Polly couldn’t say a word. Her breath came out in ragged gasps.
“Polly?” Desmond called. “Did you get hit?” When she didn’t answer, he turned his head slightly so he could see her. “You’re okay? Call the cops now.”
There was another boom.
Desmond’s mouth contorted and he shouted as he dropped to his knees. Val stood there, his face an impassive mask. He was holding another gun.
“I like to be prepared,” he said. “I was never the boy scout Max was, but I understood ‘be prepared’ a lot better than he did.”
Blood stained Desmond’s shirt, and even though his trousers were black, the blood pouring out of his gut rendered them a darker shade.
“Polly?” Val called.
She couldn’t find her tongue, but she moved forward with a jolt, like a sleepwalker.
“Come here, Polly.”
She inched around Amberson’s body in the doorway.
“Is Zachary Amberson dead, Polly?”
She nodded.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Shit. Now I have to go through his files,” Val muttered. “Polly, I want you to get the gun out of that man’s hand. Don’t worry, he can’t hurt you. He’s in too much pain from his wound. Besides, he knows I have a gun trained on him.”
Desmond’s hands were crossed over the side of his torso, as if he were trying to hold his guts in. Polly reached for the gun, moving as slowly as she did in her dreams, as if she were swimming in warm water. She took the gun from Desmond’s hand.
“Now give it to me,” Val instructed her.
She turned toward him, firing into his stomach. Val emitted a screech like a wild animal. It was something between a gasp and a scream. The shot to his abdomen doubled him over in pain.
“You murdered Max,” Polly whispered. “You told me it was just a nightmare. But I remember. I didn’t want to believe it. I thought I’d die if it was true. So I pretended Max was alive.”
“I’m the only family you have left, Polly,” Val gasped, lifting his head. “Without me, you have nothing and no one. Our mother’s a drunk. The state will lock you up.”
“You mailed me cards and signed them from Max. You pretended Max sent me birthday gifts. You sent cards to mother signed by Max. You made us believe he would come home one day! All this time, he was dead.”
She fired again, directly into Val’s head. He went down, but she kept shooting until the gun click-click-clicked. Then she stood, still aiming the weapon, waiting for Val to look up at her. It took a moment for the reality of what she’d just done to hit her.
“Polly.” Desmond’s voice crackled.
She let her arm drop to her side and turned to him, kneeling on the bloody carpet.
“Put my phone in my hand, okay? It’s in my coat.” He groaned and sank a little lower into the ground.
She retrieved it.
“Now wipe down the gun,” Desmond ordered.
“What?”
“Get your prints off it. Use your scarf.”
She unwrapped it from her neck and rubbed it across the gun. She touched the trigger gingerly.
“Okay, put it in my hand,” Desmond said.
“Why?”
“Because we can’t pretend the lawyer and your brother shot each other. The missing part of Amberson’s head will give that explanation the lie. Give me the gun.”
“But the police will think you shot Val.”
“That’s the idea. He shot me and I shot back. It’s self-defense. But if we say you did it…” He groaned softly. “You’ve suffered enough, Polly. More than anyone ever should.”
She put the gun in his hand.
“Run and get help. Make sure the doors stay open behind you. Otherwise the medics can’t get in.” He sighed. “Get ready to tell the police about all the people your brother hurt.”
“Okay.” Dizzy and dazed, she got to her feet.
Desmond grasped the phone in his left hand. The other, still holding the gun, covered his abdomen. As Polly backed away, she heard a woman’s voice coming from the phone. “What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“I need an ambulance. I’ve been shot,” Desmond said. “And I shot a man dead.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hilary Davidson was a journalist before she turned to the dark side and started writing crime fiction. Her novels include the Lily Moore series—The Damage Done, The Next One to Fall, and Evil in All Its Disguises—the Shadows of New York series—One Small Sacrifice and Don’t Look Down—and the standalone novels Blood Always Tells and Her Last Breath. She is also the author of some fifty short stories; a few of the earliest have been gathered in a collection called The Black Widow Club. Her fiction has won two Anthony Awards, a Derringer Award, and a host of other accolades. Toronto born and raised, she moved to New York City in October 2001 because of her very persuasive husband, Daniel. She is also the author of eighteen nonfiction books.
Visit Hilary online at www.hilarydavidson.com.
BOOKS BY HILARY DAVIDSON
The Lily Moore Series
The Damage Done
The Next One to Fall
Evil in All Its Disguises
The Shadows of New York Series
One Small Sacrifice
Don’t Look Down
Standalone Novels
Blood Always Tells
Her Last Breath
Collected Short Stories
The Black Widow Club: Nine Tales of Obsession & Murder
