Adam doesn’t seem interested in running away either. He could make it to the back door of the cabin, but instead he’s slowly advancing toward me. And I won’t beat him in a fistfight, especially not with what feels like a broken arm. Desperately, I scan the dimly lit room. Where the hell is that gun?
A glint of metal beneath the sofa catches my eye. Adam catches me looking and lunges a split second before I do. He lands on the ground. I land on top of him. We both grapple for the gun and it slides farther under the sofa—all the way against the wall. Screaming in pain, I push Adam away with my bad arm and snake my good arm into the darkness. My fingers close around something, but it’s too rough to be the gun. Adam grins wickedly as he pulls his arm back. He’s got the gun. I’ve got a broken coffee table leg.
He hops back to his feet and points the gun at my head. “Wood against bullets. Want to make a wager about how this turns out?” His eyes are gray fire.
“You should get some help for that gambling problem,” I say, trying to get in position to attack him with the table leg. I curl my legs around so I’m on my knees. Now at least I can get up without putting weight on my injured arm.
“Your death will devastate poor Darla. That’s what she gets for changing her mind.”
Rage surges through me. My whole body tenses into a coil. “Don’t bring her into this. You could’ve gotten adopted too if you’d stayed at Rosewood. You made the choice to become Preston DeWitt. You made the choice to stay Preston DeWitt.”
“And now I’m making the choice to kill you. It’s perfect, really. No one will suspect a dead man of murder.” Adam’s finger curls around the trigger once more. “Good-bye, Maximus.”
FORTY
I WISH I COULD SAY my life passed before my eyes or that I found enlightenment in the moment when I knew I was going to die. But all I see is my sister Amanda’s smile when she gave me the painted mug for my birthday. All I think about is Darla, and how she’ll somehow blame herself for this.
And then I see a whirl of white and blood lunge toward Adam.
Parvati.
The side of her hand slams into the back of his knee. He stumbles. Just enough so that the gun barrel angles toward the ground.
It’s all the opening I need. I swing my table leg like a baseball bat. Wood collides with Adam’s hand and the gun goes flying. He screams, but before he can even turn on me, I swing the leg again, this time at his head. I hear the sickening crunch of bone. Adam falls to his knees.
I drop the table leg and race to Parvati’s side. She’s lying atop the remnants of the coffee table, her ankles still bound with tape. There’s bits of wood in her hair, and her ripped sari hangs crookedly on her body Her skin is so pale. Almost gray.
“Hang on.” I’m trying not to stare at the great blooming flower in her chest.
“Get the gun,” she chokes out. Blood froths between her lips.
I glance wildly around the room. The gun lies next to the TV stand. Adam is sprawled out just inside the front door of the cabin. His phone is half buried in broken coffee table. I reach for it.
“The gun,” Parvati repeats. “Not safe.”
I get the gun and set it next to me. Then I put the phone on speaker and call 911. Keeping Adam in my sight, I press my palms to the bloody wound in Parvati’s chest. Her heart beats in my hands.
The phone rings once. “You’re going to be okay,” I tell her.
Her lips twitch, almost a smile. “You’re lying to me, aren’t you?”
The phone rings again. “No,” I assure her. “I’m done lying, to everyone.”
The call connects. “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” the dispatcher asks.
“Someone’s been shot,” I say. “We need an ambulance.”
“What is your location?”
“I. Shit—I’m not sure. A cabin in the Angeles National Forest. Parvati, can you—”
But she can’t give me the address. Her eyelashes have feathered shut and her body is still. All I have to cling to are the faintest breaths escaping from her pursed lips.
“Hold while we triangulate your position,” the dispatcher says soothingly. “Got it. Help is on the way. Stay on the line.”
“Okay. Please hurry.” My hands are still sealed to the wound in Parvati’s chest. Her pale skin grows paler.
“You are not allowed to die on me,” I tell her.
She doesn’t answer. I try to imagine what she’d say, a smart-ass Parvati response, but my brain comes up empty. My stomach clenches. I put my ear to her lips to make sure she’s still breathing.
She is.
Barely.
A few minutes later, a cavalry of sirens and flashing lights pull up outside the cabin. Ambulances, cops, and feds.
The paramedics take Parvati.
The police take Adam.
The FBI agents take me.
“Sorry I didn’t get your message sooner,” McGhee says.
I barely hear him. As I duck down to slide into the back of the unmarked sedan, I see the paramedics load Parvati into the ambulance. One of her arms dangles limply over the side of the stretcher.
For only the second time in my life, I pray.
FORTY-ONE
I END UP BACK IN the same bleach-smelling interrogation room. Things have come full circle, except for the fact that Parvati is apparently in surgery and the doctors don’t know if she’s going to make it.
The first thing I do is hand over the phone with the videos on it. I explain what’s going on in the clips Adam showed me, looking away when they get to the one with Parvati. McGhee and Gonzalez excuse themselves to deal with “official business” and promise to return with coffee.
I almost ask them to bring some whiskey too. My arm is swollen at the elbow and pulsing with its own heartbeat. It feels like someone put it in a blender on high speed.
I should have gone to the hospital before being questioned, but the pain had dulled on the ride back to Vista Palisades—adrenaline maybe—and I just wanted to get it over with. “My arm is killing me,” I mumble when they finally return like an hour later.
“Your parents are in the lobby. They’ll take you to the hospital once we’re done here.”
Ben and Darla are probably freaking out, but I’m glad someone called them. I don’t want to be alone tonight.
McGhee hands me a cup of coffee. “But you have to stay away from Ms. Amos. There’s still a restraining order against you, Max.”
“I don’t care. You guys can arrest me. I just want to be there in case—” My voice cracks. I can’t finish the sentence. As hurt as I am by what Parvati did to me, it doesn’t change the fact that my feelings for her were real. They are real. When you care about someone, you can’t just turn that off because you learn they betrayed you.