The Devil You Know (19 page)

“You know, we could drive away,” I say. “Go somewhere no one can find us. Change our names, change our realities, and drive a really spectacular car. How do you feel about Mexico?”

Matt laughs low, bumping his shoulder against mine—the shoulder attached to the arm attached to the hand that smacked my mouth out of its proper shape—and I try not to cringe. “It's a good plan.”

“Then let's go.” I push away from the car and hold out my hand to him. By the time Noah gets here, we could be gone. He'd be safe, and I'd have a chance to escape Matt somewhere other than the middle of the Everglades. It's risky, but it's all I've got. “Please.”

Matt catches my hand and reels me back to him, pulling me between his knees the same way Noah did in my bedroom. Matt has the gun in his hand, so I know he still doesn't completely trust me as he cradles my face and brushes his thumb lightly across my swollen lower lip. He smiles a little, as if he sees my bruised face as some sort of trophy. My insides are a twisted knot, but I force myself to smile back, because this is a test and I have to pass.

Matt's lips touch mine, and when his tongue pushes into my mouth, I close my eyes and let it happen. The last time he kissed me it felt warm and sweet, but now there's a gun pressed against my lower back and the only way to get through this is to pretend he's Noah. Except Matt's mouth is invasive and demanding until I make a small sound—as if I'm enjoying it—and he eases up. He kisses the crack in my lower lip before he pulls back to look at me.

“This is so much better, Cadie.” His voice goes low and soft, and for a moment he even sounds like Noah and I want to cry. “I like it when you cooperate.”

Matt's hand moves from my face, sliding up under my shirt until his fingers meet the lower edge of my bra. My mouth tastes salty, as if I'm going to throw up, but when his hand worms beneath the cotton, I don't protest. My heart is beating so hard that I'm sure he can feel it pulsing through my skin. How far am I going to have to go to convince him I'm on his side? How far am I willing to go?

I tug at the front of his shirt with both hands, urging him down to the ground with me. Matt grins. It may be trust or it may be lust, but either way, his guard is lowered. The gun is pinned under his hand as he kneels over me, pushing up my shirt.

God, Noah, where are you? I don't want to do this.

Matt's movements are awkward as he tries to
unbutton my shorts with a single hand, so he jams the gun in the pocket of his shorts. I pull him down to kiss me, feeling the weight of the gun bump against my hip, and his hand slides up my stomach from button to breast. I tiptoe my fingers up his back, digging the tips into his skin so he thinks I'm enjoying this. I moan against his lips—

—and then I go for the gun.

“You stupid bitch!” Matt realizes what I'm doing almost immediately and grabs my wrist. We're still on the ground and I'm trapped beneath him as he squeezes my wrist so tight I'm afraid he's going to break it. “Did you really think I would fall for your pathetic seduction? And why would I stick a fucking gun in my pocket if there was a chance it would go off?”

“Why play along, Matt?”

“I wanted to see how far you would go,” he says. “And it's easier than force.”

He reaches into his pocket for the gun. With his other hand around my wrist, Matt's middle is exposed. I grab again, but this time I don't go for the gun. I grab his testicles through his shorts and squeeze as hard as I can. As
hard as he's squeezing my wrist. Matt yelps in pain. Rolls off me. Lets go of my wrist.

I try to crawl away from him, to stand up. Matt lunges, his strong hand wrapping around my ankle. I kick back hard with my free foot, and there's a sickening crunch as the sole of my shoe makes contact with his nose. Involuntarily, Matt releases me, and I scramble to my feet, running as fast as I can toward the hiking trail. I still don't know where it leads, but Flamingo seems to be stretched out along the waterfront, so maybe it will take me to the marina and the main road down which Noah will come.

The crack of a gunshot rips through the air behind me, and the world slows, blood rushing in my ears as I wait for the bullet to pierce my body. How much will it hurt when it hits me? How many minutes will it take for me to die? Will my mother be there on the other side? But time speeds up and the second is over. Then the next one passes and I realize—Matt missed.

A second gunshot rings out, but I have an advantage now. I'm farther away. Beyond the fading beams of the headlights, becoming invisible as I follow the trail along the beach. I don't slow down as I listen for Matt. There is little tree cover, and my path is lit by the shine of the moon off the water as I dash past the deserted campground. I'm still a moving target but no more shots follow. It's unnerving because grabbing him by the balls couldn't
have incapacitated Matt for that long. Why isn't he chasing me?

The trail funnels into a woodsy area just beyond an outdoor amphitheater, and I'm beginning to worry that I'm wrong about this path. I fear the silence. I doubt my own sense of direction, despite the Gulf being exactly where it's supposed to be. Through a break in the trees I see the remnants of another old neighborhood. A lone house sits at the top of the empty cul-de-sac. There are no cars in the driveway, but there are also no hurricane shutters sealing it up for the summer. Maybe the owners are just away. Maybe they have a phone I can use to call the police.

In the split second I make the decision to step off the path, I collide with something. Someone.

The beginnings of a scream escape me before a big hand clamps over my mouth and an arm wraps around my waist, pinning me tight against a wall of chest. I bite hard into the fleshy part of his palm as I struggle to break free, but he's too strong. I can't get away. I close my eyes and pray to my mom—or to any god who is listening—that my death will be quick. The answer is a
shhhhhh
sound beside my ear.

“Cadie, it's me.” My body goes weak with relief as I recognize Noah's voice. He peels his hand away from my mouth. I can't see if there are teeth marks in his palm,
but now that I know it's him, I hope I didn't draw blood. “I heard gunshots. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Where is he?”

“He was shooting at me and I ran and—” The mangroves around us rustle slightly in the breeze, and panic slams into my chest. We're standing still. Easy targets. “We have to keep moving, Noah. I don't know where he is.”

“This way.” He takes my hand as if to pull me back the way he came—toward the parking lot.

“Matt's got the car, and he has to know this trail leads that direction,” I say. “If we go the opposite—”

“He could be waiting for us at either end of the trail,” Noah says. “But the parking lot is out in the open, and I have a truck waiting. We get to the truck and get the hell out of here.”

I follow him down the path, leafy branches brushing against my shoulders like bony fingers, making me shiver. Fears pile up in my head as we run—especially the one that reminds me I trusted Matt to help me get the hell away and he brought me to this place instead—but I can't afford to give myself over to doubt. I focus on Noah's solid back and the feel of his hand around mine. On making it to the parking lot alive. On going home.

Light penetrates the spaces between the trees as we
near the mouth of the trail. Light from the Cougar's headlights? Noah stops, and over the stillness I can hear an engine idling.

“Matt's watching the trail,” he whispers. “Or at least he wants us to think he's watching.”

“Should we go back?”

“He could be anywhere, Cadie,” Noah says. “We have to run for it. I'll go first to draw him out. No matter what happens, do not stop.” He folds a key ring with a single key into my hand. The key and the gentle squeeze that follows erase any doubt I ever had about trusting him. “Run to the truck and go.”

“I'm sorry I doubted you,” I say. “He showed me pictures of Lindsey and I thought—”

“Don't think about that now. Just go.”

We hold to the darkest part of the path as we creep slowly forward to the end of the trail. Noah silently gestures forward with two fingers and bursts out into the parking lot. I run behind him and everything around me is a blur. I don't see Matt as I rush past the Cougar. I see only Noah in front of me and—some fifty-odd yards beyond him—an orange-and-white U-Haul pickup truck that would be hilarious if I wasn't so fucking terrified that I'm going to die before I reach it. Fifty yards is half a soccer field.

I can do this.

A gunshot cracks, and Noah is knocked out of his
trajectory. He falters, crying out in pain. His hand clutches his upper arm as I run past him. I'm closing in on the truck—thirty yards, twenty-five yards—when I hear Matt call out for me to stop.

“If you leave, I'll kill him.”

“He's going to kill me anyway.” Noah's voice carries across the lot. “Don't stop, Cadie. Not for me.”

Twenty yards.

I stop and turn around.

In the amber glow of the parking lot lights I see Noah down on his knees with his left arm hanging limp at his side and Matt standing beside him with the gun pressed against Noah's head. Matt's face is darkened with blood from where I kicked him and his stance is soft from the pain in his groin, but he still holds all the power right beneath his trigger finger.

The smart thing for me to do is listen to Noah. Get in the truck. Drive away.

Live.

Except Lindsey's death hangs heavy on my conscience, and I don't think I can carry the burden of Noah's death, too. Even though it means I'm probably not going to make it home, I walk back toward them.

Matt's laugh is cold and sharp.

“I thought for a moment there that you were really going to leave.” His words drip with condescension as he lobs them at me. “But in the end, you're just as predictable,
just as weak, as everyone else. You let your stupid, useless feelings get in the way of what needed to be done.”

“Yeah?” I lift my chin and take on the bravest, most arrogant tone I can manage. And, really, I don't have to dig too deep into my own emotional well to find anger. If I'm going to die, I'd rather be pissed off about it. “Well, what's getting in
your
way, Matt? You've got Noah on his knees and me—” I stretch my arms wide, making myself as big a target as possible. “Surely you can hit me now, can't you? Why don't you just do it? Or isn't that enough for your fucked-up ego?”

Noah closes his eyes, almost as if he's accepted our fate. But Matt doesn't shoot either of us. I don't believe it's because he has some tiny kernel of goodness left inside him, but for someone who wants Noah dead so badly Matt doesn't seem to be in a hurry to finish the job.

“Where's the fun in that?” he asks. “I want Noah to watch me skin his dog and violate you in all the best ways before I kill you both.”

“Oh, God. Molly.” My stomach goes into free fall.

Noah shakes his head. “She's not here.”

“You never go anywhere without that dog,” Matt says. “So what would make you leave her behind?”

“I called your mom,” Noah says. “She told me. About you and her theory about Lily.”

I look from one cousin to the other, wondering what a five-year-old girl has to do with Noah's dog. Or with any of this.

“There's no proof.” Matt shrugs. “I didn't want a sister. It was easier to get rid of her when she was still a baby. Suffocation looks a lot like sudden infant death syndrome.”

He talked about her as if she were alive. About her moobie star sunglasses.

“You killed—” My words drop away as my ears buzz and my head goes light, as if I'm going to pass out. My legs stop supporting me, and I sink to my knees in front of Noah. He cups my cheek with his good hand. “Stay focused, Cadie. Right here.”

My eyes on his, I take a deep breath, trying to keep the darkness at bay. I touch my fingertips lightly against his left shoulder. The sleeve of his T-shirt is torn where the bullet ripped through it and blood blooms out from the hole in his skin.

“You should have gone,” he says, his voice low.

“Then you would be here alone.” I remove my T-shirt and use it to bind Noah's wound as tight as possible. There's nothing I can do if his arm is broken, but maybe the bleeding will stop. “Do you think I could just leave you behind?”

Noah touches his forehead to mine. “I'm so sorry.”

“I'm so bored,” Matt says, directing us to our feet with
a flick of the gun. “Launch one of the canoes so we can finish this game.”

Noah rises slowly, and pain shadows his face. He's pale and unsteady from the loss of blood. I want to help him. I want to save him. Helpless fury swirls around inside me, and I consider tackling Matt. But even if I knock him down … then what? I wasn't able to get the gun away from him earlier tonight. Why on earth would I think I'd be able to do it now?

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask Matt, as I loosen the straps securing the boats to the trailer. I work slowly, hoping for … I don't know what I'm hoping for. The only sign of life in this place are swarms of mosquitoes drawing our blood at every opportunity. It's no wonder this town is practically uninhabited. It's uninhabitable. “Why would you do this?”

“This isn't going to end with a
Scooby-Doo
monologue about how my mommy didn't love me,” he says. “Socio-pathy isn't an affliction, Cadie. It's a gift.”

“I doubt Lindsey Buck's family will see it that way.”

“They'll never know.”

“They will when you get caught.”

“When your bodies are found—if they're found—it will look like your murder and Noah's suicide. The end to a tragic Florida killing spree,” he says. “Complete with quotes from his distraught cousin about how I was always
afraid something like this could happen and how I tried to stop him.”