Page 100 of The Texas Murders

Ava tries to pin Isabella’s arms with her knees, but Isabella heaves beneath her, giving herself just enough space to move.

She grabs the gun and swings it upward. She aims it at Ava’s face.

I squeeze the trigger.

Blood sprays from Isabella’s face, and her arm goes limp.

I let out a breath of relief, but then realize that both women, tangled together, have begun to slide over the edge. I forcemyself to my feet and stumble forward. Ava scrambles to get off of Isabella’s body, but she’s sliding across the sandy grade.

I lunge forward and throw my left hand out. I get a grip on the collar of Ava’s shirt just as Isabella’s body slides out from under her and disappears over the edge.

I hear her body crash into the brush below.

CHAPTER 93

FLAT ON MY chest, my body spread out, I tell myself not to let go. Ava scrambles with her feet, using me for leverage. I slip downhill, and it feels like both of us are going to pitch forward off the cliff. Then Ava gets a good foothold and throws her body up to the flatter surface.

We crawl away from the edge, grunting and gasping. I slump to the ground, and Ava jumps to her feet and runs to the SUV, where the handcuff keys are lying on the passenger seat. I put my hand over the entrance wound, trying to slow the bleeding. Ava runs back to me with her arms freed and a first aid kit in hand.

She tears off my shirt and dumps a packet of quick-clotting powder on the entrance and exit wounds, then begins to wrap me up in hemostatic gauze.

“You’re lucky,” she says. “Looks like the bullet missed yourartery, missed your shoulder blade. I don’t hear any sucking sounds, so it missed the top of the lung.”

“Thanks,” I say when she’s got me good and wrapped up, with bandages running around my chest and shoulder. The kit doesn’t have a sling, so she fashions one with tape and secures my arm to my body.

She gives me a nod and thanks me in return. We share a brief moment, looking at each other, two partners—two friends—who just survived a terrible ordeal. Then the moment is over and she’s back to business.

“Move as little as possible,” she says, leaving me sitting in the dirt as she runs to the car to call for help.

I ignore her and rise to my feet. The worst of the shock is gone, so I’m no longer nauseated and dizzy. I walk over toward the edge—not too close—and look out at the canyon below.

“Fiona!”I shout.

There’s no answer.

A minute later, Ava comes back, looking flustered.

“No cell service,” she says. “All I can get is static on the radio. We’re going to have to drive back to civilization.”

“I’m not going with you,” I say.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I gesture with my good arm toward the canyon.

“Fiona might still be alive,” I say. “I’m going to look for her.”

Ava argues with me. She says we can look for her together, but I tell her that this would waste precious time. We needhelp out here—and we need the most capable of us to go get it. That’s her.

She says that I’m going to kill myself trying to get down into the canyon, but we can both see a place where the cliff flattens into a gentler slope.

“Give me that first aid kit,” I say. “And if there’s any food in your car, I’ll take that, too.”

Ava digs out a stash of Gatorade and PowerBars she keeps under her seat. She hands the Gatorade to me and stuffs the PowerBars in the first aid kit. I chug half the bottle and wedge the kit into my pants pocket.

I pick my gun out of the dirt and try to put it on my belt, but I’m using my left hand and the holster is on my right. Ava finally helps me get it into place, giving me a look of disapproval that I’m stupid to be doing this.

“Drive safe,” I say.

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