Baited (14 page)

“Bang,” he slurred out.

Kat just stared at him. “Will, talk sense to me. Are you okay?”

“I’m breathing, if that’s what you mean.” He closed his eyes and ruefully shook his head. “That bitch.”

“What?”

“Dr. Hopkins. She was getting up for a drink, she said. But next thing I knew—bang! I was on the ground seeing stars. And now?” He pointed to Nestor’s empty space. “They’re not here.”

A club to the head, she thought. For some reason, Dr. Hopkins had only meant to stun.

“And everyone else?” she asked.

Will finally seemed to realize that they were alone. The pupils of his eyes enlarged, then adjusted. Kat reached out a hand to steady him as he wavered.

“They were all here,” he said.

Kat tried not to lose the last of her sanity. With all
the calm she could muster, she glanced around the cave again. There, in the corner. Louis’s screwdriver.

The only weapon she could see.

She went over to grab it, to cling to it like the most morbid of security blankets. In the same move she got rid of the bandages on her hands. They would only get in the way when she needed to use the screwdriver, and she could deal with scraped palms and the pain if it meant living.

“My knife is gone,” she told him. “I had it when I went to sleep.”

A flash of lightning left half his face in shadow.

Thunder answered, shaking the ground.

“I don’t like this, Will,” she added.

The first scream cut the air.

Faint, distant.

“Shit,” Kat whispered.

The first thing she thought of was Dr. Hopkins and how she’d “saved” Nestor by freeing him and taking off with him.

Will tried to struggle to his feet, then crashed back to the ground, cursing and holding his head.

“Stay here,” Kat said, breath choppy. “You might have a concussion. You’re not in any shape to go anywhere.”

“This is our chance to stop all this, Kat. We can’t sit here listening to someone die.”

“I know.” She’d never be able to live with herself. And now that she thought more about it, Chris or Duke could be the one screaming.

She
had
to go.

A crack of thunder seemed to rattle the earth itself, but Kat took strength from it, knowing that the weather didn’t scare her as much as whatever else was out there.

She took a step toward the storm, but the touch of Will’s hand on her belly jarred her to a stop. He spread his palm over her, tilting up a face full of desperate yearning. In his eyes, she could see the past, the future, the chance for forgiveness. Affection awakening once again, she slowly pressed her hand over his, guessing what he was thinking. When they’d made love, there hadn’t been any protection. There’d been no time, no need, no access.

Had their impulsive affection given them another chance for a child? Was he indicating that he would take the news differently this time?

“Be careful,” he said, resting his forehead against her hip, hiding his eyes before she could look deeper, before she could fully read what was beyond the blue-green surface.

Kat’s heart folded into itself, but another agony-wracked scream yanked it back into a flat, pulsing plane where all her worst fears were gathering.

“Back soon,” she said, voice shaking.

Her promise seemed so out of place amidst the screams and chaos. So empty and full at the same time.

She only had time to touch Will’s head before breaking away, bursting into the rain and running toward danger.

“I’ll come when I can,” he yelled. But already, he seemed so far away.

The screams, thunder, lightning all drowned him out.

In spite of the tenderness of her palms, of her confused emotions, she raised the screwdriver and headed toward the mangled voices. She hurtled into the unknown, past looming trees, sharp branches, clawing leaves, into a lightning-lit clearing where she found two bodies sprawled in the undergrowth.

Where she also found the victim tied to a tree.

Louis Delacroix opened his mouth in a soundless screech.

The next few minutes were spliced together like a movie—zigs and flashes, scrambled and much too fast for eyes to make sense of:

Walking toward Louis…

Two bodies she couldn’t identify on her right side, but now behind her as she came near the gaping victim….

Is Louis dangerous? Is he trying to trap me?

Who did this to you, Louis?

I can still save him.

Then…

Louis’s eyes, getting bigger as they fixed on something behind Kat. Louis, face half-designed by bloody cuts, starting to scream again.

Mud scooped in hand, screwdriver raised, Kat turned around to fend off whatever was closing in.

Something had risen from the foliage in the lightning.

One of the two bodies that she’d thought was dead.

As Kat froze, the shadowed form flew at her, one arm raised and holding a club, a predator who had successfully lured its prey with bait.

Louis. Did it use Louis to get me here?

Before she could even scream, it smashed the base of her skull.

Stunned, Kat was driven to the ground, mud slapping against her face. A flash of pain shattered her sight, scrambling it.

It’d happened so quickly, she hadn’t even processed the killer’s face…just the eyes…

Those blazing, determined eyes.

As dizziness breathed through her, she groaned, beaten by anguish, physical and mental. This wasn’t how a girl from her neighborhood was supposed to go down, she thought, almost humorously. This was too crazy to be real, it didn’t make sense, it couldn’t be happening.

But it was, dammit. And she had to stop it before—

Gathering the last of her strength, she let loose with a moan of rage, rolled to her back, raised the screwdriver.

The face of the killer hovered over her. A blur. A…

Just before the killer hit her with the large branch again, she sucked in a horrified breath of recognition.

The world started going black, the swollen ink of an octopus filling her watery vision, tightening pain around her head.

Never turn your back on the enemy, she thought as darkness crept over her. You know better than that, Kat. Never…

Rain splashed on her face, lulling her. She tried and tried and finally turned her head toward Louis as his screams grew louder.

And then stopped.

Through the consuming black haze, she could only watch as the killer raised his knife to cut further into the face of his uncle, a sob tearing out of his chest as he grated out frantic, unintelligible words.

It can’t be. Not him. Not…

Pure shock blanked her, took her under.

Mercifully sparing her the sight of Chris’s blood-soaked rage.

T
he cry of a bird woke Kat up.

At first, she thought she was home in bed, hearing that annoying robin that twittered outside her window every morning. But then she shifted and mud slurped at her body. As she coughed, her head felt like it was caught in a vise. Her skin felt raw and exposed, strung together only by cuts and bruises.

Island. She was on the island. God…no…

Still on the island.

A ragged dread prickled over her, chills raising the hairs on her arms. She turned her head to the side, and there she saw him. Louis…or what used to be Louis.

Under a patch of sunlight that had taken over the storm, his shirt was drenched with water and blood. His
mouth was cut to resemble jagged teeth, like a shark’s. Withered little flaps of skin dripping blood.

Kat moaned and held back a heave of nausea. Chris. She’d seen him killing Louis. Where was he now…?

In answer, she heard someone breathing—crying—on the other side of her.

Slowly, she turned her head, wincing, sight half-shrouded by pain and fear.

When she saw him, shock, white and burning, lit through her head, her body. Her throat closed with grieving denial.

He was watching Kat, eyes like two reddened wounds, torn and swollen. His back was to Louis, just like with Duffy and Alexandra, when their bodies had been discovered.

A child in so many ways, his hands were wrapped around his knees as he rocked back and forth, the vulnerable innocent Kat had protected all this time.

Then her eyes lingered on his hands, watered-down blood staining the skin and the darker tips of his fingernails. They held the diving knife.

Not a child. A killer. A sick murderer.

She opened her mouth to…scream?…but all that came out was a twisted groan of incomprehension.

“Kat?” he asked, voice wobbly, unsteady as the graph of an earthquake. There were crimson splatters on his face and neck, his dark shirt hiding God knows how many other badges of murder. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

It took a few seconds for her to get it together, to
understand what he meant. But even after some deep, sustaining breaths, she sounded broken.

“Then why did you lure me here, Chris?” she was finally able to say, but not in anything more than a tremored whisper.

He tilted his head and a tear squiggled down his cheek. He looked somehow betrayed. “Lured? I
had
to tie him up. I wanted Uncle Louis to be quiet, but he kept screaming.” Chris forcefully gestured at Louis with the knife. “He wasn’t hearing me out, so…”

A quick, upset slicing motion illustrated the gruesome point.

Her veins turned to rubber. Questions were pushing at her head, straining against her skull. Would she have the chance to ask them? Or was she next?

Dammit, she had to get ahold of herself before he flew into another fit. She had to think rationally even while her head was fuzzy.
Calm down
. Most important, she had to admit that this was real, that the bloody diving knife that had gone missing the first day was actually in Chris’s fist, taunting her with its horrible reality.

She had to be ready for him to strike out at any second, even if he’d said he didn’t mean to hurt her.

Because he already had.

And what would set Chris off again? The wrong words? The lack of words?

In her disjointed mind she saw the sweet guy she’d known. The trivia-loving Chris. The Chris who’d withstood Duffy’s abuse. The Chris who was strong enough to beat Nestor in arm wrestling and break coconuts against the wall.

Kat decided to go with what was working. He seemed to be sympathetic toward her, so she’d play into that while her head cleared.

Then…what? What the hell could she do?

“Why?” she tried to ask gently, like a friend.

As he abruptly stood, he pointed the blade in the direction of the shelter, glaring at her like the answer should be obvious. “You think it was for the
money
or something?”

“No.” She rushed to answer, seeing how much the mere thought was disturbing him. “I know you’d never do this for an inheritance.”

He nodded, clearly relieved she understood him. His words were hurried, hateful. “Right, Kat. I had to do
something,
because they wanted to kill Gramps. I heard them planning just like Nestor said they did, and they meant every word of it, too. I was right outside the door that night, and I knew I had to help Gramps. You understand that I had to protect him, I know you do. You’ve been keeping him safe, too.”

Rattled by his interpretation, Kat shrank back. Her protection hadn’t been anywhere near the same as Chris’s.

Still, his answer seemed so rational, as though he knew he was right and no one could tell him he was wrong. But maybe that’s how it was in his world.

When he started to tear up again, Kat’s heart thudded double-time, expecting him to lose it. Yet all he did was fidget with his weapon, screw his face up in agony and glance toward the trees and the caves. The pause seemed to soothe him, somehow, like he was thinking of Duke.

It hit her that maybe the only thing that had been gluing Chris together
was
Duke—being around him. But what would happen when Duke died of cancer? How would Chris react then?

A dry sob thrust its way out of Kat’s chest as she struggled to get up. When she realized she was too dizzy to manage it, she rested, saved her strength.

Calm, she thought. Do
not
show your frustration or fear.

“I need to get back to Gramps, Kat, but I wanted to see that you were okay, too. I didn’t want you to be dead…” Chris was shaking his head now, breaking into a strangled wail. But it was softer and more controlled. “They were trying to take advantage of Gramps, and he needed someone on his side. He can’t take care of himself, Kat. He needs more help than ever.”

“I know.”

“No, you
don’t!
” Chris bunched his fists and jabbed the air with the knife. “There’s a
brain
tumor.”

Kat’s spinning world stopped.

Brain tumor? Had his cancer spread and Duke not told her? Had his meds been keeping
that
under control, too? She had no medical knowledge at all, but suddenly Duke’s island decline took on new meaning: his worsening confusion and moodiness, the strange smells he’d been complaining about, his nauseating headaches.

“The Delacroixs never knew,” Chris said, squeezing shut his eyes. “They didn’t visit him enough to care.” He opened his gaze, irises blazing with rekindled anger.
“But they could see he was getting closer and closer to dying.”

Kat pressed her face against the mud, hot tears leaking into it, making her feel heavy—so heavy and unable to cope anymore.

Slash…blood…death…

Her next words were garbled by the mud at her lips. “Their faces, Chris. Just tell me…what did you do to their faces?”

With one last look toward the shelter, Chris hitched in a deep breath. It seemed to steady him. He smiled through his tears as he knelt to a reassuring pose beside her.

“It was justice, you know? Justice that they would be wearing their true selves forever. The only thing is…”

Weakly, she glanced up at him. He was a blurry, warped shape, like an image on the water’s surface seen from below.

He swallowed hard and stared at the knife. A ten-year-old in a teen body. “It’s impossible to look at them, with their raw faces like that. It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. When their true faces were hiding, you could kind of tell yourself that the masks weren’t real. But with the cuts looking like this, you can’t ignore them now. You can’t lie about what these people are anymore.”

“God,” she said, a bewildered moan. “God, Chris.” She couldn’t stand to look at him anymore.

She had to get away from him. Had to get back to the caves before he decided she was a threat…or that Will was a threat…

Groaning, she tried to sit up, but her swirling head rejected her again. She fell back to the mud. Coughing, she wanted to cry and scream and run away.

“I see something in every face,” Chris added softly. “Even yours.”

Kat stopped moving. Chris drew a circle in the mud with his knife, embellishing it with eyes, a mouth, long hair.

“Your face,” he said, “keeps changing to me.”

What did he mean? Did he see evil, or…no, it wouldn’t have anything to do with how she saw herself, caught between worlds of race, economics…no. This was more primal than that.

Through wide, reddened eyes, Chris was inspecting her, just like he was trying to translate what he was seeing on her features now. Terror? Heartbreak? Disgust?

Using all the strength she had left, Kat forced an understanding smile. Trying to throw him off, it was her “front,” as they’d call it back home. A disguise to make the enemy think she was brave and tough, unaffected.

Even if she was broken inside.

“Your face is all blurry to me,” he said.

He sniffled and unexpectedly jabbed the knife upright on the opposite side of him with sudden anger.

Kat winced.

“It’s like you haven’t decided who you are yet,” he said. “Weird, huh?”

“Weird,” Kat whispered, sucking in a breath.

The word hung in the air as Kat braced herself and
struggled to her elbows. Withstanding the headache and dizziness, she glanced around, her head turned to the second body in the undergrowth.

“I didn’t mean to do
that,
either.” Chris grunted, getting upset again, shooting her a lowered look like he’d disappointed a favorite teacher who used to think the world of him. “When I got up from my hiding place there, I wasn’t meaning to scare you, and I didn’t want to hit you, but I thought you might stick that screwdriver into me.”

“Who is it?” she asked, referring to the body.

Chris started plucking at his blood-laden shirt again. “Larry.”

She clenched into herself, wanting to smash something with her fists, to set the world back to its normal tilt, but she was powerless, beaten down….

But not if she bought more time, she thought. Not if she could use it to recover and take care of business.

Questions. Ask questions and act as nonthreatening as possible. It’s the only way you’ll regain enough strength.

She looked up at him. “What was Louis doing leaving the cave? He was more paranoid than anyone.”

Chris scrubbed at his eyes in growing agitation. “I think he wanted to see where Nestor went. Uncle Louis was so messed up by then that I’ll bet he wasn’t thinking about anything but his
wonderful
son. He didn’t even care that Nestor almost killed me.” He narrowed his gaze. “See, I knew I’d have the chance to get him after Dr. Hopkins woke me up when she clobbered Captain Ashton and untied Nestor. I pretended I
was still asleep, because when I get Nestor, it’ll have to be alone. It’s easier that way.”

Chris cocked his head, watched her carefully. “You were really cutting some zzzs. I didn’t think anything was going to wake
you
up. Larry had gone to the bathroom. Then Nestor and Dr. Hopkins escaped. Then, when I saw Louis crawling out of the cave, I knew it was time. I…”

He stopped and roughly cuffed at his runny nose, seeming to think for a moment.

His pause needled Kat. Something was off. But what?

“Chris?”

He stood up and looked into the bushes, yet Kat didn’t sense anyone nearby. Or had Will recovered…

Exhaling, Chris whipped back to Kat. She could tell his anger was riding just below the surface and he struggled to contain it. Would getting him back to Duke help?

“I grabbed the rope Nestor had left,” he said, finally abandoning his lookout.

“Why the rope?”

“Because I knew Uncle Louis’d fight. He was like that. He slapped and yelled and pulled hair…”

Chris’s face grew red, and her pulse jerked.

Out of pure panic, she blurted, “It’s okay. There’s no chance of him doing that to you now.”

Jaw tight, Chris forced out a nod. “Gramps told me that Uncle Louis only treated Duffy that way because he was disrespectful. So I was prepared to face the same treatment when I gave him trouble, too. My uncle actually took your knife with him, Kat, like that could stop…”

He swiped at his face and a new spate of tears.

“You never woke up,” he continued. “I was watching my uncle with my eyes half closed. It looked like he was going to wake you up, but then he didn’t. Shaw’s knife was the best weapon in the cave, and he wanted it bad. He probably knew you wouldn’t give it up, so he was quiet when he took it. But,” Chris said, kicking at his own blade, which still stuck out of the mud, “I knocked him out to make things easier, then took Shaw’s knife away and threw it into the bushes. He never got to use it on me.”

Kat felt more helpless, wishing Chris had forgotten to take her screwdriver away. Still, unwilling to give in, she pushed herself up higher, until she was sitting. She reeled, fought the nausea and the coughs.

Have to get away….

“I dragged him all the way out here,” Chris added, crossing his deceptively wiry arms over his chest, emphasizing how scared he was, how alone. “No one would hear us or find us out here until he apologized.”

“For plotting against Duke?” she managed to ask.

“Right. He didn’t say sorry though. He screamed at me and got obnoxious. I didn’t like that, so I tied him up, just like I knew I’d have to.” Chris raised a fist, then collected himself, glancing at the shelter again. A sigh weighed him down. “That’s when Larry came and tried to stop what I had to do. I could tell he thought he could take me easy.”

Larry, Kat thought, chest burning. You big, dumb, brave wannabe hero.

“Don’t worry,” Chris said, clearly concerned by
Kat’s accidental show of sorrow. “I didn’t do Larry’s face. It was quick for him. Don’t be all upset.”

“No, no, Chris.” She rested a hand on her head. “I’m…God, I’m just not feeling so hot, here. Understand?”

“Yeah. Jeez, Kat, I said I’m sorry for hurting you.”

There it was again, the subtle plea for approval. Such a normal kid thing to do…but this wasn’t a kid anymore.