Page 166 of Paranoid

“Okay, let’s go.” As the engine ticked and cooled, he pulled the key from the ignition, and when he opened the door and the interior light flashed on she saw him withdraw a gun from the pocket of his jacket.

Oh. God. No.

“You have a gun?” she said, hoping the phone was recording her dismay.

“Think of it as insurance.”

“For what?”

Cold, numbing fear crawled through her.

“To make sure you do as I say.” He glared at her across the front seat, his face in shadow. She thought, for a second, of another man, one she’d known all her life, one who had no connection to him. The image—of a picture of her grandfather at a younger age—dissipated. She licked her lips. Lucas wasn’t kidding. His face was set in stone, his eyes those of a killer.

In her mind’s eye she saw the woman hanging from the bell ropes last night giving up her last dying breath, and in that split second she knew she had to get away. Now.

“Move it!” he ordered, wagging the pistol across the seats. “You’re going with me into that fuckin’ packing plant to meet with Xander and then you’ll text your mother from your phone and she’ll come to save you and I’ll be waiting.”

“For . . . ?” A new terror seized her.

He stared at her as if she were the dimmest person on the planet. “For revenge, Harper. Haven’t you been reading the papers? Don’t you know that she killed my father and never paid the price? That she got off scot-free after pulling the trigger? She killed him, Harper. Your mother’s a goddamned murderer and the only reason she wasn’t convicted—the only damned reason—was because she was the kid of a cop and her stupid, fucking friends lied for her, came forward and lied about what they saw and heard. So they had to pay, too.”

Horrified, Harper shrank away from him. If only she had a weapon. Xander didn’t own a gun but there had to be something in this Jeep. He had a toolbox and camping gear in the back cargo area, behind the backseat, but she couldn’t reach either. “That’s not how it was,” she argued.

“That’s exactly how it was!” Lucas shot back. “And she has to pay.”

“Why now? After all these years?”

Think, Harper, think! She glanced at the console; knew a bottle opener was inside and maybe a pen. Not good enough.

“Because I didn’t really know about it, did I? Everybody including my mom whitewashed it. When I asked, I was told some fantasy story about an ‘accident’ with ‘stupid kids’ and then she warned me not to play with guns, any kind of guns. But lately, I’ve been hearing differently, the real story,” he said, the skin over his face tightening.

The umbrella! Xander had one tucked under the passenger seat. She remembered him using it recently. Swallowing back her fear, she shifted on the seat, stared hard at Lucas, holding his eyes while her right hand moved slowly to the floor.

Caught up in his anger, Lucas continued, “I know the truth. I’ve been listening in, with the equipment I bought from Dylan, hearing everything. My mother has been talking to all of the fucking people on that damned reunion committee and she wanted a special shrine to my father and so there was lots of chitchat about him and how he died and I heard her talking to her friend who owns the newspaper when she was interviewed and they went off script a little. They all knew it, Harper. They all knew your mother killed him and they covered for her.” His lips twisted as if he’d tasted something foul just as her fingers brushed the folded nylon of the umbrella’s canopy. “They have to pay!”

She stretched, her hand sliding downward until she felt the pole. Oh, God, help me. Somehow, someway, she had to get away. But she had to find Xander. God, what had Lucas done to him?

Lucas was on a roll, unleashing all his pent-up rage, pointing the damned gun at her face, talking as if he’d never stop, his voice rough with fury. “Ned Gaston made sure his precious little girl didn’t go to jail.” His lips curled in disgust. “And all her friends came forward, swore they weren’t sure how he died, but she was the one who pulled the trigger.”

Oh, God, this was so sick, so twisted, but she needed to keep him talking. She had to grab the umbrella without him noticing. “So why is Xander in the cannery? What did you do to him?” She was trying to sound tough when she was freaking out inside, sweating, her heart pounding, stalling for time, stretching her fingers.

You have to make a break for it, Harper; you know you do. He’s going to hurt you or worse.

But Xander? Was he really here? Was he hurt? Alive? Oh, dear God . . . “I . . . I need to see Xander.”

“You will! I already told you, he’s inside.” Angrily he motioned through the windshield toward the building. “Now, before we go meet him, just one more thing. I want to send one more text to your mommy.”

“Mom?”

“Yeah. Your cute little murderess of a mommy. Now, smile and say ‘cheese.’” Before she could react, he snapped a picture, the flash momentarily blinding her. “Perfect.” He turned his attention to the screen and typed quickly, sending a short message.

Now! Get out now!

She snared the umbrella, yanked it from under the seat.

He caught the movement. Realized he’d been tricked and focused on her. “What the fuck?”

Now! She dropped her phone, and with all her strength, she used the umbrella like a spear, using both hands and thrusting hard, ramming the folded umbrella with its sharp tip straight into his neck!