Page 66 of 4th Silence

Charlie’s voice cuts through the haze with her classic get-‘er-done sharpness I’ve heard my entire life. Even as a child, my sister was bossy.

“Don’t yell,” I croak, pushing myself to a sitting position while a blast of pain ricochets through my skull.

Charlie looms over me, blood staining her mouth and clothing.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine. Bit my lip. The rest are cuts from the glass. Alex is getting away. Can you get up?”

He’s getting away. With the purse?

Foggy brain or not, I launch to my feet. Stomach tumbling and head pounding, I bolt for the main house’s door.

“Locked.”

I turn back, sidestepping Charlie. “This way. We can go through the tunnel.”

“We’ll never catch him.”

“We have to try.”

I yank open the tunnel door and take off, every step like a pickaxe to my battered head. My stomach lurches again. If I’d eaten anything, I’d be vomiting.

“This tunnel,” I call over my shoulder, not bothering to check if Charlie is with me. I know she is, “leads to the cottage. From there, we can cut across the lawn and hopefully catch him before he escapes.”

At the end of the passageway, we bolt up the stairs. Charlie is right on my heels now, her longer legs able to cover more ground even within the confines of her tight skirt. At the top, I step aside and point to the front door. “Go. You’re faster.”

She kicks off her shoes, hitches up her skirt, and blasts through the door without a concern over running through snow barefoot.

That’s Charlie—zero concern for comfort and all in on justice.

By the time I reach the porch, she’s already ten yards ahead, tearing toward Alex’s car in the circular drive. Her left ankle wobbles a few times, but it barely slows her down.

I zero in on the house, where the front door opens.

Alex. Purse in hand.

“There he is!” I yell. “Take the back of his car. I’ve got the front!”

We branch off. Alex tracks us but keeps moving and jumps into the driver’s seat.

Charlie veers to cut him off at the lower driveway. I barrel forward, ready to throw myself on the hood of his car if necessary.

I want that purse.

Alex hits the gas and speeds down the long path. The gate is already opening and — dammit, dammit, dammit—he’s getting away.

I push myself, picking up speed.

To my right, Charlie shifts slightly, moving toward the tiny gatehouse.

If she’s hoping to get the gate closed before Alex screams through, she’ll need a miracle.

A black SUV slides into view, blocking the exit.

Alex brakes hard. Tires screech. The high-pitched squeal nearly gives me a brain bleed, but I keep moving, trying to level off my breathing that’s coming in short bursts.

The SUV’s door flies open and…what the hell?