Max didn’t explain. Instead she kept asking questions. “But when did he finally give you that key? When he gave you the bracelet?” Max looked down at the blue sparkle of jewels around Angela’s wrist.
Angela’s swallow was almost audible. Or perhaps Max felt it.
Max went on, as if she’d actually been in the office. She had, in her vision. “Lance decided he would give it to you later, then you had sex. Julia walked in right when Lance climaxed.” She stared at Angela. “And then you said you left. So, when did he give you the bracelet and tell you about the apartment?” Because she knew Angela had touched that apartment key.
Max looked at the rain pounding on the windshield, the wipers throwing it off. Her pulse picked up its pace. “Angela, we’re way past any Hillsborough exits. Where’s your shortcut?” Her heart started to race. The blood in her ears began to roar. “What did you do with the key?” she managed to whisper.
Angela put a hand to the lapel of her jacket, pulled it aside. Pinned to the lining lay a shiny gold key.
Max wanted to cry.
Angela slid her purse to the middle of her lap, her right hand stuck inside it. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?”
Oh God, no. Please not Angela. “It wasn’t Julia, it was you.”
“Would it help if I denied it?”
“Maybe if you didn’t have that gun in your hand.” Max tipped her head. Too late now, though. She didn’t want to think about what Angela was going to do with that gun. “Tell me why you killed him. Was it some sort of weird flashback when he did the fist thing?”
Angela laughed, then choked it off. “That’s only in the movies. No flashbacks. Julia said ... some things before she left. He knew they hurt me. I believe he gave me the bracelet and the key thinking they’d make me happy. But I knew it was a bad thing, a very bad thing. He’d take away my freedom. He wanted to put me in a box where only he could play with me, to use me when he wanted in any way he wanted, to make me his slave.”
“Just like your father.”
“Exactly. He wanted all the power. I couldn’t give it to him.”
“What happened then?”
Angela rubbed at her nose, the gun in her hand pointing at the window. No one seemed to see. She might have been crying, though no tears ran down her cheeks. “I slapped the key out of his hand. And then he slapped me.” She jerked her head as if feeling it all over again. “I’d been cleaning up the mess we’d made, picking all the stuff up off the floor, and there it was, in my hand.”
“The letter opener.”
“So I stabbed him.” She bit her lip. “Just another abuser, Max.” She turned to Max, and the car veered to the right. Angela automatically corrected the swerve. “The world doesn’t need them. The Lances, the pimps, the fathers—”
“The uncles,” Max whispered.
Angela’s eyes shone. “You’re a sister, Max. You understand.”
Playing along, agreeing was her only chance. “Yes, I understand.”
“So, you won’t tell anyone?”
“We’re sisters. I don’t think I could.” Max understood, but she hated the lie. Because she’d tell the minute she got away from Angela. “Where are we going?”
“A place I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to call Bud.”
Max knew it was a lie. “You’re going to kill me.”
“I don’t want to.” Angela took the turn-off for Crystal Springs Reservoir.
Max knew it well, a place beloved of bikers, walkers, joggers, men who wanted to commit rape, and women who wanted to commit murder. The rain beat steady on the windshield, and shushed up from the macadam of the road. A beat up VW van and a new Lexus sat unoccupied in the otherwise empty parking lot.
Holding the gun in plain sight, Angela parked. Too damn bad the Jag hadn’t been a five speed. Max could have jumped from the car while Angela concentrated on shifting.
“You’re a crusader, Max. You couldn’t not tell. And I’m a survivor. So it’s you or me.” Angela opened her car door, scooted out, never taking her eyes off Max. “Come out this way.” She signaled for Max to crawl across the front bucket seat.
“I’ll get out on my side.”
“No. I don’t trust you not to pull a fast one.”
“What can I do, Angela? You’ve got the gun.”
“That’s right. So do what I tell you.”
Max looked at the steadiness of the gun in Angela’s hand. Angela was a survivor. Angela would kill her in the car, if she had to, and worry about cleaning up the blood later. Max crawled over the center console, pulled her feet up behind her and landed in the driver’s seat.
Angela had the keys and the gun. She’d also stepped back several paces so Max couldn’t lunge at her.
Max climbed out, stood tall, and looked at the line of trees edging the lot, the denser forest behind them. Rain soaked her hair and her clothes, ran into her eyes. “Remember I told you my husband’s killers raped me, beat me and left me to die in a park?”
She heard the pain in Angela’s single word answer. “Yes.”