Page 47 of Unspoken (Shadow Falls: After Dark #3)

Chapter Forty-seven

“I need your help.” Della dropped down in the chair in front of Holiday’s desk.

Pity, empathy, and a whole shit-load of emotions filled the camp leader’s face. Della could tell the fae was aching to touch her to try to ease her pain. But sometimes pain was a good thing. It forced one to focus on the problem. Maybe even to find a solution.

“You got it,” Holiday said. “Anything. What do you need?”

Della picked up a pen from Holiday’s desk. The words sat on the tip of Della’s tongue. All she had to do was spit them out. She clicked the pen. The tiny noise filled the small office. Click. Click. Click.

“I… I need you to help me plan my death.”

Holiday’s eyes widened. “Anything but that.”

“That’s not acceptable.” Della frowned. Click. Click. Click.

“But Della—”

“You gave me your word that if I tried it your way—that if I attempted to stay connected with my family and it didn’t work, you’d help me fake my own death.” She put her finger back on the tip of the pen. “You even helped Jonathon.”

Click!

“Jonathon’s home life was dysfunctional.”

“And mine’s not? My father thinks I could slice and dice a sweet ol’ neighbor and her husband.” She gripped the pen so tight that she thought she heard the thin plastic crack.

“What about your mother, Della? And your sister. You love them.”

Della felt a lump form in her throat. “Why the hell do you think I’m doing this?” Click. Click. Click. “They’ll be better off without me. If I’d done this when I first came here, none of this would have happened. My dad wouldn’t be on trial for murder.”

“But, right now—”

“I don’t mean right, right now. After the trial. But right after it.” She tossed the pen back on Holiday’s oak desk. It bounced once, rolled off the desk, and fell apart in about four different pieces.

Della got up and walked out.

***

Della went for a run and was almost back to her cabin when her phone rang. Her heart hurt, her head hurt. There wasn’t anyone she wanted to talk to. They’d just try to talk her out of dying. And the truth was she felt like she was already dying inside.

She let it ring. It stopped. She waited to hear if they’d leave a message. It didn’t ding.

For a reason she didn’t even understand, she checked to see who she’d ignored. Her heart hoped it was Chase. Not Chase. Her breath caught.

What about your mother, Della? And your sister. You love them. Holiday’s words echoed in her head.

She hadn’t expected it to be her mom.

Was something wrong?

Oh, hell, she hit redial. Her mom answered.

“Della,” her mom’s voice shook, tears sounded in her voice.

“What’s wrong?” Della’s grip on the phone tightened right along with her heart.

“You need to come help me talk some sense into your dad.”

Della talk sense into her father? He hadn’t even spoken to her in months.

“What’s wrong?”

“He just… he fired his lawyer, and said he’s going to the police station to confess to the murder.”

“What?” Della asked.

“You heard me.”

“He didn’t do it, Mom. He just pulled the knife out.”

“What?” Her mom sounded confused. Oh, hell!

“I’m on my way. Do not let him go to the police station. I don’t care if you have to hit him over the head and sit on him. Do not let him go!”

Della started to take flight, but the day was too bright. Shit! Shit! Shit! She flew back to the office and ran inside.

“Holiday, I need—”

She wasn’t there. Della pulled her phone out and dialed Holiday’s number. A phone rang on Holiday’s desk. The camp leader must have forgotten it.

Della’s gaze fell to the car keys in the wooden box on the desk.

Her hesitation lasted one second. She snagged them up, and wrote a quick note. Trouble at home. She left.

***

Adrenaline flowed through Chase’s veins as Burnett slowly drove by the two-story house. The structure looked like a tired white elephant. The brick had been painted white and the roof on the garage sagged. The yard looked overgrown.

Three cars were parked in front of the house and some hard rock music pulsed through the air. In the distance, some thunder seemed to play the same tune.

“Someone’s home,” Chase said.

“Yeah.” Burnett parked on the opposite side of the street.

“Front or back?” Chase asked.

“Not so fast.” Burnett dipped his head down and eyed the house. “There could be a dozen of them in there.”

“Let me take a stroll and I’ll tell you what I hear and smell.”

“You get closer and if Stone—or a full were—is in there, they’ll catch your scent.”

“Then let’s just storm the place. I think we can handle them.”

Burnett frowned. “I think you could have died last night if you hadn’t heard the crack of the shotgun. If they had guns, these guys could be toting too.”

“So, what? You calling for backup?” Chase asked.

Burnett’s frown deepened and he stared again at the house, as if considering it. “If Stone’s in there, it would be easier if we didn’t have company.”

He pointed to the back of the van. “There’s a briefcase in the back. Pull it up here and grab those two vests in that seat.”

Chase dropped the case and one of the vests beside Burnett.

“That thing weights a ton. It’ll slow me down.”

“It’ll slow down a bullet, too.”

Burnett slipped the vest on over his suit. Chase tried, but the dang thing was too tight.

“It’s too small,” Chase said.

“Take your coat and shirt off,” Burnett said.

Frustrated, Chase did it. Then he slipped his black jacket back on.

Burnett looked around. “Lucky for us, it doesn’t appear that any neighbors are home.”

He opened the briefcase. In it were two strange-looking guns that looked like they’d come out of a sci-fi flick.

“Tranquilizers?” Chase asked.

Burnett nodded. “Six-shooters, too. All you have to do is aim and pull the trigger.”

“Easy enough.”

Burnett nodded. “Important to remember—”

“Shoot them before they shoot you,” Chase said.

“I was going to say, hit upper torso so it will work faster, but your point’s good too.”

They got out and started across the street.

Burnett spoke again as they stepped onto the front lawn. A mist of rain fell. “The drug in our bullets takes about five seconds to take effect. It only takes one for them to pull a trigger. So it’s not a fair fight if they have real guns.”

Chase nodded.

“You take the back this time.” Chase started to the back. “Careful,” Burnett whispered.

“It’s my middle name.”

***

Della parked in the driveway. Had she gotten here in time? Jumping out of the car, she got a scent of blood. She looked over her shoulder, almost certain the smell came from across the street. But it scared her nevertheless.

She rushed inside. “Mom?” she screamed.

The sound of a door slamming filled the oddly disturbing silence. She moved toward the kitchen, thinking she might find her mom there. But she never got past the entryway.

“Oh, goodie,” a male voice said, coming from the dining room.

Della took a noseful of air to see what she was up against. But her mom must have cooked spaghetti because all she smelled was the nauseating odor of garlic. She swung around. A quick check of the intruder’s forehead showed he was half were.

She could take him.

Still, heart pounding, fear triggering her inner vamp to come out to serve and protect, she tilted her head to the right, hoping to decipher if anyone else was here.

The sound of heavy breathing came from the den toward the back of the house.

“We have the whole family here now,” the were called out.

In one hand he held a baseball bat; in the other, he held a framed photo—a family portrait of them posing in the park taken right before Della had turned.

Fury rose in her chest. She loved that picture. “Put that down!”

“What? This?” He held up the frame. “Or this?” He held up the bat.

“Actually, both,” she seethed.

He took a swing. Della caught the bat and spotted a touch of fear in his eyes. For good reason. But oddly, he didn’t think to check her pattern. His mistake.

Hit again by the smell of blood, she instantly became aware of the thick slickness on the bat. Her heart gripped.

Who had the dirty rogue already hit?