109

As Maggie reached the first tier of the ruins, she tried to stay out of sight until the very last moment. And apparently, she had succeeded because Yazzie showed no reaction to her approach, which seemed strange for a man so cunning.

The rage pulsing through her veins pushed her forward despite the growing presence of an almost childlike fear of confronting what was to her the equivalent of the boogeyman. There hadn’t been a day where she hadn’t thought of Tommy and the man who stole him. The man with the black eyes. The man who made her realize that there were monsters in this world. The man who’d stolen her childhood and destroyed her family.

And now, she suspected that he had intentionally attempted to manipulate her into killing her own brother.

Facing away from her and standing over Ackerman’s unconscious form, Yazzie slipped the gun belt through the loops of his pants. He had just begun to slide the leather through the buckle when Maggie raised a shaking arm and aimed the Beretta at center mass.

She debated on simply shooting him in the back, but she needed him to see it coming. She needed him to die on his knees and know exactly who had taken his life.

In a voice that was half rage and half determination, she screamed, “Put your hands on your head and turn around! Just give me a reason to end you!”

His eyes still on Ackerman, the faux police captain slowly placed his hands upon his head and turned to face her. Only after following her directions did he redirect his gaze. His eyes were no longer black as they had been on that day—Maggie having learned that the black eyes were the result of colored contacts—but now, his eyes were just as terrifying. She knew that he suffered from ocular albinism in one eye, a condition that resulted in a lack of pigment. But it still gave him a sense of being supernatural and otherworldly and again reduced her to the same trembling child she had been all those years ago.

Yazzie smiled and said, “Hello, little girl.”

All of her muscles tensed, one side of her fighting to maintain her aim and one side wanting to curl up into a ball and cry. Rage and determination won the day. Keeping her aim true, she said, “Was it your plan that I would end up killing my own brother? Is that why you sent him up here to set your little traps?”

Yazzie cocked an eyebrow and said, “I certainly had my hopes that something along these lines would come to pass. But I’ve learned that one can merely calculate and then set events into motion. The results are often very different than what one originally intends. You just have to start the dominoes tumbling, sit back, and hope for a favorable outcome. But yes, in a perfect world, that’s exactly how I hoped things would turn out.”

“Well, you failed. He’s still alive, probably hiding in the ruins or one of the tunnels. I’m going to find him. Right after I kill you and make sure that you won’t hurt us, or anyone else, ever again.”

Yazzie smiled and, looking behind her, said, “Shoot her, nephew.”

Maggie’s breath caught in her throat, but her aim didn’t waver. The “what’s that behind you” ruse might very well have been the oldest trick in the book. She remained frozen until, a few seconds later, a quiet voice said, “Drop the piece, lady.”

Immediately recognizing the speaker, Maggie raised her hands but kept hold of the Beretta. She slowly turned around and laid eyes upon Jamie Ramirez, the man she now knew to be her long-lost brother. He held the same .30-06 hunting rifle that he had used to shoot Marcus, and she knew that, if she wasn’t careful, he would use it on her as well.

“I said to shoot her, Jamie!”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, “Your name is Jamie Ramirez now, but you weren’t born with that name.”

She could see in his eyes that he knew, that perhaps he had always known. She supposed that being abducted from your family and nearly sold off like a piece of cattle wasn’t something a person easily forgot.

“Shoot her, or I will!”

“Let her speak, Uncle,” Ramirez whispered.

“Your real name is Tommy Carlisle. This man took you from your home when you were a child. You had a sister. Her name was—”

“Maggie…” Ramirez interrupted, his grip on the rifle loosening and his own tears falling.

From behind her, Yazzie chuckled and said, “Little girl, you haven’t changed a bit.”

She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Yazzie snatch up his Peacemaker with a speed that she had never witnessed firsthand. The gun seemed to materialize in his fist from thin air. Then she heard the shots and watched her brother stumble back, his eyes going lifeless and the rifle flying from his grasp.

A scream of primal fury rising in her throat, Maggie spun toward their attacker, reacquiring her target with the Beretta. But before she could even lower her arm, she heard the Peacemaker spit fire once more and felt a terrible pain in her right shoulder.