The First Death (Columbia River, #4)(85)

“I hate him,” said Rowan. “I hate Liam and Jerry for what they did to us. Especially to Malcolm.” Thor circled her, occasionally pawing at the ground, her emotions upsetting him. She pulled out the floppy Frisbee and threw it hard, and Thor rocketed after it. “Fetch therapy,” she said.

“For you or him?”

“Both of us.” Thor returned, and she hurled it again.

Evan took a few seconds to appreciate the simple happiness of the sprinting dog performing fetch therapy in the calm forest. “It’s been quiet since the team headed to that other building.”

“I think we would have heard a racket if they found Liam and West,” said Rowan. “But it’s a few hundred yards away. The trees could block the noise.” Her face darkened, and her next toss of the Frisbee lacked the effort of the others.

“That’s the building where the two of you were held, isn’t it?” Evan asked.

“Yes.”

Evan waited, but she didn’t have more to say. Her time here was imprinted on her brain in a horrible way. And in the scars on her leg. He’d glimpsed them a couple of times. Silver and pink lines and splotches. She’d never lose them or the limp. Permanent reminders.

He suspected Malcolm’s scars were much worse.

Frowning, Evan listened for movement inside the house. “Malcolm’s been gone awhile.”

Rowan’s head turned sharply as she studied the building. Then she darted around toward the front, Thor on her heels and Evan right behind her. She leaped over the stairs. “Malcolm?”

Evan entered and followed her down the short hall. He pushed the bathroom door farther open this time. Empty.

And filthy.

In the bedroom, Rowan knelt to check under the bed. “He’s not here.” She started to stand and then caught her breath.

“What is it?” Evan moved behind her in the tiny room.

“That’s a case for a gun.”

He looked over her shoulder. The plastic box on the nightstand shelf that Malcolm had brushed a hand over was now open, and its inner dark egg crate foam was empty.

Malcolm took a gun.

“He’s gone after Liam and West on his own,” said Rowan. “We need to get to that other structure now.”

The two of them dashed out of the stinking building.





47


Once I had the gun in hand, I ran in the opposite direction from the SWAT team.

I was always too scared to touch the tiny gun safe. I knew where the key was; I’d seen Liam hide it several times. Many nights I dreamed of taking the gun and shooting Liam as he slept. Sometimes I shot him in his sleep. Other times I woke him so he would know it was me.

But I never had the guts to do it. I had nowhere to run to if I killed him. He made the money and supported us. He always said I was too stupid to survive on my own, and I agreed. I also knew the police would eventually figure out who killed him, and then I’d go to prison.

So I did nothing.

Until today. Now I have a place to land and family to help me.

Although family will no longer matter if I kill him. I’ll be in prison for his murder. I’ve decided I don’t care because I will not let him torture West.

No one should suffer the way I did. Or Rowan or Elijah did.

My sacrifice is worth it.

There is one other place I know where he might have taken West. I run through the woods, breathing hard, the gun clasped in my hand. Its solid weight empowers me, and I feel a confidence I’ve never experienced before.

I’ve never fired a gun. Never even held one. But I’ve read about firing them in books. I know to release the safety. I know to aim for the largest mass. I know I will probably miss the first time. I wish I could take a practice shot now, but I don’t want to give away my location.

I want him.

I told Rowan I needed closure. Killing Liam will give me more peace than watching Detective Bolton destroy that box.

It’s a long way through the woods. I alternate between jogging and walking. When I ran from the work site yesterday seems so long ago. I swore to never return to this place, but here I am the next damned day.

I will stop Liam. I will put an end to this “family” legacy that he is so driven to continue. He will pay for what he did to me and Rowan. For what he did to those two women and Elijah. I suspect there are more recent victims. His odd behavior the last few weeks was identical to how he acted when he murdered the people I buried.

Did the SWAT team find more bodies in the shed?

I push on, stepping over tree roots and tripping over my own aching feet. The air smells like sun-warmed pine needles and sagebrush, and it’s quiet except for the sound of my breathing. I listen hard for the sound of water. I’ll know I’m close when I hear the river. I stop, resting my hands on my thighs. I’m light-headed and sweating.

The book I took from my hiding spot is tucked in the waistband of my jeans and slick with sweat. I didn’t want to leave without it. It was one more fuck you to Liam that I stole a book he refused to let me read.

And I wanted to finish the story about the odd Los Angeles private investigator and his big, tough, silent sidekick.

I hear them before I hear the water.

Liam is yelling at West, telling him he must work hard and be good.

My skin crawls at the words I’ve heard so many times. It is odd to not be on the receiving end for once. I slowly sneak closer, moving from tree trunk to tree trunk until I can see them next to the river. It is Liam’s favorite spot. Near where we buried the bodies.