Harvey left the tree as soon as he fired. It was impossible that he’d missed Rachel. Frankie had pushed the deputy out of the way as if some sixth sense had warned her. Damn it. Now they were in the house. It was going to be a lot harder to kill them.
Circling the property, he stopped to scan each window on the west side of the house, hoping for telltale movement that would indicate where they were located.
The house was still. It looked empty, but he knew better.
He went to the front and maneuvered down the driveway. Frankie didn’t have gates and alarms. She probably thought she didn’t need such things.
As he got closer, he saw that the front door was open. An invitation to a trap? Moving from bush to shrub, he drew closer. This was the hunt, the real thing. As annoyed as he was at the disruption of his carefully laid plans, he couldn’t help but feel the rush of blood. He’d hunted many things, but never anything that could hunt him back.
As he slipped to the front door, he hesitated. Frankie was likely waiting on the other side, but he had to go inside if he was going to kill her.
Careful not to make noise, he stepped onto the marble of the foyer. It was as if the house held its breath. Not a single sound came to him.
He moved forward, the rifle pointed down but his finger on the trigger. Edging into the parlor, he was startled by the dark shape of the sofa. For a moment it had looked like a rhino he’d killed when he was entertaining a group of Russian businessmen. They’d never known the old beast was bought from a zoo and drugged. Turning back to the hallway, he felt the cold barrel of the gun right behind his ear.
“Hello, Harvey,” Frankie drawled. “So nice of you to stop by for a visit.”
“Frances.” He used her formal name, the name Dub had always called her. “You had us all fooled, didn’t you?”
She never answered. She drew back the gun and whacked him with the butt. He sank to his knees and fell face–forward into the carpet.
# # #
“Now,” Rachel ordered.
Jake opened the door. When the dog burst into the room, Rachel, on her knees, jammed the chair from Frankie’s vanity at him. As Brutus hit the chair legs, Rachel rolled backwards, using the momentum of the dog to push Brutus, tangled in chair legs, over her head. The canine landed across the room with a thud.
“Run!” she ordered Jake. As he hobbled from the bedroom, she was right on his heels. She managed to slam the bedroom door before Brutus could reorganize and charge them.
The wham of the dog’s body on the wooden door made the frame shake.
“Come on,” she whispered to Jake as she put his arm around her shoulders. “We have to try to get out.”
They were halfway down the stairs when Rachel heard footsteps in the foyer. She pressed Jake against the wall. “Stay here.”
“No.” He tried to hold her.
“Stay here!” She eased away from him. She’d tied her dog bite with strips of Frankie’s clothes. The pressure helped, but each step was painful. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she looked for the hand rake, but it was gone.
She slipped past the dining room and the kitchen. At the foyer, where she had a clear view of the parlor, she stopped. Dilson was tied in a straight–backed chair. Frankie sat on the edge of the sofa, watching him. She held a tape recorder and the rake.
“Tell the truth, Harvey. I want to record it in your own words.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s not a nice way to speak to me.” She swung the rake and dug it into his knee.
Harvey’s scream echoed in the house. Rachel pressed herself against the wall. She had to find a weapon. She couldn’t take Frankie alone. Jake was in no position to help her. She had to have something.
She moved silently past the parlor and into the kitchen. From a rack she took a meat cleaver, and from a butcher’s block she picked up a carving knife. A gun would have been much better, but she didn’t have time to look for one.
Dilson’s scream echoed through the house. “Okay, okay. I killed your father and hid his body in the old Minola mine shaft.” Dilson was gasping as he talked. Rachel didn’t want to imagine what Frankie was doing to him.
She went back toward the parlor. Dilson’s voice continued the litany of his sins. Whatever Frankie had done, she’d loosened his tongue. Once he finished confessing, Frankie would kill him.
At the doorway of the parlor, Rachel stopped. Frankie was speaking softly, and Dilson’s voice was filled with pain and fear. He spoke with urgency.
Rachel sank to the floor. Frankie and the senator sat knee to knee. She held a pistol pointed at Dilson’s crotch and the tape recorded spinning in her lap.
“Is that everything?” Frankie asked.
“It was an accident. Once it was done, I had to hide it. My career would have been ruined.”
“Yes, an accident.” Frankie stood up. “I understand.” She turned and pointed the gun at Dilson’s forehead. “I understand so well, Harvey. And I’m sure you understand why I’m going to kill you. I’d hoped to make it last a long time, but my agenda has changed.”
Rachel had to act. She launched herself from a crouched position, hitting Frankie hard at the hips. They tumbled to the floor, the gun skidding away on the hardwood.
Rachel rolled, and just in time. The tines of the hand rake dug into the floor only inches from her face. Frankie knocked the knife and cleaver from her hand, sending them sliding across the room.
Rachel looked up into Frankie’s cold blue eyes. “I told you not to interfere,” Frankie said. “You should have stayed upstairs with Jake.”
“I can’t let you kill him.” Rachel chanced a look at Dilson. He was working frantically at his bonds, leaning forward, reaching toward his ankles with his hands.
“He’s a dead man, Rachel. Let him die. It’ll be a kindness.”
“I can’t!” Rachel rolled to her stomach and sprang up, her leg on fire with pain. She balanced and swung a kick that caught Frankie in the shoulder.
Instead of falling, Frankie spun. “Good move,” she said. “Now get out of my way and let me finish Harvey.”
“Stop her! Stop her!” Dilson was trying to walk the chair out of the room.
The old bastard had tried to kill her, but Rachel had taken a vow. As Frankie lunged at him again, the rake held high, Rachel stepped in her path. They struggled, hand to hand, bodies straining. They were equally matched, but Frankie wasn’t injured. She jammed her leg behind Rachel’s knee and brought the deputy down. Rachel hit hard, the wind knocked from her lungs.
“I think this has gone far enough.” Frankie retrieved the gun from the floor. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I can’t let you interfere any more. Harvey and I have to finish our conversation.” She pointed it at the deputy.
Rachel caught her breath and eased into a sitting position. Now that the moment of death was upon her, she felt a strange calm. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dilson reach for something at his ankle. His fingers clamped around something and he brought it up in one smooth motion. The barrel of the gun was short and black.
“Frankie!” She threw herself forward, knocking Frankie out of the way of the bullet just in time. They tumbled on the floor as the gunshot echoed in the huge house.
“You goddamn fool!” Dilson cursed. “I had her.”
Frankie vaulted to her feet. She swung the gun directly at Rachel. In a split second, she shifted it at Dilson. The shot exploded in the house. A red hole appeared at Dilson’s hairline.
Rachel shifted to her feet. She started forward, but Frankie turned the gun on her. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t even think about it.” She went to the senator.
“Harvey?”
He tried to talk but couldn’t.
“Harvey, can you hear me?”
Blood seeped down Dilson’s forehead, a single line moving along the furrows in his skin.
Frankie kept the gun pointed at Rachel. “Can you see the irony of this?” She laughed. “It’s too good. He’s alive. Sort of.”
In the distance the sound of sirens came thin and weak. “They’ll kill you,” Rachel said.
Frankie shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Give yourself up!”
Frankie shook her head. “It’s not in my nature.”
They both looked up when Jake stumbled into the room. He carried a chair leg as a weapon, but he was barely able to hold it. He looked from Dilson to Rachel and then fell.
“So much for the rescue,” Frankie said. She walked toward the hallway.
Rachel followed her. “I can’t let you leave.”
“You can’t stop me, Rachel. Take care of Brutus, he’s really very gentle. And when you see Mel Ortiz, tell him I’ll be back.”
“Mel?”
“He knew. He didn’t pursue the investigation because he knew it was Dilson. Dilson who arranged his plum job here in Criss County. He also knows more about your mother’s death. Think about that picture. Who took it? Who saw your mother after she left you and before she died.” She gave it three seconds before she spoke again. “Mel took Junie to the hunting camp where she overdosed. That’s why he took you in.”
Rachel felt the stab of betrayal.
“Not a good feeling, eh?” Frankie asked. The sound of the sirens grew louder. “I have to go, but I’ll be in touch.”
“Stop!” Rachel started after her.
Frankie turned back. “Dammit, I don’t want to hurt you, Rachel, but you just won’t quit.” She aimed the gun and fired once. Rachel felt the pain tear through her shoulder. Frankie fired a second time.
Dilson slumped in the chair.
Frankie disappeared around the corner. There was the sound of the back door slamming and a vehicle starting.