Then the vinegar hit him, the acid in his heart. He leapt to his feet and tore away the needle. Throwing it to the ground, he put his hand over his chest as if trying to plug a leak. The puncture was minute—it was what she had pumped inside that mattered. He drew in a sharp gasp and seemed unable to let it go. It was as if he had swallowed the air in his lungs and it had squeezed into his bloodstream. Convulsions rent his body, and he danced like a scarecrow on fire. He tried to curse her, to scream. Most of all he wanted to say his brother’s name. He wanted Gene to help him. But it was clear he did not have the breath for it.

Still, he managed to pull out his gun and point it at her.

“No!” she cried.

He fired. The bullet struck harmlessly between her legs. Tremors shook him from head to foot. Once more, he tried to take aim. He was only two feet away; she thought he would hit her. Moving fast, she rolled right and swept his legs out from under him. She ended up flat on her back again, this time with him on her left side. But he was having trouble getting up. Best of all, he had dropped his gun. He pointed a shaky arm at her.

“Bitch,” he mumbled.

He toppled backward and lay still.

Kelly sat up, tore off the duct tape with her teeth. Once free, she picked up his gun and cautiously knelt by his side. No pulse at the neck, no air moving in and out. He was dead.

“Bastard,” she muttered.

She left him where he had fallen. But she took the other gun from his belt. When she was back inside and had some light, she saw that the gun he had put to her head was her gun. He had definitely been to her apartment in Malibu. She did not have to stretch her imagination to figure out why.

Kelly checked on Julie. The woman appeared to be breathing normally. The same with Robert; the kid snored peacefully. She brought them both blankets and pillows and tried to make them more comfortable. Neither appeared in danger—they would probably sleep through the night. Hopefully she would be back before morning. Later, there would be time to explain the true identity of Michael Grander.

Kelly collected both guns, the needle, the roll of duct tape, and left the house.

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-ONE

The cliff was not the edge of the world, but the drop over the side could still kill. Three hundred feet straight down to a stream just four feet deep. Amy did not appear to remember, but it was the same cliff she had practiced on during their last visit to the national park. Once she had conquered it, she had felt like a real rock climber.