“That’s okay. Thanks, man, I appreciate all the help.”
She watched him fight his way back through the shrubbery, then hoisted herself onto the window ledge and hopped to the ground. As she did a branch caught in her hair, throwing her off balance. She landed sideways in a holly bush. She righted herself, recalling another night, another desperate race for help. The memory filled her head.
Cathy’s screams sounded in her head.
Sobbing, she stumbled through the underbrush, branches and thorns tearing at her bare legs. She tripped on a root and went skidding forward, landing on her hands and knees, pain shooting up her arms …
Miranda righted herself, picked her way free, and ran for her car. Crazily, she could still hear Cathy’s screams. All these years later and she was still screaming.
She had to save her. This time she wouldn’t fail.
Summer hadn’t confiscated her car keys; no doubt she hadn’t expected her to get this far. Miranda unlocked the vehicle and slid in. This wasn’t about saving Ian Stark’s life or even Buddy’s, it was about saving her friend’s. Summer … Cathy, deserved peace. And killing two more people in an act of vengeance wasn’t going to give it to her.
Miranda unlocked her console and checked for her backup weapon. She stared it a moment, heart thundering. Could she use it against Summer? To save two corrupt men that in every way but one, had killed her first?
Yes. If she had to. Because it was the right thing to do and if she took the lesser path, she’d be no better than they.
She cranked the engine and tore away from the curb. Buddy? Or Ian? Who would Summer have gone after first?
Buddy, she decided. Praying she was making the right choice, she affixed her beacon light to her roof and flew.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
8:25 P.M.
Miranda reached Buddy’s ranch-style home in less than five minutes. No vehicle in the drive; home was dark, shades were drawn. She pulled into the drive, her blue and red light rotating crazily, turning the quiet night into a carnival.
And just like that, she was fifteen again, Clint Wheeler behind the wheel of his HPD cruiser, her in the back, craning her neck to see the spot where she’d stumbled out of the woods, trying to memorize it as it disappeared from sight, praying she didn’t puke.
Wheeler met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Back there, you asked me why I wouldn’t listen to you. It’s because you’re a liar, Randi Rader. You’ve proved that a hundred times over. And some cats don’t change their spots.”
Not anymore, she wasn’t. Miranda retrieved the gun from the glove box and checked it—full magazine, bullet chambered—and climbed out of her car. Not a liar, a victim, or a scared teenage girl.
She moved her gaze up and down the street. Summer’s car was nowhere in sight but that didn’t mean she wasn’t here.
But neither was Buddy’s. Could be in the garage. Could be he was at work, called in for one thing or another. Maybe on an emergency call to President Stark’s residence.
She started up the front walk. A real possibility. Summer went to Stark’s and had him call Buddy and lure him over. Take care of both men at the same time. She hoped to God she was wrong.
She had to make sure.
Miranda peered through the sidelight. A faint glow, coming from the kitchen. No sign of life. She tried the door; the knob turned and her heart sank. Buddy would never leave his door open.
She nudged it the rest of the way and entered, gun out, swinging left then right. “Summer,” she called, “it’s Miranda. Let’s talk about this.”
A muffled moan came from the kitchen.
Buddy.
She found him bound to a chair at the table, shirt and pants soaked with blood. His mouth was taped with a single strip of plastic tape, LIAR written in bold black. On the blood-smeared table lay a notebook and pen, also bloodied.
“Buddy!” Miranda cried and ran to him. He’d been shot once in the chest. She checked the wound, saw it didn’t look life threatening, and grabbed a dishtowel. She pressed it to the wound to stem the flow of blood, then turned her attention to the next most urgent thing.
“This is going to hurt,” she said. She loosened an edge of the tape and pulled.
Buddy gasped, then sucked in a lungful of air.
“Sorry,” she said, working on the sailor’s knot. “You’ll be free in a moment.” Miranda peeled away the rope, then grabbed him as he started to slide off the chair. As carefully as possible, she eased him onto his back on the floor.
“Hold this.” She took his hand and placed it on the towel. “Keep pressure on—”
“St … ar … star…”
“Pressure,” she repeated, holding his hand in place. “I want to feel you try. C’mon, Buddy, you know the drill.”
He finally responded and she shifted her focus. “Your phone, Buddy. Where’s your phone?”
“Star … k. She’s … gone … to—”
“I know, but I’m not leaving you. Not until I know help’s on the way. Where’s your phone?”
She followed the direction of his eyes. She saw it, on the floor, by the refrigerator. She snatched it up; called emergency dispatch. “This is HPD Detective Miranda Rader. Officer down, I repeat, officer down at four-sixteen Hollygrove. Chief Buddy Cadwell.”
She turned and found him gazing at her, face etched with pain and eyes filled with regret. “Don’t, Buddy. Save your strength. You’re not going anywhere. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”
Tears filled his eyes and Miranda wondered if he was just now realizing his life was never going to be the same.
She heard the sound of sirens and tucked his phone into her pocket. “You’ll be okay. Paramedics will be here any minute.”
“Go,” he managed. “Save … him.”
“I will,” she said, “But first, I’ve got to save her.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
9:10 P.M.
Miranda had called for backup on her way to Catherine and Ian Stark’s home; she half-expected to find it surrounded by police already. Instead, light glowed reassuringly from the curtained windows as if it was any other night at the president’s home; Summer’s blue Ford Focus sat in the drive, looking for all the world like nothing more than a friend had stopped by for a visit.
Miranda parked directly behind the Focus and climbed out of her vehicle. A squad car would be here any minute. That gave her precious little time to save Summer from more blood on her hands.
If Stark wasn’t dead already.
He wasn’t, Miranda told herself. That would be too easy. Just as Summer had wanted more from Buddy, she wanted something more from Stark, as well.
If history held, Summer had gone right to the front door. She was a local business owner; perhaps she had portrayed herself to Stark and his wife as a friend? One who had come with information about their son’s killer?
Stark would have invited her right in, practically rolling out the red carpet for her.