Page 133 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

WAS IT POSSIBLE?

Had she…Jesus, had she taken the kid into the house to visit a dead woman? When B.J. had complained of the smell, had it been the stench of decay and rotting flesh?

Images flashed behind her eyes. Horrible images of a decomposing body—maggots visible, flesh falling away—cut through her vision of her mother’s beautiful face…oh…oh no…Her stomach revolted, bile rising, and she was trembling inside.

“You killed her too early!” he said again, snapping Diedre back to the present. Sweat broke out on her skin and the headache, that damned excruciating pain blasted through her. “What kind of idiot are you? Marla needed to be alive until after you took care of the people who needed to die…Eugenia and Rory and Cherise. That was the reason you threw suspicion on her. Remember? To prove that Marla was the killer? How the hell are you going to get out of it now?”

“You mean us,” she said dully, fighting the pain. “How are we going to get out of it?”

“I should never have trusted you,” he said, rage pounding in a tic under his eye. How could he talk to her this way, this lover who now wanted to be called Jonathan? This man she slept with, made love to, loved with all of her heart? “I knew it. This was a mistake from the get-go.” He raked his hands impatiently through his hair. “What the hell were you thinking? After all the time we spent finding a way to spring her? To get our hands on the money? You go and kill her too soon!”

There it was again. The image of Marla lying dead on the floor, blood pooling from her brain. An accident…if it had actually happened. But now, Jack was saying they had planned to kill her. Her head was pounding so hard she could barely think. “This—you and me—wasn’t just about money. You and I…we’re going to get married. You’re leaving your wife for me…”

“I’m not married. What did you think this was about?”

“It was about love.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break, Diedre.”

He, like Marla, sniggered at her thoughts of love. That’s not how it had always been. He’d found her. While working as a donation solicitor at Cahill House, he had gone through old records and learned that Marla Amhurst had come to the home to have her baby and give the child up for adoption. Using the information, Jonathan located her and ultimately seduced her. Or was it the other way around? She too had been searching for her birth mother, and then this handsome, sexy, intelligent, older man had shown up. Flirting with her. Making her feel so much better after her loser of a husband, Gene, had divorced her.

He’d spent years planning it, the ultimate score. He’d even set up his son to meet Cissy, to gain him the grandson and access to both the Cahill and Amhurst fortunes. B.J. Holt stood in line to inherit millions. But Diedre had believed Jack loved her. It had started out slow, their love affair, just a little flirting over coffee, then he offered to drive her home when her car hadn’t started one night. Over time, he’d admitted that he’d known who she was, and when he came up with a way for her to meet the mother she’d never known, she leapt at the chance. Eventually, he’d suggested they help Marla escape, and together they’d hatched their plan, which now seemed hazy. All of her communication with Marla had been through her cell mate at the first prison. She and Diedre had never met until the day that the plan went into motion, and then, the first time they’d looked eye-to-eye, Marla had smiled.

They’d driven back to the city together. “You look like me,” she’d said, tilting her head and studying Diedre. Diedre had been pleased until Marla added, “Much more like me than Cissy does.” Her smile had been sincere. “Thank you.”

Diedre had felt tears welling in her eyes, and then she’d outlined the plan to Marla…how to get their hands on the Amhurst money. Rory would have to die, of course, and James up in Oregon, eventually, and then there was Cissy. Marla had balked a little at that idea, at least at first. But prison had hardened her, and Cissy had turned her back on her mother. Eventually, Marla had gone along with the idea of the killings, though, of course, she didn’t know that Jonathan had ultimately intended to blame her and either kill her or send her back to prison. Diedre had thought that she could talk him out of it by staging Marla’s death, having it look as if she were dead or on the run in Oregon, away from the Bay Area. She’d already talked to Sam, the man she’d hired to scare Cissy at the coffee shop, and he’d agreed to do whatever was necessary. Except nothing had turned out as she’d planned. Now Marla was dead.

How had she let herself believe Jonathan had ever loved her? How had she ever thought that Marla would love her as a daughter?

You’re a fool, that’s why. Just like that bitch of an adoptive mother had always said.

Now, Jonathan glared at her as if he actually hated her. “You screwed everything up. Everything. This had nothing to do with love. Ever. You and I, we were just using each other. And now, because you’r

e such a stupid idiot, we’re both going to go to jail for a long, long time.”

“You bastard!” she hissed, snapping.

Smack!

She slapped him. Hard. Leaving a red mark on his face.

“What the hell?”

Rage, hot and wild, exploded deep inside her, and she saw Jonathan for what he was. How had she ever thought she loved him? He was a generation older than she, a man who had never forgotten his wife, never stopped loving Jill.

“I always suspected you were nuts,” Jonathan sneered, clenching a fist.

Before she could answer, he struck, his fist crashing into her chest. Pain exploded in her ribs, the wind rushed out of her lungs, and she doubled over.

Fury rose with the speed of a demon. She looked up at him and saw the hatred glinting in his eyes. “You are such a lowlife,” she said.

“A little late for name calling,” he spat. “Now what the hell are we going to do?”

She didn’t think twice. Her purse was hanging from the bedpost. She lunged for the leather bag. In one quick movement, she reached inside and pulled out her .38.

Her heart thudded, reverberating through the pain in her skull. “I don’t know what you’re going to do, Jonathan,” she snarled, aiming at his heart. “But I’ve got work to do.”

“NO! Diedre—”

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