'Avery.'
The barb hit his mark, Hunter saw. His brother stiffened. Swung to face him. 'Stay away from her. She's too good for you.'
'At least we agree on something. A miracle.'
'You're such an asshole. I can't believe you're my brother.'
'Your twin,' Hunter corrected. 'Your other half.'
Matt laughed, the sound tight. 'We're nothing alike. I believe in family and community, hard work, loyalty.'
'Just that I'm alive pisses you off, doesn't it?'
'Stay away from Avery.'
'Why should I? She doesn't belong to you anymore. You let her go.'
Matt flexed his fingers, longing, Hunter knew, to take a swing at him. How many times as kids had they argued, then come to blows, determined to beat the other senseless.
Even so, they had been a team then. Now, they were adversaries.
'What do you have to offer her?' Matt challenged. 'Nothing. You're a broken-down drunk who-'
'A former drunk. There's a difference, brother.' He took a step toward the other man. 'Don't you see it? She and I are the same. We never fit in here. We never will.'
Matt trembled with fury. This time it was he who took a step forward. 'All these years, is this what it's been about, Hunter? Avery? Jealousy? Over what I am and what I had?'
'Had. You said it, Matt. No longer. You chose Cypress Springs over her.'
'Shut up! Shut the fuck up!'
Hunter closed the remaining distance between them. They stood nose to nose, his twin's fury, his lust for blood palpable. Hunter recognized it because the same emotion charged through him.
'Make me,' Hunter said.
'You'd love that. You'd scream police brutality. Get my badge.'
'I'm not built that way. Take a punch. It's on me.'
His brother didn't move. Hunter knew exactly where to push, how. They'd grown up together, knew each other's strengths-and weaknesses. Ever so softly, he clucked.
'Afraid?' he taunted. 'Chicken? Remember when we were kids? You wouldn't fight unless you knew you could win. Guess the big tough sheriff's not so tou-'
Matt's fist caught the side of Hunter's nose. Blood spurted. Pain ricocheted through his head, momentarily blinding him.
With a sound of fury, Hunter charged his brother. He caught him square in the chest, sending them both flying backward. Matt slammed into the refrigerator. From inside came the sound of items toppling.
'You son of a bitch!' Matt shoved him backward. 'You have nothing to offer her! You threw away everything you ever had. Your family and community. Your career. Reputation. You're pathetic!'
'I'm pathetic? That's the difference between us, bro. The way I look at it, you threw away the only thing that really mattered.'
Hunter twisted sideways, destabilizing the other man. They went down, taking the assortment of plates and glasses that had been drying on the rack by the sink with them. They crashed to the floor, the crockery raining down on them.
Hunter reared back, smashed his fist into his brother's face. Sarah barked, the sound high, frenzied. Matt grunted in pain; retaliated, catching Hunter in the side of his head.
Sarah's bark changed, deepened. She growled low in her throat.
The sound, what it meant, penetrated; Hunter glanced toward the circling dog. 'Sarah!' he ordered. 'Heel!'
Matt used the distraction to his advantage, forcing Hunter onto his back. Glass crunched beneath his bare shoulders. A hiss of pain ripped past his lips as the shards pierced his skin. Sarah made her move.
She leaped at Matt, teeth bared. In a quick move, Matt rolled sideways, unsheathed his weapon and aimed at the dog.
'No!' Hunter threw himself at Sarah, plowing into her side, knocking her out of harm's way. They landed in a heap; she whimpered in pain, then scrambled to all fours.
Hunter jumped to his feet, shaking with rage. 'You're a maniac.'
Matt eased to his feet, holstered his weapon. 'It would have been self-defense. The bitch could have torn me apart.'
'Get the hell out of here.' Hunter wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand, aware of blood running in rivulets down his back. 'You're not worth it, Matt. Not anymore.'
Expression impassive, Matt tucked in his shirt, smoothed back his hair. 'Two was always too many, wasn't it, Hunter? Two of us, just alike?'
'That's bullshit.' He crossed to the sink. Yanked a paper towel off the roll, soaked it in cold water, then looked back at the other man. 'You're blind, Matt. You don't have a clue.'
'You're the one who's blind. Blinded by jealousy. For me, my relationship with Mom and Dad. Because of Avery.'
Hunter's gut tightened at the grain of truth. Matt had always been the leader of the two, the charismatic one, the one everybody gravitated to: girls, the other kids, teachers. Even their parents and Cherry.
'I always loved you,' Hunter said softly. 'No matter what. I was proud you were my brother.'
'Now who's shoveling the shit?'
'You've got to open your eyes, Matt. When it comes to Dad, our family, this town, you don't see anything as it really is.'
'Better being a blind man than a dead one.'
'Is that a threat, Sheriff Stevens?'
Matt laughed. 'I don't have to kill you, Hunter. You're already dead.'
CHAPTER 42
Avery decided to spend the morning going through her parents' attic, separating things she wanted to save from those she would donate to charity or toss. If she ever intended to put the house up for sale, it had to be done. Besides, she needed something to occupy her hands while she mentally reviewed the events of the past few days.
The pieces fit together; she just hadn't figured out how. Not yet. This was no different from any story she had ever tackled. A puzzle to be solved, assembled from bits of information gleaned from a variety of sources. The meaning of some of those bits obvious, others obtuse. Some would prove unrelated, some surprisingly key.
In the end, every story required a cognitive leap. That ah-ha moment when the pieces all fell into place-with or without the facts to back them up. That moment when she simply knew.
Avery climbed the stairs. When she reached the top, she glanced toward her parents' bedroom. At the unmade bed. She stared at it a moment, then turned quickly away and started toward the end of the hall and the door to the attic stairs. She unlocked and opened the door, then headed up.
It was only March, but the attic was warm, the air heavy. During the summer months it would be unbearable. She moved her gaze over the rows of neatly stacked boxes, the racks of bagged clothes. From hooks hung holiday decorations: wreaths, wind socks and flags, one wall for each season. Evenly spaced aisles between the boxes.
So neatly organized, she thought. Her mother had been like that. Precise. Orderly. Never a hair out of place or social grace forgotten. No wonder the two of them butted heads so often. They'd had almost nothing in common.
Avery began picking through the boxes. She settled first on one filled with books. While she sorted through them, she pondered the newspaper she and Gwen had found in Trudy Pruitt's bedroom, the woman's cryptic notation. The hatchet marks. The words All but two. Trudy Pruitt had been counting the dead. Avery felt certain of
