Chapter 9
The drive back into town was the longest of my life.
Every second felt like an hour.
Torres was driving.
Sirens screaming.
I was on the phone.
Shouting orders.
Roadblocks.
APBs.
Every available officer in the county.
But I knew it was too late.
Brooke had a twenty-minute head start.
Maybe more.
And she knew this area.
Knew every back road.
Every dirt path.
Every place to hide.
We reached the hospital at 9:42 p.m.
The place was swarming with police.
Paramedics were loading the two unconscious officers into ambulances.
They'd been hit from behind.
Professional.
Quick.
I ran up to the fourth floor.
Room 417.
The door hung open.
The room was empty.
But there was a message.
Written on the mirror in lipstick.
Bright red.
An eye for an eye.
My hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From rage.
She had my mother.
And my brother.
And God only knew what she intended to do.
Torres came in.
His face was grim.
"Landry's talking."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing useful. He's just smiling. Says it's too late."
"Says Brooke is going to finish what she started."
I thought about Brooke.
Her history.
Her pattern.
She didn't just hurt people.
She punished them.
She made them suffer.
And she'd been planning this.
For how long?
Days?
Weeks?
She'd known the investigation was coming.
Known Landry would fall.
And she'd prepared.
A trap.
A hiding place.
An endgame.
"Torres, think. Where would she go?"
"Somewhere she knows. Somewhere Landry would have shown her."
"Somewhere private. Somewhere nobody would think to look."
He thought for a moment.
"Landry owns property. Outside of town. Old hunting cabin."
"His father built it. It's off the grid. No electricity. No running water."
"Nobody goes there anymore."
"Where is it?"
"About forty minutes north. Deep in the woods."
"Let's go."
We left immediately.
SWAT followed.
Three SUVs.
Lights off.
Driving north into the darkness.
I stared out the window.
The trees were thick.
Black.
Impenetrable.
Somewhere in there...
My mother.
My brother.
And a woman who had already proven she was capable of anything.
I thought about the letter I'd found in Arthur's desk.
Please don't hurt me.
And now he was in her hands again.
With my mother.
The cabin came into view forty-two minutes later.
A small wooden structure.
Hidden between trees.
One window glowed faintly.
Candlelight.
They were inside.
SWAT moved into position.
Surrounding the cabin.
Weapons drawn.
The lead officer raised his hand.
Counted down.
Three.
Two.
One.
They breached the door.
I heard shouting.
Movement.
Then silence.
Torres and I ran in.
The scene inside would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Brooke was standing in the middle of the room.
Holding a gun.
Arthur was on his knees in front of her.
Blood running from a cut on his forehead.
And my mother...
She was tied to a chair.
Her cast broken.
Her face pale.
But her eyes...
They were on me.
Full of fear.
But not defeat.
"Brooke," I said.
My voice was steady.
Even though everything inside me was screaming.
"It's over. Put the gun down."
Brooke laughed.
A sharp, ugly sound.
"Over? It's just getting started."
She pressed the gun to Arthur's head.
"You took everything from me. My uncle. My freedom. My reputation."
"So I'm going to take everything from you."
"First your brother. Then your mother. Then... I'm going to make you watch me kill myself."
"And you'll spend the rest of your life knowing you could have stopped it."
Arthur looked at me.
His eyes were full of apology.
Of regret.
Of love.
And I knew.
In that moment...
I knew what he was going to do.
He'd spent three years being afraid.
Three years letting Brooke control him.
Three years failing the people he loved.
He wasn't going to fail again.
As Brooke was talking...
As her attention was on me...
Arthur moved.
Fast.
He grabbed her wrist.
The one holding the gun.
Twisted.
The gun went off.
A single shot.
It hit the ceiling.
Wood splinters rained down.
Brooke screamed.
Fought him.
But Arthur was stronger than she'd ever given him credit for.
He slammed her against the wall.
The gun clattered to the floor.
SWAT moved in.
In seconds, it was over.
Brooke was on the ground.
Handcuffed.
Screaming curses.
I ran to my mother.
Untied her.
Held her.
She was shaking.
But she was alive.
Arthur was sitting on the floor.
Staring at his hands.
The hands that had finally fought back.
I walked over to him.
Kneeled down.
He looked up at me.
Tears streaming down his face.
"Did I do good, Clara?" he whispered.
"Did I finally do good?"
I pulled him into a hug.
May you like
"Yeah, Arthur. You did good."
"You did real good."
