Far away, the muffled sounds of gunfire punctuated her story. Lucinda paused to listen.
“My husband was not a healthy man, and the strain was inhuman. Twice his heart failed. Twice they brought him back. Unwilling for him to die on his terms. The third heart attack came as I was returned from my time in the other room. In a panic, they threw me to the floor and carried my husband away. I lay there. Unguarded. How do you survive? You make a choice, CIA. A choice to abandon your husband of thirty years, accepting that to stay means you will die together. But if you abandon him to die with those animals, then you have the chance to avenge him. You must break your wedding vows and run. Crawl, truthfully, on broken legs. Through a jagged hole and across miles of swamp until you happen upon a shop whose owner is too simple or too noble to turn you in for the reward.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve endured,” Veronica said.
Lea recognized her mother’s charity voice. The warm, deeply concerned persona she assumed when addressing the media about this or that noble cause. Her entire childhood, Lea had never once heard it behind closed doors, and it sounded as false now as it had when she’d been a teenager.
Lucinda seemed equally unmoved. “No, you cannot imagine. But fortunately, you won’t have to imagine for long.”
“Listen to me. I had nothing to do with that,” Charles said. “If you want to torture someone, torture him. The CIA sold you out, not me. I was in jail.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Charles.”
“Ogden, you son of a bitch.”
“Calm yourself, Mr. Merrick. You’re not going to be tortured,” Lucinda said.
“Thank you—”
“You’re going to listen.”
“What? What does that mean?” Merrick asked, voice rising to a shrill note. “There is no money. What does that mean?”
“Hector,” Lucinda said. “Begin with the girl.”
Lea felt strong hands at her ankles and wrists untying her ropes. She knew now what part Lucinda had written for her. She had been cast as the sacrifice. The room exploded into chaos. Everyone yelling, no one listening. As soon as she was untied, Lea kicked out, fighting to get away. For half a second, she struggled free of one set of hands, and her heart soared with false hope. She was blind and outnumbered, and the two men easily overpowered her. They each seized an arm and cuffed them in front of her before marching her from the room.
Merrick struggled against his ropes but could do little more than listen to his daughter scream. From the sound of things, she was putting up a hell of a fight. Over and over, he demanded that everyone stop and be quiet. He knew he could sort this all out if only they would let him call his son. He didn’t know what Martin had done with his money, but there was more than enough to reach some kind of accommodation. If only this madwoman could be made to see reason. But no one paid him any attention. It was this damn hood. To his side, Veronica yelled for him to give up the money.
Far away in his mind, he realized that his daughter had stopped screaming. The room fell eerily silent, and Merrick heard the echo of gunfire like distant thunder from downstairs. It had intensified over the last few minutes, although it didn’t appear to have drawn any closer. He didn’t think he could endure his daughter’s pain. Why had she come to the prison? None of this should be happening. Through a haze of hot, frustrated tears he demanded the opportunity to speak. His chair rocked back and forth as he strained against the ropes, and then crashed on its side. The fall winded him, and he lay there listening to Lucinda King Soto mock his pain. He howled out his despair.
“Rafael,” Lucinda said. “Set this imbecile upright.”
Merrick heard footsteps approach, and Rafael began to heft his chair upright. A single gunshot, immediate and deafening, froze Rafael in place. Merrick couldn’t place where it had come from, but Lucinda called out in Spanish. He didn’t understand her words, but he recognized her fear. Merrick’s chair crashed back to the ground as Rafael swore in anger.
A hail of gunshots cut him short, and Merrick felt a thud near his head. The guard grunted three times in quick succession and then deflated like an old balloon, whistling in Merrick’s ear.
Lucinda gasped. “No, please, no, no, wait—”
A single gunshot.
Lucinda cried out, then said nothing more.
Merrick couldn’t follow the action but guessed someone had slipped away from the battle downstairs. But who? They’d been spared whatever fate this psychopath had planned for them, but he doubted this was a rescue. The only question was whether this was the frying pan or the fire. Whichever it might be, best to start on the front foot.
“Hello?” Merrick began. “Thank you. Whoever you are, thank you. She was insane. Please help us.”
He felt his hood tug free. He blinked and looked up into the face of his daughter. In his shock, Merrick noticed for the first time how much his daughter resembled her grandmother. She knelt over Rafael, who lay on his side, left leg twisted beneath him at an unnatural angle. She rummaged through his pockets for the key to the handcuffs that shackled her wrists.
Behind his daughter, Lucinda slumped in her wheelchair—a puzzled expression on her face, eyes looking blankly to the heavens, as if someone had told her a terrible joke but botched the punch line. Merrick looked back at his daughter, noticing for the first time the pistol in her hand and the blood splattered across her. The answer was obvious, but he couldn’t quite put it together in his mind.
“Chelsea?” he asked dumbly.
“I ruined your dress.”
“What . . . ? It’s all right. I’ll get you another.”
“I don’t want another.”
“Okay, that’s okay,” he said soothingly. “Now, listen. You need to untie us quickly. Before more come.”
She put the gun down and reached for his left wrist. But instead of untying the ropes she unfastened his watch. She held it up for him to see, then brought her face close to his.
“Dad, I need to tell you something.”
“What is it, honey?”
“It was me.”
“What was?” He sought understanding in her eyes. “Untie us.”
“I took your money. It was me. I wanted you both to know that when they come for you. Good-bye, Mother . . . you deserve each other.”
Lea stood while he tried to make sense of what she’d told him. Damon and Veronica both began babbling in unison, trying to bargain with her, but Chelsea was already halfway to the door. Merrick held on to the preposterous notion that she was merely going to lock the door to give herself more time to free them. Only when the door clicked shut behind her did he understand.
He laid his head on the carpet and wept for himself.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE