Bloodline

  Was she gone? What had been in that fuckin envelope?

  He made it up to the second floor, going from room to room. All empty. He checked the bathroom last and found two sheets of paper on the floor. As he bent to snag them, he heard a car engine roar to life outside.

  “No!”

  He hurried downstairs as fast as his damn knee would allow and reached the front door just as Dawn and her Jeep reached the curb.

  “Dawn! Wait!”

  He went to run after her but his knee crumbled beneath him and he tumbled to the grass in a blaze of pain.

  Dawn never looked back…just raced away.

  “Shit!”

  He pushed himself off the lawn, regained his feet, and hobbled back inside. He went straight for the key bowl. The Miata would be murder on his knee but he’d have to grit his teeth and put up with it. Couldn’t let Dawn get too much of a head start. Had to chase her down and—

  The keys! Where were his keys? Both sets were gone.

  The bitch! She’d taken both sets to the Miata, leaving him just the cycle, but that was out of the question. He was stranded.

  Fuck!

  What was going on?

  He had a pretty good idea how to answer that.

  He found the sheets he’d dropped on his way outside. He sat on the stairs with his bad leg stuck straight out, and began to read.

  With each sentence his fury grew…fury mingled with disbelief…and fear.

  I have initiated procedures to rescind his release and return him to this facility.

  What was Vecca thinking? Had she lost her fucking mind? What about her precious clinical trial? She was throwing it away. Why? Because she suspected he’d offed Moonglow? Gerhard hadn’t bothered her. Why Moonglow?

  But far worse was telling Dawn he was her father. Vecca had no business doing that. And how the hell did she know? How had she found out?

  That was the same question he’d asked about the detective—where had he got his info? Now he knew: Vecca. Vecca had been working with him, feeding him all along. It didn’t make any sense, but who could figure Vecca? She always seemed to have a hidden agenda.

  Thing was, he didn’t care why. He knew what Vecca had done—it was all here in black and white—and that was enough.

  He’d have to pay her a little visit. But not until he’d made things right with Dawn. He didn’t know how he was going to do that—yeah, swear everything in the letter’s a lie, but how to prove that? He had a gut sense in this case he’d be guilty until proven innocent.

  You’d think she could have given him the benefit of the doubt, given him a chance to explain. But no, she’d upped and run without even—

  His mind flashed back to the spare bedroom when he’d peeked in while searching for her. The closet door had been open with his backpack sitting on the floor.

  “Shit!”

  A painful rush back upstairs to check again. There it was, everything unzipped.

  She’d found the money. Never mind how, it had iced the case against him.

  Again, he could explain, he could talk his way out of it—out of just about anything with that girl—if only he could find her. That had to be priority number one. But he had no fucking car!

  Wait. The spare key he’d stuck in the wheel well after that time he’d locked himself out. He’d forgotten about that.

  Down the steps again and outside. He reached up into the well and yanked out the little magnetized box. Opened it, pulled out the key, and he was on his way.

  He had a pretty good idea where Dawn would go to ground.

  10

  The chain of events puzzled Jack.

  First Bolton had come home and gone inside. Then Dawn appeared on the far side of the garage, coming around from the backyard. She got in her Jeep, started it up, and raced off, leaving Bolton facedown in the turf. When Bolton limped-hopped back inside, Jack expected him to return right away and take off after her.

  But he didn’t.

  Which left Jack in a quandary: Go after Dawn or wait for Bolton’s next move.

  The issue was solved when Bolton came back outside holding a couple of sheets of paper. That explained the delay. He’d found the letter. Jack had printed up a couple of extra copies just in case Dawn never showed it to him. Because a big part of Jack’s plan hinged on Bolton seeing the letter.

  This was working out better than he’d hoped.

  He watched him remove something from his wheel well, then ease into the car and drive off.

  Jack followed. He was pretty sure Bolton wouldn’t hurt Dawn, not when she was carrying the baby he’d worked so hard to create. As long as the baby’s life was linked to hers, she was safe from harm. At least physical harm. He wasn’t so sure about abduction and imprisonment, though.

  Bolton made a beeline for Christy’s house and parked in the driveway. Jack slowed as he passed. The house was dark—not a single light on inside or out. No sign of Dawn’s car either, but it could be in the garage. Bolton didn’t even check. He walked to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.

  Back to the scene of the crime.

  Seemed awfully risky. Yeah, Dawn was undoubtedly worth it to him, but no sign she was there.

  Jack went to the end of the block, hung a U, and cruised back. He needed a place to park but didn’t want Bolton to see his car. Needed to know if Dawn was inside, though.

  Hell with it.

  He parked at the other end of the block and quick-walked back. Slipped around back and blinked his key-chain flash through the window.

  No Jeep.

  Okay. Good. That meant Dawn had gone somewhere else. As for what Bolton was up to inside, as long as he wasn’t in the same house as Dawn, Jack didn’t much care.

  He headed back to his car. Figured he’d do some cruising, pass the house every so often, and follow Bolton when he left. No telling which way he’d tip but, sure as night followed day, Bolton was going to tip.

  11

  “Dawn, darlin. Where are you?”

  Dawn held her breath to keep from screaming. She’d almost died when she’d seen him pull into the driveway. How had he started his car? Didn’t matter. Somehow he had. But how did he know she was here?

  “Come out, darlin. No sense in hidin. I know you’re here. I mean, where else you gonna run to?”

  Wait a minute. Where else you gonna run to? That sounded like he didn’t know she was here—more like he was just guessing. Because how could he know? She’d parked her Jeep in the Jacobsens’ driveway around the corner. It was curved and she’d parked at the apex behind the big clump of rhododendrons in their front yard. Her car was hidden from the street, and no one was home to see it from the inside—the Jacobsens were retired and spent January into May in Florida. Dawn knew because they always asked Mom to keep an eye on their place while they were away. No big deal—the back of their house was visible from the kitchen window.

  So all Dawn had had to do was park behind the bushes, then run through their backyard and hop the fence into her own.

  Jerry couldn’t know about that. So maybe she had a chance.

  She’d crawled under the sofa—her favorite secret spot as a kid when playing hide and seek. Her super safe spot, because Mom could never find her here. Later on she came to realize that Mom had known exactly where she was all the time and only pretended to be unable to find her.

  A lot tighter squeeze now. She could barely breathe. But she could see a good expanse of the floor beneath the lower edge of the dust ruffle. She saw Jerry’s boots as they strolled across the room.

  “I found that letter, darlin. Felt like I was readin sci-fi or somethin. I never heard of this Doctor Vecca. I bet she don’t even exist. Or if she does, she’s in cahoots with that detective your momma hired. Even though she’s dead, Lord rest her soul, she’s still tryin to come between us.”

  Dawn felt a pang. What if that was true? What if—?

  What about the money?

  She’d left the bag stuffed beneath the s
eat of her car.

  Explain the money, Jerry.

  He kept talking but his voice faded a little as he moved from the living room into the dining room. It seemed he’d read her thoughts.

  “There’s somethin I oughta tell you, Dawn. When your momma came on to me the other night, well, she offered me that cash as well as herself. I gotta confess, I took the cash. I know it was wrong, but I figured it might come in handy if the game project fell through. You know…tide us over until things picked up again. I never told you because I was kinda embarrassed.”

  Could that be ture? It wasn’t totally impossible, but somehow it didn’t ring true. Something in his voice…like not only did he not believe it, but doubted she’d believe it.

  Liar!

  She wanted to scream it in his face, but didn’t dare. Because if he was lying, it meant he’d killed Mom. And that meant she’d been living with and was now hiding from a murderer.

  Her bladder spasmed, begging to empty. But it calmed as she heard him trot upstairs. She wondered if she should make a run for it.

  No. Stay put. If she ran, he might catch her. If she stayed hidden, he’d cross this off as someplace to look for her.

  “Dawn, darlin,” he said as he came down the stairs. “Where are you, damn it.”

  His voice had changed. The sweet-talking tone had developed an angry edge. He was getting pissed.

  He limped through the living room and headed for the kitchen. She heard the door to the garage open. She guessed he’d been so sure she was here that he hadn’t bothered to check for her car. About time.

  The door slammed closed.

  “Shit!”

  More footsteps, louder this time.

  “That bitch! That fucking cow! Where the fuck is she!”

  Tears sprang into Dawn’s eyes. So now it came out. Now she knew what he really thought of her. Still cursing, he slammed out the front door.

  Dawn stifled sobs as she waited for the sound of his car leaving. When that died down she crawled out from her hiding place. But instead of getting to her feet she lay on the carpet and cried.

  What a fool she’d been, what a total jerk. How could she have let herself be sucked in like this? Jerry didn’t care for her. He had some whole other freaky agenda going on.

  After crying awhile longer she struggled to her hands and knees and crawled through the house. She’d been feeling her way in the dark before Jerry came. But he’d left the lights on. Still, she didn’t dare stand. Someone might see her from the street.

  She crept upstairs to her old bedroom—no, her new bedroom, her only bedroom now. She stopped at the door to Mom’s room and stared at the yellow crime-scene tape across the master bathroom doorway. It pulled her closer.

  Here was where Mom had died—not killed herself—been killed. Murdered. She was sure of that now. Just as she was sure it was all her fault.

  She crumpled to her knees and stared at the tub.

  I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry for believing that asshole instead of you, I’m sorry for believing that you’d ever come on to Jerry. God, that must have totally hurt you. I so should have listened. You were right all along and I acted like a total jerk. You’d be alive now if I’d paid attention.

  Mom dead, because her Dawnie had been sleeping with her own father. Her life had turned to shit.

  God! Somebody shoot me!

  Shoot…

  Mom kept a gun hidden somewhere. Dawn had found it once as a kid. A little silvery automatic or whatever they called those things. But empty at the time—Mom had kept the little thing with the bullets somewhere else. A good idea because Dawn might have hurt herself had it been loaded.

  She rose and hunted until she found it in a wooden box. This time it was loaded—the slot at the bottom of the handle had been empty before, now it had something in it. What did they call it—a clip? Guess she’d felt safe leaving it loaded now.

  See you soon, Mom.

  Without giving herself time to think, she raised the gun, pressed the muzzle against her temple, and pulled the trigger.

  But it wouldn’t pull. She tugged on it again. Wouldn’t budge.

  She lowered it and looked at it. She didn’t know anything about guns. Was it locked or something?

  With a cry she hurled it across the room.

  What a total loser. She couldn’t even shoot a gun when she needed to.

  She’d have to find another way. And she would. Because she couldn’t stand being who she was, or even being with herself. One way or another, she was going to end this nightmare for good.

  She totally deserved to die.

  12

  Jack had seen the garage light go on during his last pass. It finally must have dawned on Bolton to check for Dawn’s car. Now he’d either settle down and wait—assuming he was sure she’d show up—or go looking for her.

  Betting on the latter, Jack had pulled around the corner and waited where he had a view of the house. Turned out to be a short wait.

  Sure enough, a minute later Bolton came storming out and drove off, chirping his tires as he accelerated. He looked like he had a destination in mind.

  Jack followed. If Bolton knew where Dawn was hiding, Jack wanted to be there when they met up.

  He trailed him out of town onto the Grand Central where he headed north. When he switched over to the Deegan, still going north, Jack had a pretty good idea where he was headed. When he segued onto the Thruway, Jack was sure.

  Destination: Rathburg.

  And the only reason he’d be heading there tonight would be to see the author—the supposed author—of that letter.

  You wanted to see what a provoked Bolton would do, Dr. Vecca? Well, lady, you’re about to find out.

  13

  “Hey, doc. How’s it going?”

  Julia sat up in bed with a start. That voice. She knew it. She fumbled for the lamp on her nightstand and turned it on.

  Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Jeremy Bolton sitting on the foot of her bed, some folded sheets of paper in his hand. She slept in an oversized T-shirt and comfy pants, revealing nothing, yet for some reason she found herself clutching her sheet and blanket up to her neck.

  Two black eyes and a bruised, swollen nose made him look even more threatening.

  “Jeremy. What…what happened to you?”

  He sneered. “As if you didn’t know.”

  She didn’t know…why would he think she did? But a more important question arose.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Ohhhhh, I think you know.”

  She forced some indignation into her voice and hoped it sounded convincing. “No, I don’t, Jeremy, and I want you out of my house right now.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen.” The finality in his tone jarred her. “We got things to discuss.”

  “Well, whatever they are can wait till morning. Call my office first thing and I’ll—”

  “Tonight, doc. Tonight.”

  Something in his eyes frightened her. She’d always felt in charge with him—as much as anyone could be in charge of someone with that much oDNA—but tonight was different. Someone or something had unchained the beast in him. A very scary thought.

  She considered screaming but dismissed that. No one would hear her, and it would immediately relegate her to a subordinate position. She had to maintain her rank as his overseer.

  “Very well, then. Let me put on some clothes and I’ll meet—”

  “No. Here. Now.”

  And now she detected a new undertone in his voice, his expression. Fear? Had he got himself in trouble?

  Robertson!

  Had he gone wild and done something that could be connected to him?

  “You didn’t do anything foolish to that detective, did you?”

  “To him? No.” He pointed to his nose. “But he did a tap dance on me—as you knew he would.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t…do to him what you did to Gerhard, did you?”

  “No. Not yet. But I a
in’t here about Robertson. I’m here about you.” Fury lit in his eyes as he raised the papers. “And these…your recent correspondence.”

  She shrank back. “What?”

  He tossed them at her. “Tell me what the fuck you were thinkin when you wrote that.”

  She grabbed them, retrieved her glasses from the nightstand, and began to read. Astonishment warred with cold, sick dread as the words flashed through her brain.

  Dear Ms. Pickering…the man you know as Jerry Bethlehem…recently an inmate at this facility…special experimental program…raped your mother…is your father…have his baby…murdered your mother…have initiated procedures to rescind his release and return him to this facility…

  Signed with her name—only that wasn’t her signature. Not even close.

  She looked up at him. “I never wrote this! It’s pure fiction! It’s…it’s deranged!”

  “Don’t gimme that!” he gritted through his clenched teeth. “Only you could have figured it out.”

  “‘Figured it out’?” And then the meaning came through with a cold shock. “You mean it’s true? That girl is your daughter?”

  He shot to his feet and leaned over her. That was when she noticed some sort of iron bar in his hand.

  “Cut the shit! You know damn well she is—you did the test!”

  Julia shrank back against the headboard. “I did no such—”

  “Shut up! You think I’m stupid? You think I go around givin out samples of my DNA?” He pointed the metal bar at her. She could see now that it was a tire iron. “No, it was you. It could only be you. You been suckin my blood and lookin at my genes since I got here. You gotta full file on me. You’re the only one who coulda put this together.”

  …he murdered your mother…

  She didn’t doubt he had. Was this homicidal madman the Jeremy Bolton that girl’s mother had seen before she died? And Gerhard—had he felt the fear slithering through her right now?

  His diction had gone south—far south. And that, she knew, meant trouble. She glanced at her phone—no help there. Was he going to kill her? No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.