Page 127 of Tear Me Apart
“No? How are you going to assure that? Kill everyone involved? Murder the CBI team and the Nashville detectives? It’s too late, Lauren. The DNA proves it. They already know what you did.”
Lauren’s face doesn’t change. She continues watching Juliet with her pasted-onMona Lisasmile.
“This is ridiculous. I refuse to listen to any more lies. I’m leaving, right now.”
“Are you?”
Juliet’s heart is racing. The warmth she felt earlier is spreading. Her feet feel like lead. She can’t lift them. Her knees are locked, her mouth dry. Spots swim in her vision. Her head feels so heavy.
“What have you done, Lauren?” Her voice is thick, her tongue too big for her mouth. Saliva begins to flow; she can’t stop it, she’s drowning. The room is spinning, spinning.
“As I said, I will do whatever is necessary to keep my daughter safe.”
“So you’re trying to kill me?”
The smile turns sad, and Lauren gestures to the cups on the table. Juliet turns to look at them, but the thoughts won’t come. She barely hears Lauren’s next words.
“Oh, sister. You’re already dead.”
Juliet crashes to the floor.
74
Zack hangs up with Juliet, a terrible feeling of dread spreading through him. Lauren at the crime scene is unfathomable. And yet...her attachment to Mindy, her fierce protectiveness, the lack of friends, the practical isolation of the child, the claustrophobia of their relationship—Lauren spending weeks refusing to leave her side until forced to do so and not allowing visitors—it all makes an obscene kind of sense, and leads him to a frightening conclusion.
Lauren murdered Vivian and stole their baby for her own.
This thought alone is enough to propel him straight to the Wrights’ house, but he is on foot. He has no car, and there is no question of trying to make it up the mountain in anything but a vehicle.
He turns in circles, assessing, looking. There are people around. He can ask someone heading into the garage, pay them if necessary. And while he’s doing it, he can call a cab or an Uber. See which reaches him first.
Bolting off the porch with Kat at his side, he notices a man with a long-focus lens camera standing down the brick-lined alley. Two steps later his mind registers what his eyes have just seen. The face is familiar, but it’s the red baseball cap worn backward that identifies him. Zack saw him this morning in the parking lot, sitting in his car, taking shots of the hospital.
A reporter.
Zack about-faces, darts down the alley toward the man, who sees him charging and starts backing up, horror on his face, one hand out as if that will stop the onslaught of frantic man and angry dog.
“Hey. Hey! I need your help.”
“Dude, I’m just here taking pictures. No harm, no foul.”
“You’re a reporter. I saw you at the hospital. I need a ride. It’s an emergency.”
“Is it Mindy?”
Zack starts to say no but realizes this may be the most expedient way of getting what he needs. “Yes, it’s Mindy. Her mother is at the house, she just called and said there’s a problem and can I meet her there. I don’t have a ride. Can you get me up the mountain?”
“To the Wrights’ place? Shit, dude, for a price, sure.”
“What’s the price?” Zack reaches for his wallet. There is no time to negotiate. He has to get to Juliet.
“I don’t want money, man. Interview.”
“Fine. Fine. It’s a deal. Let’s go.” Zack starts toward the garage, but the photographer points down the alley.
“My car’s right over here. I know the gate security agent, he let me park it by the village entrance.”
They are in the car—a small green Subaru Impreza with a ski rack on top, the back full of equipment, technical and ski—and rolling away less than a minute later. Kat is perched in the backseat, legs at angles, balancing against the sharp, fast turns.
