Page 127 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“You were right,” Quinn said as she and Paterno climbed into her Jetta. “Diedre Engles was married briefly to Gene Lawson, her high-school sweetheart. And get this, now he’s a cop with the state police.” She rammed the keys into the ignition and flicked her wrist. The little car’s engine roared to life, and she hit the gas. “I already talked to him, and he told me that yes, she was adopted, grew up in Sacramento with upper middle-class parents she hated. She always wanted to meet—and this is a direct quote—‘the bitch who gave me up.’ She spent years searching for her birth mother, but she and Gene split up before she found her.”

“Why did she hate her adoptive parents?”

“Who knows? Gene didn’t. They were decent enough people, if a little distant. Anyway,” she said, rounding a corner fast enough that the wheels chirped, “Gene said the older she got, the more, as he put it, ‘psycho’ and ‘obsessed’ she became, to the point that when she refused counseling, they divorced. No kids.”

“Does he think she’s capable of plotting an escape and committing a string of murders?”

“He told me he didn’t know what she was capable of, but that she was extremely smart: high IQ, but really messed up. His diagnosis: she’s got some major wires crossed.”

“So he wasn’t surprised?”

Quinn stepped on it as a light turned amber, then switched lanes as if she thought she was a race-car driver. They were driving without sirens or lights, converging on the townhouse where Diedre Lawson lived. On this one, they were taking a backseat to the FBI, but Paterno would be damned rather than miss the snagging of the woman who had sprung Marla Cahill only to kill her.

“He didn’t expect her to turn out to be a serial murderer, but surprised? No. He didn’t have many good words to say about his ex-wife.”

“They never do.”

Quinn slowed to a stop two blocks from the townhouse. From here, they could watch the feds in action. Paterno stared through the rain-spattered windshield as the agents surrounded Diedre’s residence.

Would there be a gun battle?

Or would she lay down her weapon and surrender?

He wasn’t betting on it.

That would be just too damned easy. The truth of the matter was that he had a bad feeling about this showdown. It was true that the woman seemed to be slipping up, her actions in the last few murders not as carefully planned as Marla’s escape or Eugenia’s and Rory’s murders. She was losing it. Definitely, he thought as he reached into his pocket for a pack of gum. But he still thought this was just too easy.

He felt in his gut that Marla’s killer wouldn’t go out unless it was in a damned blaze of glory.

Would that kid never shut up?

Jesus H. Christ, she’d fed him, given him a bottle, and changed his damned diaper. She’d even attempted to bathe him, but he had squirmed and struggled. She just wasn’t cut out to be a mother, Diedre decided, just like that bitch who had borne her.

Marla!

Now there was a head case.

“Oh, shut up!” she yelled down the hallway to the room she’d set up for him, a room with a playpen and blankets and some of those dumb stuffed animals that always looked so insipid. She figured he’d wear himself out eventually, but man, oh, man, her head was thundering, pain throbbing through her skull. She popped another couple of ibuprofen, but she really needed something stronger, something prescribed by a doctor, a painkiller that would knock the throbbing ache out once and for all.

It was all because of Marla. Diedre didn’t remember having headaches before she’d finally tracked down her real mother—in prison, no less! Talk about bad karma! Worse yet, she realized everything she’d wanted in life: a family with social standing; a beautiful young mother; a world of privilege…everything that should have been hers. Gone. Gone! Because her damned mother had given her up for adoption. Not that her adoptive parents were all that bad, but they were just boring, ordinary people who didn’t really seem to care about her as she’d grown. She’d wondered about that, but it was all mixed in her mind. Then there was her father. All she’d learned about him, after digging for years, was that he and Marla had been involved in a very short, very hot affair, and guess what? Marla had ended up pregnant.

Marla’s parents, Victoria and Conrad Amhurst, had been mortified at their daughter’s promiscuity and condition. Talk about living in the dark ages! They’d talked her into going to Cahill House, where she’d met her husband, much to the horror of Eugenia. That old bat! She’d recognized Diedre before she’d died because she’d always kept track of her, through Cahill House. Hypocrite. She got what she deserved. Diedre still felt more than a little satisfaction when she remembered Eugenia’s last frightened minutes as Diedre had forced her over the railing.

Served her right.

The baby’s wailing had finally lessened a bit, and Diedre’s headache abated a tad too. Thank God. She walked into the master suite of the Amhurst mansion and looked through the windows to the sea. It was weird to think that her grandparents had slept in here, even made love. Her skin crawled at the thought of it, but it suited her perfectly, and at least her own dead parents had left her a small inheritance that had allowed her to afford the rent on the townhouse, the place she considered her “cover,” as well as the bungalow where Marla hid out.

Marla, who was going to go down for every murder Diedre committed. Diedre had her alibis all set, and Marla had none. It was perfect, though in the back of her mind, she felt a tiny little schism of fear cut through her brain, something that didn’t seem to fit, though she couldn’t quite sort it out. Whatever it was, it would have to wait.

Where the hell was Jack?

She checked her watch and frowned. She’d told him to come here, right? This is where they always met. This was the place she considered their “home.” After all, she really did have Amhurst blood running through her veins, and once all of the other pretenders to the throne were dealt with, she truly would inherit it all.

That’s not right. It’s not what you planned…remember?

The headache behind her eye flared again, and she decided not to think too hard. She just needed Jack to show…and then…

The noise from the baby’s room had disappeared altogether. Diedre tiptoed down the gallery hallway and peered through the door she’d left ajar. He was sleeping. Curled up with a lop-eared fuzzy bunny Diedre had bought for him. He almost looked angelic lying in the playpen, but she didn’t step into the room, didn’t want to risk waking him. She wasn’t sure what she thought about him.

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