Page 99 of The Texas Murders

She points with the gun toward the place where the ground begins to slant.

Ava and I walk toward the edge. I keep my hands hidden. I need time, so I try to keep Isabella talking.

“Did they express remorse?” I ask.

“Of course,” Isabella says. “They begged and pleaded, said they were sorry.” Her expression changes, and for a moment I see what might be regret. “Fiona was the hardest for me. She was a sweet girl. I saved her till last, thinking maybe Iwouldn’t go through with it. Let her off the hook. But…” She shrugs. “She made her choice.”

“Isabella,” Ava says, taking a tone like a friend. “I can see how you think you’ve created some sort of justice. They wronged you. I get it. But what about us? Rory and I never hurt you. All we ever do is try to help people.”

“Then you should have been here four years ago,” Isabella says. “Maybe things would have turned out different.”

Isabella moves the gun back and forth between us as we inch toward the edge. “Keep going.”

Facing death has been on my mind for the last several days. Kyle Hendricks sacrificed himself to save me. Carlos sacrificed himself to save me.

Now it’s my turn.

I grit my teeth and try one last time to squeeze my hand through the rope. Skin burning, my right hand finally slips free. I keep my hands behind my back, clenching and unclenching my fists to give them circulation, the twine hanging loose around my left wrist.

From somewhere behind us, down in the canyon, we hear a faint, strange sound coming from far away. It could be the mew of a bobcat or the yap of a wild dog.

Or it could be a human groaning in pain.

My eyes go wide, as do Isabella’s. She hears it, too.

“That could be Fiona,” Ava says. “She might still be—”

“I said, keep moving!” Isabella snaps, lowering the gun and firing a round at our feet. A bullet strikes the rock between us, ricocheting loudly out over the canyon.

She could have easily hit one of us, and it wouldn’t have bothered her a bit if she did.

It’s now or never.

Time to die.

“Run, Ava!”I shout as I hurtle my body forward, swinging my arms around to tackle Isabella.

Isabella raises the gun and shoots.

CHAPTER 92

THE BULLET STRIKES me in the upper chest, on the right side, just under my collarbone and close to my shoulder. I feel thethumpwhen it hits. The shot staggers me, but it doesn’t stop me. I fly at her like an out-of-control train jumping off the tracks. My left hand reaches for the gun but misses, and so I lower my left shoulder and slam into her.

She and I go down in a pile of limbs and grunts. The gun goes flying, skidding over the loose rock and coming to a stop near the cliff’s edge.

Ava—acting quick—jumps on Isabella and tries to pin her. Her arms are still cuffed behind her back, but she uses her weight and her legs to keep the woman down.

I sit up and a wave of dizziness crashes into me. The front and back of my shirt are wet with blood from where the bullet went in and where it punched its way out.

Isabella thrashes beneath Ava. She grabs Ava’s braid andyanks her off. Then she scrambles toward the gun. Ava jumps after her, throwing her weight on her again, but she’s severely disadvantaged without her arms.

I rise to my feet—moving in slow motion. I take one step toward the fighting women but stop myself. I turn and head to the vehicle. I use my left hand to open the door. I reach across the seat to retrieve my gun. When I grab it and rise back out of the car, a lightning bolt of pain explodes from the wound.

I raise my gun with my left arm, but I can’t hold it steady. I’ve always been useless shooting with my left hand, and even with the bullet hole near my right shoulder, I switch the gun to my dominant right hand. I place my left hand underneath my right, helping to lift the arm.

Ava and Isabella are in the danger zone now, where the ground begins to slope. Isabella strains to reach the gun with Ava on top of her. Isabella’s fingers are inches away.

I try to keep the sight steady on Isabella’s head, but it veers wildly.

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