“Please, let me save you,” Sandi gasped, begging. “Eddie, honey, I can save your stupid life tonight, but only if you shut your mouth and do exactly what I say—”
Darby heard a hollow, metallic click behind her. It was familiar, but she couldn’t identify it. She’d heard it several times tonight, though, enough to elicit a strain of déjà vu. Then through the fog of pain, lightning struck, and her mind screamed: Deadbolt-deadbolt-deadbolt—
Sandi just unlocked the front door.
*
The doorknob turned freely in Ashley’s hand, surprising him, and he pressed his fingertips against the door and gave it a gentle push, revealing the visitor center’s interior in a slow wipe. He saw Sandi Schaeffer first, standing in the doorway, her cheeks flushed tomato-red.
“I have them,” she panted. “I have both of them, trapped in the bathroom—”
Both of them? That was a relief to Ashley. “Jaybird is here, then?”
“Why would she not be?”
“Long story.”
Sandi grimaced. “Of course. Of course—”
“It’s under control.”
“Under control? Really? Because I just maced someone—”
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
“All you had to do tonight was nothing and you still screwed it up.” Sandi coughed in the pepper-spray vapor, rubbing her nose. “I mean . . . God almighty, how’d you let this happen? How’d you let it get this bad?”
Ashley was sick of talking. He shoved his way inside, his eyes watering in the acidic air. Sandi tottered backward, suddenly alarmed, all of her harsh words momentarily stuck in her throat. She’d seen the orange Paslode nailer in his hand.
Christ, he loved this thing.
“It’s under control,” he assured her. “It’s fine.”
Lars came inside, too, his baby-blue ski jacket flaring under a growl of wind, the Beretta Cougar in his hand.
“You’re sick,” the lady snarled, taking another shaky step back. “You’re both sick. You weren’t supposed to hurt her—”
“We improvised.”
“I was right about you. About both of you—”
“Oh, yeah?” Ashley tapped Lars’s chest. “Listen. This’ll be good.”
“I knew you were both just hillbilly white trash—”
“Aw, Sandi, you’re hurtin’ my feels.”
“It’s like you’re trying to get caught.” She spat as she talked, a string of saliva swinging off her chin, still tottering backward as they advanced on her with drawn weapons. “You told me . . . you said you’d give her clean clothes every day. You said you’d watch her diet. You’d give her books. You promised me you wouldn’t harm a hair on Jay’s head—”
“Technically true. Her hair’s fine.”
“How can you think this is funny? You’re going to rot in prison. You and your little fetal-alcohol-syndrome—”
Brother, she would’ve finished, if Ashley hadn’t shoved her.
He wasn’t angry. It’s all under control, remember?
But it was still a rougher push than he’d intended. Sandi skidded backward, her shoes squealing, slamming her broad ass against the coffee counter. The radio toppled, antennae clattering. Her godawful black bowl cut covered her face, and she caught herself on the counter, gasping: “You ruined everything—”
Lars aimed his Beretta. “HEY.”
Ashley hadn’t noticed Ed until now — but yep, there he was. The goateed ex-veterinarian he’d walloped in Go Fish, who hated Apple products, whose biggest fear was facing his estranged family in Aurora this Christmas, stood now by the restrooms, a cross-shaped tire tool in his raised right hand, ready to swing.
“I can’t let you,” Ed said. “I can’t let you near them.”
“Sandi,” Ashley said quietly, “please tell your cousin to drop that thing.”
“It’s a lug wrench, dumbass.”
“Ed, just do what he says.”
But the man stood firm. His back to the restroom doors. Perspiration beading on his forehead. The lug wrench trembling in his hand.
Ashley didn’t break eye contact, taking a little sideways step to give his brother a better shot. “Sandi,” he said calmly, speaking through the corner of his mouth, “let me be clear. If Cousin Ed here does not place the lug wrench on the floor right now, he will die.”
“Eddie, please, please, just do what Ashley says.”
Ed palmed sweat from his eyes, looking back to Sandi with dawning horror. He had to figure by now, but that had seemed to clinch it: “Jesus Christ, how do you . . . how do you know these people? What’s going on?”
Sandi winced. “Things got complicated—”
“What were you doing with that little girl, Sandi?”
“Drop it,” Ashley repeated, taking another step forward. “Drop it now, and I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
To his right, Lars took a diligent firing stance with the Beretta Cougar, just the way Ashley had once taught him. Two knuckled hands, thumbs high, index finger curling around the trigger. But Ashley knew he wouldn’t fire. Not without permission. He was waiting, oh-so-obediently, for a cue to execute Ed, which could come in many forms — including a baseball reference.
A drop of sweat hit the floor.
“I promise we won’t hurt you,” Ashley restated. “You have my word.”
“Eddie, please.” Sandi’s voice softened. “You’re drunk. Just put it down, and I’ll explain everything.”
But to his credit, he didn’t give in. He stood firm, not even acknowledging Lars’s gun, staring back at Ashley, only Ashley, like he was the only person in the world. Rock-hard eyes, daring him to do it. The lug wrench rattled with adrenaline. When he finally spoke, it was a low growl: “I knew I hated you.”
“Really?” Ashley said. “I liked you.”
“The moment I first met you tonight, when I shook your hand, I just . . . I somehow knew.” The old animal doctor smiled a strange, sad smile. “I caught a flash, I think, of exactly who you are. Behind the circle time, behind the bad jokes and the card games. You’re the sum of every trait I’ve ever hated in a human being. You’re smug, you’re irritating, you talk too much, you’re not half as clever as you think you are, and under it all? You’re pure evil.”
And you’re batting a thousand, Ashley almost said.
But then Ed sighed, and something broke behind his eyes, like he was finally recognizing the futility of this little standoff. He raised both hands and opened his right in grudging surrender. The lug wrench dropped and banged off the tile floor. The echo rang in the air, and Ashley grinned.
Lars lowered his Beretta.
“Thank you.” Sandi exhaled, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Eddie, for—”
THWUMP.
Ed made an oafish face, like a man surprised by a belch. For a confused moment, he still held eye contact with Ashley, same as before. But his eyes were wide now, panicked, searching—
“You forgot,” Ashley told him. “I’m a liar, too.”
He lowered the nailer.
Ed’s eyes followed it, glistening with caged horror. His lips tightened wetly, contracting flesh, like he was trying to speak, but a surreal thing happened — his jaw wasn’t moving. Not even a centimeter. His voice escaped through his nostrils, a strangled moan. A sloppy red bubble — saliva thickened with blood — blistered through his front teeth and splashed down to the floor.
Ashley stepped back, so it wouldn’t spatter his shoes.