All Fall Down (34 page)

W
hen he got no answer after ringing the bell, Connor pounded on Melanie's sister's front door. “Mia Donaldson!” he called. “Connor Parks, FBI. I need to speak with you about your sister Melanie. It's urgent.”

Just as he was about to pound again, the door cracked open. He held up his ID. “Mia Donaldson?” he asked.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

She opened the door several inches wider, and as he had the first time he had come face-to-face with Melanie's twin, Connor experienced a moment of disorientation. The woman peering around the edge of the door was a mirror image of Melanie—but not quite. It was as if her face had undergone the subtlest of distortions, though he couldn't put his finger on exactly the difference between the two women.

“We met the other day. I'm an associate of your sister's. I need to speak with her. It's urgent.” When she hesitated, he said, “I know she's here, her car's in your driveway.” He laid his hand on the door, prepared to push his way in if necessary. “Tell her it's official business.”

She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. “Of course, come in.”

He stepped inside. She motioned him forward, toward the living room located dead ahead. “Have a seat. I'll get her.”

She left him, circling around the foyer to the left and disappearing through an opening that led to another room. He did as she requested, moving forward into the living room, though he didn't sit.

As he had the last time he was here, Connor studied the room. The furniture and artwork, the expensive details. But what interested him most were the photographs, the majority of them of three girls, at various ages, who looked so much alike it was disconcerting.

Yet, in each he picked out Melanie. Her bold smile, even as a youngster, was unmistakable.

Connor became aware of the time passing. Of the absolute, unnatural quiet. He checked his watch, noting that at least five minutes had passed. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

Something wasn't right here.

He brought his hand to his shoulder holster, to his Beretta. As was the practice of many of the agents, he carried the 9mm semiautomatic cocked and locked—a round already loaded in the chamber. He unsheathed it and released the safety.

“Welcome, Agent Parks. Mia will relieve you of that.”

Connor turned slowly. Melanie stood in the doorway to what he saw was the kitchen. Veronica Ford was behind her, anchoring Melanie to her with an arm
around her waist. She held the barrel of a small revolver to Melanie's head.

Mia ducked around them and crossed to where he stood. She held out a hand. “Your gun.”

He didn't hesitate. He handed it to her and she motioned with it toward the kitchen. “After you.”

He looked at Melanie and she met his eyes. The regret in hers broke his heart. “I didn't know we were having a party,” he said. “I would have dressed up.”

Mia nudged him between his shoulder blades with the gun. “No talking.”

He ignored her and looked directly at Veronica. “You don't really think you're going to get away with this, do you?”

“Quite the contrary, we're
certain
we're getting away with it.”

“That's awfully arrogant, especially considering that the police know—”

Mia jabbed the gun into his back, hard enough to make him wince. “I said, shut up.”

Veronica backed herself and Melanie into the kitchen, allowing him full access to the doorway. His heart sank when he saw what awaited them there—two ladder-back chairs had been pulled from around the kitchen table and set up, back to back in the middle of the large room. The two chairs were secured to each other with duct tape.

“Come on, stud,” Mia said. “One of those seats has your name on it.”

He glanced at Melanie. Though obviously terrified, she wore a look of intense concentration. She was do
ing the same as he—desperately trying to come up with a way out of this predicament.

He took the seat. “The way I see it,” he said as Mia quickly began securing his arms and legs to the chair with the tape, “your tying us up is either a way to buy some time or you're planning to shoot us where we sit. It's only fair that you clue us in on your plans. It does concern us, after all.”

Neither woman responded. Mia finished with him, then motioned for Veronica to bring her Melanie.

Undaunted, he tried another tack. “I confess to being a little surprised with the scenario here. I had no idea you were one of the bad guys, Mia. Did you know, Mellie?”

He purposely used what he knew her sister's pet name for her was. Melanie shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I didn't.”

“The other thing that confuses me is the chain of command here.” He attempted to move his arms, then legs, testing the strength of his bonds. “It seems to me that Mia's head honcho. Would that be an adequate assessment of the situation, Veronica?” He twisted to look at her. “Have you been demoted?”

She looked at Mia, as if for approval. Mia gave her head a small shake, and he chuckled.

“See, that's just what I'm talking about. What's the deal, you two screwing each other or something? Is there some weird who's-on-top thing happening here?”

Mia bent to look him dead in the eyes. “Shut the fuck up. Or I'll do it for you. Got that?”

He returned her gaze unflinchingly. “Got it.”

The two women left the room, no doubt to discuss a course of action and get their stories straight. He suspected his arrival had thrown a big-time monkey wrench in their day.

“Why, Connor?” Melanie asked, voice cracking. “Why did you have to come?”

Because I love you.
He opened his mouth to tell her but said instead, “The police know about Veronica. They've issued a warrant for her arrest. They sent officers to the D.A.'s office and her home. I came to tell you it was all over.”

“Thank God.” She expelled her breath in a rush. “Now, Casey won't…he won't grow up thinking his mother was a murderer.”

“They're not going to get away with this, Melanie. No matter what happens to us, you can count on that.”

Melanie nodded and sucked in a broken-sounding breath. “She set me up, Connor. My own sister. All these years…she hated me. Everything I did for her made her resent me more. All I know…I only…I loved her.”

Her voice cracked and Connor fought against his constraints, cursing them, his inability to hold her in his arms and comfort her. If given that opportunity again, he vowed, he would never let her go.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “But not just about that. About last night. I wanted to believe you. After you left, I called to tell you.”

“Forget it, Connor. That seems a lifetime ago already.”

“Not to me. We might not make it. I want you to know, I believed in your innocence. I called to tell
you that together we'd work it out. That we'd figure out who was framing you. You didn't answer. I left a message. Actually, since then I've left about a half-dozen messages.”

She would never get that message now. None of them.

Unless he got them out of this.

A sound escaped her, part laugh, part sob—as if she had just thought the same thing as he. “Thank you, Connor. That means everything to me.”

“Listen, Melanie…we don't have much time and there's something else I have to tell you. Before it's too late.

“I love you. I've fallen in love with you. And before you ask, yes, I love Casey, too. He's a great kid. But this isn't about him. It's about you and me and the way you make me feel. Wonderful, Melanie. You make me feel…wonderful.”

A sound escaped her, one that sounded part joy, part despair. “I love you, too, Connor.”

He tipped his head back so it rested against hers, the only caress available to him.
He wouldn't let it—them—end this way. He wouldn't.
“I say let's figure a way out of this thing so we can live happily ever after. What do you say?”

She laughed, the sound small and strangled. “If you insist, Agent Parks.”

“I do, Officer May.”

From the other room came the sound of the women approaching. “Here's the plan,” he said quickly, keeping his voice low. “Eventually somebody's going to remember that Veronica and Mia are big buddies
and that we've been missing a while. They'll send somebody over here. The more time we can buy, the better. I say we try to rattle them, then pit them against each other. I'll begin. Agreed?”

Before Melanie could respond, the women reentered the room. Connor didn't waste a moment. “I was just informing Melanie of the latest developments in the Dark Angel investigation. Shall I fill you in?”

Mia leveled him with a disinterested stare. “I think we're a little beyond that, don't you?”

“Are we?” He shifted his gaze to Veronica. Of the two, she was definitely the less composed. It wouldn't take much, he decided, to shake her up. “A warrant's been issued for your arrest, Veronica. As well as a statewide APB.”

“Sure they have.”

“But they have. That's what happens when you kill your husband and his girlfriend. Certainly you didn't think you would get away with it forever?”

Veronica paled. Mia looked at her, frowning. “Melanie told you that while we were out of the room,” she said.

“Sorry, but you're not that lucky. You shot your husband in the chest, at point-blank range. His girlfriend you whacked over the head with a fireplace poker. You wrapped them up in plastic, weighted them and dumped them together into Lake Alexander.” He smiled. “Any of this story sound familiar?”

Veronica looked sick. Her grip on the gun seemed to slip. Connor pressed on, hating her for what she had done to his sister, enjoying every moment of her discomfort. “Of course, as we know, you didn't stop
there. It felt so good, so freeing to be rid of your husband, you killed your father next.”

Behind him, Melanie sucked in a quick breath—obviously the last had been a piece of information she hadn't known. “You had to find a more subtle approach, however. It's one thing to want to punish all the men in your life, it was another to actually get caught doing it. You settled on a sailing accident. He shook his head. “You used your father's passion for sailing against him, didn't you? Just as you used some your other victims' passions against them. Passions like hunting and motorcycling. Sloppy, Veronica. It linked you directly to the crimes.”

He looked Veronica dead in the eyes. “I'll bet you don't have a clue who I am. Or should I say, who my sister was. Suzi Parks. Name ring a bell?” Veronica's already pale face became ashen. She brought a hand to her mouth.

A howl of fury rose up in Connor, one of grief. This woman had murdered his sister. In cold blood, without remorse, she had taken her life. “That's right,” he murmured, holding in his rage. “Your husband's girlfriend was my sister. The one you murdered.”

“She was screwing her husband!” Mia snapped. “She deserved what she got.”

Connor balled his hands into tight fists, but didn't take his gaze from Veronica's. “She didn't know her lover was married and when she found out, she tried to break it off. He threatened her. He said he would kill her if she did.” He let that sink in, then went on. “She was just like you, Veronica. His victim.”

The lawyer didn't speak, though her mouth moved,
as if she wanted to but no sound would come out. He pressed on. “I thought the Dark Angel was about righting wrongs, about serving justice to the unjust. Is killing an innocent girl what you call justi—”

“Shut up!”

That came from Mia. Connor ignored her. Veronica had begun to shake so badly the gun in her hands bobbled in front of her.

“Justice?” he finished, making a sound of disgust. “And now you're going to kill me and Melanie? Why? Because your
girlfriend
wants you to? Because she's so jealous of her sister she can't see strai—”

“I told you to shut the fuck up!” Mia grabbed the gun from Veronica, and turned toward him. In that instant, he realized he'd pushed too hard, that this time he'd bought it. He sucked in a sharp breath and said a quick, silent prayer for Melanie.

In the next instant, pain exploded in his head.

M
elanie choked back a cry as Mia struck Connor on the side of the head with the butt of the pistol. In that moment, as she saw her sister swing the gun with brutal force at Connor's head, she realized, fully and irrevocably, that the Mia she had known didn't exist. She had been an illusion, a character her sister had played with stunning authenticity.

The real Mia Donaldson was cold, vengeful and cruel. She was mentally ill.

Melanie fought the urge to cry. Her sister didn't deserve her tears. Maybe later, but not now. Now, Connor needed her. He needed her to get them out of this.

Don't be dead, Connor. Please God, don't let him be dead.

She had to throw out everything about Mia that she had thought to be true. She had to start fresh. Melanie's mind spun back, to the events of the past months, to inconsistencies in stories, things she should have questioned at the time but didn't. Because she believed in her sister.

Boyd. Of course.

Her brother-in-law had gotten off being dominated and punished by women, not the other way around.
That day in the hospital, Boyd had denied having hit Mia.

He had been telling the truth.

That was it!

Melanie looked at the woman she had once called sister and summoned a sound of admiration. “Boyd never hit you, did he? You manufactured that whole story.”

“Bingo, sister-dear. The pathetic pervert didn't have the balls to do something so bold.” Mia laughed, sounding almost giddy. “Boyd was a poor excuse for a man, but he made a lot of money. He afforded me a life-style I enjoyed quite well. I wasn't about to give it up and certainly not because I stupidly signed a prenuptial agreement.”

Connor moaned and Melanie said a silent prayer of thanks, then stepped up her efforts, sensing that their time was growing short.

“I think I see now,” she murmured, daring a quick peek at Veronica. By her stricken expression, Mia's true relationship with her husband was news to her. “So you came up with a plan. A story about escalating abuse. You conjured a few tears, gave yourself a few bruises for authenticity's sake. But tell me, what did you hope to gain besides a divorce?”

Mia snorted with disgust at Melanie's lack of vision. “The prenup only applied to divorce. If he died, I got everything.” At Melanie's blank expression, she shook her head. “You have no imagination, Melanie. Think. Everybody knew what a bad temper my big sister had. How protective she was. How she would do anything for me, even pull a knife on her own
father. I decided to use all those
fine
character traits as a way to get rid of my increasingly troublesome husband.”

Melanie pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. Her sister's tone, the way she mocked her for loving and trusting, hurt almost more than she could bear.

“It was going to be so easy,” Mia continued. “I would wear one of your uniforms, shoot him with your service weapon if I could get my hands on it, if not, with my own gun.” She motioned to the pearl-handled revolver on the counter behind Veronica. “Which, by the way, is unregistered. Afterward, I'd make sure you were seen leaving the scene. I'd get rid of both of you at once. Simple.”

She preened at her own cleverness. “I planned to do it when I knew you were home with Casey. You'd have no alibi. Nobody would doubt you did it.”

“Then Veronica happened along,” Melanie murmured. “Making things even easier.”

“Exactly. Who better to have on my side than an Assistant District Attorney? And when I followed Boyd and discovered his nasty little secret, I knew I had it made. In the end, not only did she do the deed for me, she gave my alibi for that night a little extra weight.” Mia laughed, obviously pleased with herself. “Not that I really
needed
the help. You fell right into my plan, Melanie, going so far as to publicly threaten Boyd. Some detective. You never questioned anything I told you.”

“I fell for it, too,” Veronica whispered, folding her
arms across her middle. “You lied to me, Mia. About Boyd…about it all. How…could you?”

Mia sent her a contemptuous glance. “Get a grip, Veronica. This is real life.”

With a cry of anguish, Veronica turned on Mia. “I was willing to do anything for you…
Anything!
I loved you…and all along—” her voice broke “—all along you were
lying
to me? You were
using
me?”

“You were willing to do anything for me, a point you made abundantly clear from the start. And I appreciate that. You made my life a whole lot easier. And if it makes you feel any better, I'd planned to keep you around awhile. Unfortunately that's no longer possible. But hey, we had fun. Right? Alas, it's over.”

“Over.” Veronica took a step backward, eyes flooding with tears. “But we, I don't…understand.”

“I can't imagine why, it's so obvious. The police and FBI know about you. But they don't know about me. And they won't.” She sighed. “It's too bad the way you killed Melanie and Connor. I tried to stop you, tried to save them—” her voice quivered as she practiced her role “—but I couldn't. The truth is, I'm lucky to be alive.”

She lifted the gun and aimed it at the stunned Veronica. “Goodbye, love.”

Veronica released a blood-chilling howl of rage and betrayal, then in one seamless movement went from her ready position to a perfectly executed flying kick. At the same moment, Mia fired Connor's gun. The bullet stunned Veronica, but didn't stop her. Mia fired again.

Veronica went down, stumbling backward, hand to her stomach, vibrant red spreading across her white T-shirt. Without pause, Mia turned her back to the woman and aimed the weapon at Melanie. She smiled.

A shot rang out. The explosion of sound reverberated in the room; it blended with Melanie's cry and Connor's shout to throw her body to the right.

Melanie felt herself falling. Her life passed before her eyes, the good moments, the ones worth taking with her—Casey's birth, his first smile, walking on the beach with her mother, laughing with Ashley, making love with Connor.

The chair hit the floor. Pain tore through her shoulder. Her head snapped against the tile; pinpoints of lights popped behind her eyes.

It took a moment for Melanie's head to clear, for her to realize that neither she nor Connor had been hit. She craned her neck.

And saw her sister. She lay on the floor in a growing pool of red, head twisted toward Melanie. Her eyes were open. Staring. Vacant.

Melanie moved her gaze. Veronica had dragged herself up to the counter and retrieved Mia's gun. She stood there still, hanging on by sheer force of will, gun in her hand.

She met Melanie's eyes. In them Melanie saw real regret. Resignation. Apology.

A small smile curving the corners of her mouth, she brought the gun to her mouth.

And pulled the trigger.