Page 128 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Walking back to the master bedroom, she let her fingers trail over the wrought-iron railing as she gazed down three floors to the foyer below. This incredible Queen Anne home was hers. This mansion that had been abandoned and left to go to seed because of Marla’s incarceration would soon be brought back to life!

Marla would go back to prison…or…She frowned as she concentrated. Or she would be dead. Marla would be dead. That would be better. She’d decided that Marla had to die, right? So she couldn’t drag Diedre down? She rubbed her forehead and shivered. She was just under so much stress that sometimes she got a little mixed up. Just a little. Despite what the ridiculous psychiatrist had said. What was it? Something about paranoia or schizophrenia or delusions. Didn’t matter. He was a kook with his bald head and gray beard and tiny little glasses…always staring at her as if there were actually something wrong with her.

But she wouldn’t think of Dr. Lazio Bennett III now. Not when she had time to spend alone with Jack…. Wait a minute. Was that right? Of

course it was. Jack was one of the very few people who knew who she was. She didn’t have to go by that damned alias around him, didn’t have to pretend. He loved her as Diedre, and that was perfect.

She climbed the stairs to the turret and walked outside to view the sea. It was dark, a few lights mounted on the sea wall offering views of the raging, frothing whitecaps and angry surf. The sky was dark, the wind gusting and fierce, rain slashing from the black sky.

It was wild and savage, and she wondered what Jack would say if she suggested they make love here, on this balcony, with the storm raging around them.

If Jack would go for it. She turned her gaze inland, the wind blowing her hair over her eyes, and she saw the headlights on the road leading to the estate. Her heart skipped a beat, and she forced the door open and hurried down the circular stairs to the floor below. She was on the second floor when she heard the key in the lock, and a few seconds later, he walked through the front door and into the foyer.

He was wet too from his dash across the parking lot. He stood dripping on the floor, his gaze lifting upward to clash with hers. “Jesus Christ, Diedre,” he said, no flash of a smile slashing across his face, no spark of intelligent humor in his blue eyes, “what the hell have you done?”

Chapter 22

Cissy looked at the clock for the fourth time in as many minutes. Jack had been gone over an hour, and she hadn’t heard a word. Nor had the police called or stopped by. She chanced a peek through the blinds, and, miracle of miracles, the van that had been parked up the street for days was gone.

Had the FBI seen Jack leave and taken off after him? Had they considered him a risk to the investigation and arrested him? Where was he?

She paced in front of the fire, barely noticing the flames licking the porcelain logs or her own reflection in the mirror. What if she lost them both? Not only B.J., but Jack as well? She felt sick inside. Jangled. Her restlessness was making her crazy, her nerves wound tighter than a watch spring. She had to do something.

She’d tried to call Rachelle, but the number at Joltz rang on and on.

Again, she checked the street.

Once more, there was no van in sight.

Leave now! This is your chance! They might be back. Now, they won’t know that you took the car out of the garage. You know there isn’t going to be a phone call for ransom; Diedre or Elyse or whoever the hell she is plans on harming Beej, even killing him.

She grabbed her keys and threw on a jacket, and, as she walked to the garage, she twisted her hair away from her face and slipped a rubber band around the short ponytail. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew that sitting here in the house made no sense whatsoever. Sliding into the Acura, she spied Beej’s car seat in the back. She almost lost it, her knees like water, pain cutting through her heart so deeply she swore it was physical.

She didn’t dare call Jack for fear it might startle him. If he hadn’t remembered to turn his cell to vibrate or silent mode, it might alert anyone he was stalking of his whereabouts. Even a text message might make some sound.

So where to? she asked herself as she hit the garage door opener and it ground open, the gears seeming so loud she cringed, the automatic light exposing the fact that she was in the car. Too bad. The FBI could just damned well follow her if they wanted. She was doing nothing illegal. In fact, she was somehow going to find her child. She just had to be careful to maneuver around Jack’s Jeep, then close the garage. She didn’t know how, but she intended to track Diedre Lawson to the ends of the earth.

Diedre is your half-sister.

Marla was her mother too.

God, how twisted was that?

She put the car into reverse and inched around Jack’s Jeep, her tires sliding off the cement into the yard. As soon as she was clear, she hit the garage door opener and the door ground down. Backing into the street, she threw the Acura into drive and headed into the city.

She thought about Diedre or Elyse, a person whom she’d known for several years. How could she do this? Why?

It’s because she’s your half-sister. You heard her voice on the phone. She hates you, Cissy.

But why?

Because, in her distorted mind, you were the golden child, the chosen one. You lived with your mother. Marla didn’t abandon you. You became a Cahill.

But Diedre had her own parents—two people who loved her.

But she’s screwed up, and she wants what you have, including your baby.

“Not for long,” she murmured, hands flexing on the wheel. She only had to figure out where, in all of the Bay Area, the monster was hiding her child.

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