Page 93 of Whispers

“Wha—?”

“Don’t argue, Claire. I don’t have time for it. Just get the hell into the damned car.” There was a frantic edge to Randa’s words, and Claire didn’t dare argue, just opened the passenger door and found Tessa slumped and shell-shocked in the front seat. She looked white as death, her eyes vacant, her teeth chattering. Miranda was just as bad. Her dark hair was mussed and wild, her clothes torn, her expression hard. Something akin to fear pulled at the corners of her mouth. She looked as if she knew someone or something evil was chasing her, and she wa

s running for her life. For Tessa’s life.

“Randa—?”

“Get in, damn it!”

Heart pounding with an unknown dread, Claire squeezed into the back. “What’s going on?”

“Close the door!” Randa ordered, and Tessa, as if she didn’t have a mind of her own, did as she was told.

Cranking the steering wheel, Miranda stepped on the gas and peeled out of the driveway. Trees, black sentinels guarding the silvery waters of the lake, sped by in a rush.

Claire’s heart hammered; her palms began to sweat. “Would someone please tell me what happened?”

“Did you see Harley tonight?” Miranda asked as the car slid around a corner and a back tire hit mud. The wheel spun crazily before gaining purchase on the slick asphalt again.

“Yes.”

“At the marina?”

“Yes, yes. What is this? Twenty questions?”

Barely slowing, Miranda turned north onto the county road that rimmed the lake. Unwittingly, she was taking Claire closer to Kane’s house, and Claire tried to quell the sense of panic that was crushing the air from her lungs. What had happened? Why did Miranda and Tessa look as if they’d just seen the apocalypse? Tessa began to sob quietly in the passenger seat.

“When did you see him?” Miranda demanded.

“Harley?” She shifted mental gears again. “I, uh, met him at ten-thirty. Why? For God’s sake, Randa, will you tell me—?”

A police car, lights flashing red, white, and blue, sped in the opposite direction. “Shit!” Miranda said and made the next turn onto a gravel side road filled with potholes.

“Miranda—”

“In a minute, okay? I just want to get us out of this mess.”

“What mess?” Claire nearly screamed, and Miranda stamped hard on the brakes. The Camaro skidded to a stop, barely missing a telephone pole. Berry vines scraped the passenger side.

“Get out of the car.” Miranda left the engine running, but killed the lights.

“What? I just got in.”

Miranda was already opening the car door, stepping into the muck, and Claire, heart thudding, followed. For the few seconds that the interior light blinked on she noticed the bloodred stains on Miranda’s skirt.

Blood? Claire’s stomach curdled. Blood? But how? Why? Her throat closed. She didn’t dare breathe. Suddenly she didn’t want to know what had happened. In an instant of clairvoyance she knew that her life and the lives of those she loved were about to be irrevocably altered. For the worse. She glanced at Tessa huddled near the door, tears running down her cheeks, streaking her mascara, her arms cradled around her knees, and realized that something evil had captured them all in its vile net.

“We don’t have a lot of time, so just listen,” Miranda said as Claire stumbled out of the car. She grabbed Claire’s shoulders in her tense fingers, gripping so tightly Claire nearly cried out. Miranda’s gaze was fierce, her jaw set, her eyes wilder than Claire had ever seen. Rain slashed from the sky, drenching Randa’s hair, dripping from her nose, running down the back of Claire’s neck. “Harley’s dead.”

“Wha—” Claire’s voice died in her throat and her knees threatened to give way, but Miranda held her fast against the fender, forcing her to stand. “What? No!”

“He died tonight at the marina.”

“Randa—”

“It’s true, Claire.”

“But—but—”