was going on with your dad.”
“No.” I stared at him. “No, no, and no.”
“Things are getting out of control—”
“Things have long been out of control, Liam. I have killed, or been responsible for…” I stopped to count with my fingers. “Seven deaths now. Seven!”
“That’s not true,” he argued.
“LeMarq, the girl I didn’t save, The Stick and his friend, the two other gangsters…or whoever they were…and now Father Michael. How would I ever be able to explain that?”
He blew out a breath, and clenched his hair in his fists.
“You aren’t responsible for any of those deaths. He is,” Liam said. Who was he trying to persuade? Himself?
“He didn’t make me carry that knife. He didn’t force me to pull any triggers,” I said, playing prosecutor. “I put myself in those positions. I am the one with motive, intent, and—worst of all—very little remorse for the victims.”
“Ruby, he put you in impossible situations. And in every single case, you did the right thing. Every one of them deserved to die, except for the girl. But now the right thing is to tell the authorities. Maybe the FBI or CIA can help.” He reached for me again, but I didn’t want his touch. I put up my signature warning hand.
“Yeah, so they can help destroy my family and escort the both of us to prison for the rest of our lives,” I said, my voice rising an octave. “No matter who we go to, it all trickles back down to the detective assigned to my case—Martinez. And if Sammy was wrong about Martinez, he’ll take you down with me. Because, as you recall, you were present for some of this.”