Erica Spindler (31 page)

She caught her breath at his meaning. “It's not too late, I can change. I see now. I understand what you're fighting for.”

He bent and pressed his mouth to hers in a hard kiss. One that smacked of finality. “It's not about me, Avery. Not about what I feel or what I want. The generals have called for action. They've voted.”

“But you're their leader. They'll do what you—”

“I can't take my eyes off the big picture.” He cradled her face in his palms. “No matter how much I want to.”

“What are you going to do to me? Kill me? The way you killed Elaine St. Claire and Trudy Pruitt?” Her voice quivered. “The way you killed Gwen?”

He didn't deny it. “I don't enjoy the killing. I do it because it's a necessity. Because—”

From the doorway came the soft click of a gun's hammer falling into place. “Off the bed, son.”

Matt twisted, hand going to his weapon.

“Try it and you're dead,” the older man warned.

“You will be, too.” Matt's hand hovered over his weapon. “And poor Avery will lie on this bed and rot.”

Buddy's aim didn't waver. “Drop the fucking gun. To the floor.
Now!
”

Matt hesitated, then slid the weapon from his waistband and tossed it to the floor.

“Good boy. Now, off the bed. Hands up.” He motioned with the gun. “To the wall.”

Matt lifted his hands, climbed off the bed. “Think this through, Dad. Don't make a mistake.”

Buddy moved into the room, gun trained on his son. “Hands on the wall.” When Matt obeyed, Buddy bent, never talking his gaze from the other man, retrieved the gun and slid it into his waistband.

“It's okay, baby girl,” he said, inching toward the bed. “Everything's going to be okay.”

He freed Avery's hands, then feet. She saw that his cheeks were wet.

She pulled up her pants, then scrambled into a sitting position. After tying the pieces of T-shirt together, she scrambled off the bed and crossed to stand behind Buddy.

“You have to stop, Matt.” Buddy took a step toward his son. “The killing has to stop.”

Matt turned, held out a hand to his father, expression pleading. “We're in this together. Everything I've done, I've done for us. The family. The community.”

Tears trickled down Buddy's cheeks. “You're ill, son. I should have faced it long ago but I didn't want to see. That night…Sallie Waguespack, I thought I was doing the right thing. But it wasn't right. I've been covering up and making excuses all these years. And these past months, pretending I didn't suspect something was wrong.”

“It's not me, Dad. It's her. She won't keep quiet. We have to keep her quiet. To protect the family. She's just like Sallie.”

“I didn't know, baby girl,” Buddy said, voice heavy with pain. “Not about your daddy. Not about the others. I thought…let myself believe it wasn't happening. That all the deaths were just what they appeared to be.”

Matt's expression went soft. “What would you have had me do? Phillip was going to the district attorney. The others were going to back him up. Tell everyone about Sallie and The Seven. I only meant to protect us.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” He removed his handcuffs from the pouch on his utility belt. “I've got to cuff you.”

“Don't do it, Dad.” His eyes filled with tears. “Please, don't cuff me.”

Avery saw the emotional toll this was taking on the older man. She ached for him—the father having to face the consequences of his mistakes and the terrible truth about his own flesh and blood.

“I've got to son. I'm sorry.”

Matt held out his arms. “I'll come quietly then. If you believe this is the right thing, I'll do whatever you say.”

“I'll protect you as best I can, Matt. Within the law.” Buddy lowered his weapon, crossed to his son.

Matt's gaze flicked to Avery's. In his she saw triumph.

“Buddy!” she cried, seeing the switchblade cupped in Matt's palm. “It's a trick!”

Matt lunged forward, catching his father by surprise. The blade popped out. He buried it in the side of Buddy's neck.

“No!” Avery screamed. A look of surprise crossed the older man's face; he reached up to grab the blade. Matt twisted it, then yanked it out. Blood sprayed.

Buddy looked at his son, mouth working. He took a step. Wobbled, then crashed to the floor.

Avery turned to run. Matt grabbed her around the middle, dragged her to his chest and brought the blade to her throat. She saw that his hand was splattered with blood. His father's blood.

“See, Avery? Weak. Stupid.” He gazed down at his father's still-twitching form. “And a traitor as well.”

She saw no remorse in his expression. No regret. “You're crazy. A psychotic, murdering son of a bitch!”

“I'm a soldier. I'm fighting for something bigger than you or I or an old man who'd forgotten what was important.” He bent and retrieved his father's handcuffs. Wrenching an arm behind her back, Matt cuffed one wrist, then the next.

He turned his emotionless gaze on her. “You have
been judged and found guilty, Avery Chauvin. Of crimes against this community. Of attempting to bring an end to a way of life that has existed for a century. The Seven will decide your fate.”

A
very fought to keep hysteria at bay as Matt forced her deeper into the bowels of the charred canning factory. The odor, simply unpleasant from the outside, turned foul inside. Overpowering, like the stench of the grave.

Her throat and eyes burned. She saw that parts of the interior, though fire damaged, were still intact. Here and there a wall stood, oddly unmarred. A piece of untouched furniture sat beside a gaping hole in the flooring, as if the flames had been fickle, choosing one but not another.

Matt nudged her forward, gun between her shoulder blades. Obviously, he had spent a good bit of time here. Though the place was as dark as the devil's will, he guided her through the charred landscape without hesitation.

He pressed his mouth to her ear. “We're going up. But watch your step, you wouldn't want to miss your date with my generals.”

“Go to hell.”

He laughed, the sound delighted. “We're there, don't you think?”

She did, though she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response.

They made their way up the fire-ravaged stairs. As they did he murmured directions in her ear, “Step left, skip the next stair, go all the way right.”

She stumbled and righted herself, a difficult feat without her arms for balance. He didn't offer a hand and she sensed he enjoyed watching her struggle. That her discomfort amused him.

Finally at the top landing, she could see. A portion of the roof was gone and moonlight spilled through the opening, revealing a rabbit's warren of doors, hallways and half walls.

They stopped in front of a closed door fixed with a padlock. “We're here,” he said.

He took his eyes off her as he unlocked the door. She glanced back toward the stairs. She could take her chances, run. But how far would she get before she stumbled, fell through the floor or he shot her in the back? Two steps? A half-dozen?

“Go ahead,” he murmured as if reading her thoughts. “Take your chance. As you lay bleeding to death from internal injuries, you'll beg me to finish you off with a bullet.”

“Bastard.”

“You think so, that's understandable, I suppose.” He unfastened the padlock, swung the door open. “But future generations will hold me up as a hero. A visionary.”

“Future generations?” she spat. “You'll be reviled, then forgotten as you rot in a cell at Angola. Or the Feliciana Forensic Facility for the Criminally Insane in Jackson.”

“Poor Avery,” he murmured. “Blind like the others. In you go.” He grabbed her arm and shoved her violently through the door. Without her arms to break her fall, she landed on her knees, then pitched forward. Her chin struck the concrete floor.

Matt chuckled as he slammed and locked the door behind her. She managed to get to her feet, ran to the door. She threw herself against it. “Bastard!” she shouted, kicking it. “You won't get away with this!”

“Don't waste your energy, there's no way out.”

The whispered advice came from behind her. Avery whirled around. “Gwen?”

“The one and only.”

Avery searched the interior, eyes not yet accustomed to the darkness. “Where are you?”

“Here.”

She saw her then, on the floor, pressed into the far corner. Avery hurried to her side and knelt beside her. “Thank God, I thought…I thought you—”

“Were dead. I did, too.”

Avery saw that she was hurt. The right side of her head was crusted with dried blood, her blond hair matted with it.

Avery pictured the blood on Gwen's bathroom door. He must have knocked her out. “When did he do it?”

“The storm,” Gwen whispered. “I awoke, he was there, in my room. I thought he was going to kill me. But he brought me here, instead.” Gwen bent and rested her forehead against Avery's. “I prayed you'd come. But not this way.”

With the police
.

But Matt was the police
.

“We're going to get out of this.” Avery frowned. “He said The Seven would decide my fate. I think they're meeting here tonight.”

“He's going to kill us, isn't he?”

He or one of his generals
. “Let's not think about that now.” Avery moved her gaze over the room's walls. Judging by its size and the shelving along one wall, the room had been a storage closet. “Have you looked for a way out?”

“There's none.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.” Gwen's voice broke. “I don't want to die, Avery. Not now. Not like this.”

“We will if we give up, that's for sure. Can you stand?”

She nodded and, using the wall for leverage, inched to her feet.

“Good,” Avery murmured. “Our only shot may be trying to overpower him when he comes for us. One of us can rush him while the other goes for his gun. Or runs.”

It sounded lame even to Avery's own ears. Overpower Matt? Her arms were secured behind her back and Gwen was almost too weak to stand. But she refused to give up. Refused to die without a fight.

“All right,” Gwen said, though her voice quavered. “You tell me what to do and I'll do it.”

A rapping sound caught her attention. Avery stilled, listening. It had come from behind the shelves.

The sound came again and Avery realized what it was. Matt, calling The Seven to order.

“Come on, Gwen. Let's see if we can move these shelves.”

The shelves were metal and heavy, though not bolted in place. Together they eased one unit away from the wall, Gwen using her arms, Avery her body as a wedge.

They managed to create a space big enough to slip behind.

Once behind the shelves Avery found herself, absurdly, reassured by the small, tight space. It felt safe. Like a womb. Like a child's perfect hiding place. The one where nobody could ever find her.

As a kid she'd had several. She'd been good at hide-and-seek, had had the ability to slip into nooks and crannies and remain still and silent for long periods of time. Sometimes so long, the person who was “It” gave up.

Even as she wondered if Matt would give up if she was quiet enough, still enough, she acknowledged the stupidity of the thought.

Gwen followed her in. They both put an ear to the wall.

Matt was talking. He named her and Gwen as defendants, listing their crime as treason. He called for questions and comments from his generals.

Who were they? Avery wondered, straining to hear. Old friends of hers? Neighbors? Someone she had gone to school with? Would they feel any loyalty to her? Any regret?

Gwen met Avery's eyes and shook her head, indicating she couldn't hear what they were saying.

Avery couldn't either and pressed her ear closer, straining. Matt murmured a reply she couldn't make out, then paused as if listening to another question. She heard him mention his father, voice breaking.

Buddy had not been a part of this inner circle, that had become clear to her back at the cabin. That he had not been party to their extremist ideology had also become obvious. But still, she wondered, would they simply sit back and condone his murder?

If their silence was an indication, they accepted their leader's actions without question. Who were they? she wondered again, disbelieving. Who had he convinced to join his insane cause?

Avery jumped as Matt once again called for order. “A vote, then,” he said loudly. “Guilty or not?”

Silence ensued. The seconds ticked past. Avery realized that she was sweating. Holding her breath though she had no real doubt what the outcome would be.

“It's unanimous then,” Matt boomed. “The Seven find Gwen Lancaster and Avery Chauvin guilty of treason.”

H
unter paced the length of the windowless interrogation room. Two CSPD uniforms had retrieved him from his home that morning. His father had requested they pick him up, they'd said. Bring him in for questioning. Cooperation hadn't been an option.

They had dumped him here, told him Buddy would be in shortly and left. That had been nearly twelve hours ago.

He stopped. Moved his gaze over the room. A single table made out of wood. Three chairs, also made out of wood. They'd been around awhile and bore the evidence of each of those years in the form of cigarette burns, chips, scratches and carvings. He continued his inspection. No fire alarm. No phone. Reinforced door, locked from the outside.

This was wrong. He had known it was wrong this morning. Had sensed a setup
.

The officers had said it was about Avery. She was in trouble. Buddy had said to tell him that
.

So he had come. And left Avery on the outside. Alone.

He pivoted and crossed to the door. “This is bullshit!” he shouted and pounded on it. “Charge me or release me!”

He pressed his ear to the door, swearing at the silence
on the other side. He had to get out of here. Avery was in trouble.

He pounded again. “Hey! I gotta take a piss. Unless you want a mess to clean up, you better get your asses to this doo—”

The door swung open. A pimply-faced officer with big ears stood on the other side, Cherry directly behind him.

“Cherry?” Hunter said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Dad needs our help. Inside,” she ordered the officer, nudging him forward.

With a gun, Hunter saw. A big gun. A .357 Magnum, long barrel. He returned his gaze to hers. “You really know how to use that?”

“I'm not dignifying
that
with an answer.” She grabbed his arm with her free hand. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

She pulled him through the door, slamming and locking it behind him. She pocketed the key. The officer began pounding on the door.

“What the hell's going on?”

“We'll talk in the car.” She hurried forward. “Sammy there was manning the station alone, but the patrol guys are going to be checking in soon.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“I've been locked in that room since early this morning, I need to use the john.”

“Make it quick.”

She was waiting for him when he emerged moments later. Wordlessly, they went to her car and climbed in. His mother sat in the back seat. She had been crying: her eyes were red and swollen, her skin blotchy.

She looked on the verge of falling apart.

He glanced over at Cherry. “Somebody better start talking, fast.”

Cherry pulled away from the curb. “Dad said if we didn't hear from him by eight, to come and get you.”

“Get me? What was I doing there?”

“He wanted you to be somewhere safe. He figured locked up at the CSPD was about as safe as he could find.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Matt's the one,” she said. “And he's got Avery.”