Page 63 of The Chain

“Yes. I think so. My uncle Pete took me target shooting a few times. I know what to do.”

“It’s a different thing, though, isn’t it, shooting a target, a piece of paper, and shooting a person?”

“I’m going to shoot you in the leg first to show you that I’m serious.”

“And then what?”

“She’ll give me the handcuff key and I’ll go.”

“Why would she let you go?”

“Because otherwise I’ll kill you,” Kylie says. “But I know you didn’t mean to do all this and I’ll make you both a promise. After I get out of here, I’ll say to my mom that I can’t remember anything. I’ll wait twenty-four hours until I tell the cops where this place is. That will give you both a day to fly anywhere you want. Anywhere there isn’t a, um, one of those—”

“Extradition treaties?”

“Yeah.”

The man shakes his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Kylie. It was a good effort, but you’ve miscalculated. Heather doesn’t really care about me. She’d let you shoot me. She’d let you plug as many bullets as you’d like into me.”

“Of course she’ll care! Call her. Tell her to bring the key!”

“No.” He sighs. “She hasn’t cared for years, if she ever really did. Jared’s her son from her first marriage. I was kind of a stopgap measure, I guess. A stopgap she got stuck with. I love her but I think the feeling’s never really been mutual.”

Kylie makes a mental note of the two names he let slip in his dazed state, Heather and Jared. That information might be useful later but for now she has to get out.

“I don’t care about any of that stuff, mister. I want to get out of here! I’m not bluffing.”

“I don’t think you’re bluffing. You seem like a very determined young lady. You should pull the trigger.”

“I will.”

“Do it, then.”

She stands up, aims the revolver at the man’s kneecap, and squeezes the trigger the way her uncle Pete taught her.

The hammer falls down on the percussion cap. There’s a click, and then silence. She squeezes the trigger again. The chamber revolves; the hammer goes back and comes down on another percussion cap. Another click, then more silence. She pulls the trigger four more times until she has gone through the entire six bullets in the gun.

“I don’t understand,” she says.

The man reaches out and takes the gun from her. He clicks open the revolver and shows her the six gleamingemptybrass cartridges that he put in the weapon.

32

Saturday, 7:35 a.m.

There’s a noise upstairs in the kitchen.

Has the cop come back?

Rachel picks up the gun and points it at the top of the basement steps. “Who is it?” she asks.

She sights the gun. Holds her breath.

Pete comes running down the steps.

“I got the EpiPen. It arrived at the drop box!” he says.

“Thank God!”