You Don't Want To Know

  “It was an accident.”

  “And you end up inheriting everything.” Khloe’s lip curled in disgust as she advanced. “So you see, Wyatt was a way to get back at you. Through him, I can get a part of this.” She wobbled her knife at the interior of the kitchen, to indicate the house, the estate, all of Neptune’s Gate.

  “But you killed him!” This didn’t make any sense. Still, Ava scooted away. She just had to keep this going until help arrived. Khloe seemed to want to gloat, to tell her all the little details. Because they both knew that Ava’s chances of escape were small.

  “Because the chickenshit backed out! Decided not to go through with it! In fact, the jerk said something about trying to patch things up with you. He liked being married to you, having it all. That’s why divorce was out of the question. He’d rather you be alive and sequestered away in some loony bin so he could have control of everything.”

  “And you . . .”

  “I had a better idea! I knew what Jewel-Anne was doing and just went along. If she made you crazy enough, you would kill yourself. When that didn’t happen, I went to plan B.”

  “The murders. Setting me up to take the fall.”

  “See, you’re not as dumb as you look.”

  Ava had to keep Khloe talking as she neared the far wall. She was close now. If she could only grab the door, swing it into Khloe’s face, stab her in the gut, then take off, she might have a chance. Where? Where will you go?

  The boathouse! If she had enough time. And the keys were in the ignition. Oh, God, if only . . . Keep her talking. For God’s sake, Ava, keep her distracted. “What . . . what about Simon?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s your husband.”

  “Not for long. I’ve had one too many bruises from that sick son of a bitch. I’m divorcing his ass. He knows it. Won’t fight me.” She stopped for a second and blinked, as if to catch her escaping thoughts. Maybe Khloe was wounded worse than even she knew.

  Again, Ava heard a boat’s engine . . . or more than one. Please, oh, please . . .

  Khloe took another step forward. “You know, this would have been so much easier if you had just drowned when you were supposed to. You know, when you thought you saw your damned kid. That would have been perfect!”

  “Noah?” she whispered, her back connecting with the door casing.

  “Of course Noah. Those pills we gave you were switched out. Hallucinogens. But you figured that out, didn’t you?”

  “This is unbelievable.”

  “Is it? You would do anything for that kid. We knew we could manipulate you with him.”

  “We?”

  “Jewel-Anne and Wyatt and me. Who do you think? And the really perfect twist to the plan was that he wasn’t even yours. Not really. How ironic was that? Not your damned kid.”

  “He was . . . is . . . mine!” She had to fight to get the words out, to stay awake.

  “At least he was living with his real dad.”

  “Wait . . . what?”

  “You really don’t know?” Khloe asked, coming in for the kill. “Lester Reece isn’t Noah’s father. That was all a big lie. Just in case you found out.”

  “What?” Ava’s head was spinning. She was still digesting the news that Reece was Jewel-Anne’s lover and Noah’s biological father. “Wyatt?”

  Khloe grinned with malicious satisfaction.

  “Wyatt and Jewel-Anne?” She thought she might be sick.

  “Of course! Jesus, you’re gullible. That’s why Wyatt insisted she stay on the island here in the house!”

  Stunned, Ava tried to put the pieces together. Nothing she was saying made sense, and Ava’s mind was slowing down, the sedatives seeming determined to take hold. Hold on to the little knife. Don’t let go.

  “He had you and Jewel-Anne pregnant at the same damned time. How’s that for twisted?”

  Ava physically shrank at that thought. Wyatt and Jewel-Anne? “That’s impossible.”

  “Impossible? It’s the God’s honest truth. Come on, Ava. Didn’t you ever wonder where Jewel-Anne’s arrogance came from? Why she always seemed so smug? She’d already broken up with Lester before Noah was conceived, not that anyone other than Jewel-Anne and Wyatt could figure it out.”

  “This is all mind games!” she said thickly. Hold on to the knife. For just the right moment. Don’t let go, Ava. Do NOT let go.

  “Can’t face this truth, either, Ava? The reason Jewel-Anne felt superior was because she had something over you, the woman who had it all.” Real emotion charged Khloe’s words, hatred emanating from her. “Your perfect lawyer husband and a beautiful child, even if he wasn’t yours.”

  “You’re sick,” Ava whispered, inching backward, struggling to stay awake. “And you helped her . . . it was you who buried the doll in the coffin. You killed her and sliced the necks of those dolls.”

  “As I said, she knew too much. Just like the others.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Ava said, though it was a lie.

  “Think about the scars on your arm! How do you think you got those, huh? You really believe you tried to commit suicide?” she taunted as Ava’s shoulder hit the wall. She’d run out of room, was now at the back door. “Don’t you remember who helped you into the tub, who lathered you up, who gave you wine . . . with a little bit of something else?”

  Ava blinked. Tried to think. Good Lord, her head was heavy . . . so heavy. Like it had been on that night. When Wyatt had helped lower her into the tub, adding the bubble bath, kissing her slick neck, and lifting the razor to her arm . . . the bubbles turning pink with her blood . . .

  She thought she might be sick. Wyatt? It had been Wyatt? He’d drugged her and slit her wrists in an attempt at a staged suicide? Denial burned through her, but it quickly fled as she realized she’d been Wyatt Garrison’s pawn and had made his life easier for a long time. He didn’t dare divorce her—it would cost him too much and he was greedy enough to want it all. And if he killed her, it would look suspicious, but if she descended into madness and killed herself. . . he would be the perfect martyred husband. Ava actually retched.

  “So now you finally get it, don’t you?” Khloe sounded pleased, though her voice seemed weaker.

  The knife! She started to pull it from her pocket, but the flashlight wagged in Khloe’s hands. “Ah, ah, ah!” Khloe set the flashlight on the counter. “Don’t even think about it. Of course you have another weapon. A backup. A knife? Pepper spray? Leave it.” She sucked her breath in through her teeth as if suddenly in pain.

  Good!

  “And about that little boy you’ve been so worried about, forget him. He died that night, Ava. Wandered off and drowned . . .”

  “More lies!” Ava screamed, her insides shredding. Her fingers clamped tight around the knife.

  “Face it, Ava, he’s gone. And you’ve spent all that money, all that time, all your sanity searching for a kid who’ll never come back. A kid fathered by your husband in an affair with your cousin.”

  Ava barely heard Khloe’s explanation, her ranting, over the roar of denial thundering through her brain. Hearing that Noah was dead only furthered her despair. But now that she was unburdening herself, rubbing Ava’s nose in how clever she was, Khloe couldn’t stop. “Wyatt broke it off with Jewel-Anne after the accident, and she never let him forget that he owed her. She was such a bitch. But that was fine. It made it so easy for me to step in. At first Wyatt was comforting me, you know, with the loss of Kelvin, but things heated up quickly. As for Simon, he’s just another pawn. To make Wyatt jealous so he’d do something, get off his ass and find a way to get rid of you! But then, it was obvious that he wasn’t ever going to do anything.” She laughed bitterly. “And you’re such a moron, you never even suspected that Wyatt was with me and not that weak sniveling shrink!” She leaned against the counter, as if for support. “You know, Ava, you really do deserve to die! This is going to be fun.”

  As if suddenly tired of all the talk, she lunged.

>   A loud screech erupted.

  Khloe took a misstep.

  A dark shadow, hissing and spitting scuttled over the floor.

  The cat!

  As Khloe tried to regain her footing, toppling forward, Ava yanked her knife from her pocket and pushed herself to her feet, trying to dodge the blow.

  Too late. Khloe jabbed.

  Pain exploded in Ava’s arm. She stumbled backward.

  “Stings like a bitch, doesn’t it?” Khloe taunted, raising the knife once more.

  “Tell me about it!” With all of her strength, Ava leaped at Khloe. She shoved her knife deep into Khloe’s chest, and the other woman staggered backward. Spinning, Ava ran for the back door. She shouldered her way past the screen and raced as fast as her legs would carry her along the path to the dock.

  Away from Khloe she ran.

  Away from Neptune’s Gate.

  Away from the horrid knowledge that her son was dead.

  Faster and faster she ran, forcing her legs to move, stumbling, her feet slipping on the wet gravel, the mist thick and wet against her skin.

  Her thoughts were tumbling one after another, horrid, painful scenarios playing in her mind. Wyatt had tried to kill her, years before. He’d attempted to make it look as if she’d tried to commit suicide, and even now he was dead, lying in a pool of his own blood, but what really hurt, what caused the tears to flow from her eyes, was the suffocating truth that Noah was dead.

  Dear God, why did he have to lose his precious little life?

  Images of her son laughing, running, calling to her, flashed in her mind. “Mommy, you come, too! Mommy!” He had giggled before taking off, tiny legs moving fast as he’d looked over his shoulder to ensure that she was giving chase.

  Sweet, sweet baby.

  Oh, honey, Mama loves you . . . Mama . . .

  Feeling the warmth of blood slide down her arm, she kept heading to the boathouse. If she could just start the damned thing . . . but as she ran, she noticed a light bobbing next to her . . .

  The beam from Khloe’s flashlight.

  Uneven footsteps were clattering after her.

  Run, run, run! She’s injured. Worse than you. You can outrun her!

  Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, Ava saw Khloe struggling, her face contorted in pain, blood running down one arm, a growing stain on her chest, the broken flashlight and knife in her free hand. Her eyes, focused on Ava, were black with loathing, her lips pulled back to bare her teeth. Propelling herself forward on pure hatred, she was relentless and her intent was clear: She was going to dispose of Ava as she had the others. No longer was she content to make it appear as if Ava had killed the other women. Now Khloe’s determination was single-minded: Ava was going to die!

  Down the hill and onto the dock Ava sprinted, frantically, awkwardly. Her bare feet slapped on the wet planks, her lungs drank in the briny air, and she felt a release as she ran, her fear dissipating.

  The fog was thickening, getting soupy. Though she couldn’t see across the bay, she heard the distinctive hum of boat engines coming closer, but suddenly she no longer cared about rescue.

  The black water that stretched from the dock called to her, beckoned her, offered relief from the madness and pain that was her life. It would be so easy to jump. . . .

  As if she sensed what was happening, Khloe yelled, “No, Ava, don’t! Let me have the satisfaction—”

  Too late. She forced her legs to race even faster, closer and closer to the deep, dark void. The planks beneath her feet stopped suddenly, but she didn’t. At the end of the dock, she leaped high, flinging herself, body and soul, into the welcoming darkness.

  Dern’s cell phone flashed for a second and he saw Ava’s text.

  Khloe stabbed Wyatt. In the attic. Send help!

  What the hell? Khloe stabbed Wyatt? He tried to call her cell again, but his damned phone failed.

  “How much longer?” he yelled to Johansen.

  “Five minutes.”

  Too long. Five minutes was much too long.

  “Make it three,” Dern yelled over the wind, his worried eyes trained on the darkness ahead. “And radio the cops. We’re going to need backup.”

  “For what?” Johansen asked.

  “I wish I knew.”

  Hang on, Ava, just hang the hell on!

  As Johansen reached for the radio microphone, Dern saw the few winking lights of Monroe far in the distance. Maybe they would make it. There was a chance! God he hoped so. Never had he felt so impotent. His back teeth ground together in frustration.

  Khloe Prescott? She was behind it all? The murderer? Not Wyatt? Dern would have bet his life that Ava’s dick of a husband had been behind the plot to gaslight her, had been partnered with the dead cousin. But now Garrison was injured? Maybe dead? At Khloe’s hand?

  His anxiety ratcheted up several notches. He only hoped Ava wouldn’t do anything stupid as he stared ahead and tried to make out the huge mansion or dock of Neptune’s Gate. But there was nothing but darkness.

  Not a good sign.

  The minutes stretched on forever.

  Hurry, damn it!

  He had to get to her.

  Before it was too late.

  Ice-cold water enveloped Ava, shocking her body, causing nerve synapses to spark for an instant, waking up her damned brain as she sank into the inky depths. Unfortunately, that skin-bracing moment of clarity lasted only a few seconds. She’d hoped the grogginess that had been overtaking her would be jolted out of her. But she’d been wrong. As soon as her body adjusted to the cold, her eyelids were heavy again. Adrenaline and icy water were no match for the drugs pumping through her veins, and deep in the salty water, she kicked without her usual strength. Fight, Ava, fight, the rational side of her brain silently screamed while the other, sadder part of her considered giving up. Letting go . . .

  Slowly she rose to the surface, strings of air bubbles from her lungs spiraling upward with her.

  There was a peacefulness under the water, a serenity, even though she heard the distant rumble of boat engines churning through the water, moving ever nearer.

  She broke the surface and tossed her hair from her eyes, gulping air.

  In the thin, bluish light from a boathouse security lamp, Khloe stood guard, as if she wouldn’t allow Ava out of the water. Pale and thin, a little unsteady, she still brandished her knife, still had fight in her, as if she were unaware of the blood dripping down her arm or discoloring her sweater.

  “Go ahead. Stay there,” Khloe snarled, spying Ava and obviously satisfied to have her drown. “It’s perfect. You’ll die looking like the lunatic you are!” she yelled, but her voice was hoarse.

  You die first, Ava thought, struggling to stay afloat and swimming closer to the dock.

  “Just try it, bitch!”

  The fight was leaving her, slowly seeping into the frigid, salty depths. Once a strong swimmer, she was now weak, losing blood, her will to live eroding.

  She started to sink and flailed upward again, fighting the sedative. Cold water swirled around her, and she felt herself slipping ever deeper. Images of Dern and Noah filled her brain as she surfaced, coughed, her strength failing. Looking at the dock one last time, she saw Khloe, and this time someone was running through the shadows toward her.

  Thank God!

  Finally someone would help!

  Tall, running fast, seeming familiar, he strode onto the dock and Khloe looked over her shoulder.

  Watch out! Ava wanted to yell, to shout a warning. She’s got a knife! But as she tried to force the words over her lips, she started to recognize her savior. Her eyes rounded in disbelief. No, no, no! It couldn’t be.

  But as the runner reached the glow of the lamplight, Ava saw the impossible unfold before her eyes as Wyatt reached his lover.

  She couldn’t believe her eyes; she had to be hallucinating.

  He was dead from a knife wound he’d received from Khloe. Even she’d admitted to killing him to . . . to leaving him fo
r dead.

  Ava stared, transfixed, as she floated, her mind spinning in crazy circles. Was he real? Or a figment of her tortured mind?

  Like Noah.

  You really are crazy!

  In disbelief, she watched as he wrapped his arms around Khloe, holding her close, and turned to look at the bay and his drowning wife. He smiled then . . . as if this were all part of his, or hers, no their plan.

  Her splintered mind told her that Wyatt was a figment of her imagination. He had to be . . . Nothing made sense. If Wyatt were truly alive, why would he and Khloe go to so much trouble to make you think he was dead, that Khloe had killed him?

  To ensure her descent into madness, or better yet, to make her look even less stable, more paranoid when she talked to the police?

  She didn’t understand, couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of their depravity.

  She felt the water dragging her down, pulling her under, and she stared through a watery field of vision to watch as he kissed Khloe hard, with more passion than she’d thought him capable of. To make a point. The injured woman tried to return his fire, but she was swooning, blood dripping from her arm, and she finally dropped her knife and flashlight.

  Ava, in one of her last conscious thoughts, realized his murder was all an act, one to get Ava to react, to force her outside, onto the dock and into the water. Stupidly, she’d fallen for it. No wonder the knife Khloe had brought downstairs had glinted clean, without any trace of blood. He’d obviously been wearing a protective vest.

  But Khloe had not. A killer to her very soul, so certain she would overpower Ava, she’d let down her guard, left herself vulnerable.

  Through the watery haze, Ava watched them kissing, ignoring her, knowing that they’d finally won. She would die looking like the paranoid mental case they’d always claimed her to be. And even Khloe’s wounds, which were visible, could be cast off as the result of a fight with Ava, who would be painted as the psychotic, knife-wielding assailant.

  It was perfect . . .

  Except Khloe seemed to be staggering, slipping out of Wyatt’s arms.