Page 136 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“All right, I’ll take the gun,” Jack said grimly. “Stick close to me.”

They each slipped out of the car and closed the doors quietly. Here, on the cliffs over the sea, the storm raged, screaming inland, battering the house and rocks. A shutter banged loudly. Cissy followed close on Jack’s heels. Fear pounded through her brain, but she didn’t let it stop her. Inside this old, deteriorating home, her deranged half-sister, more murderous than their mother, held her child captive. Quietly, they walked up the rotting steps to find the front door unlocked.

Stealthily, nervous sweat drenching her body, Cissy followed Jack inside.

The feds and the crime unit techs had crawled all over Diedre Lawson’s apartment. They’d discovered items connecting her to the crimes, shells for a .38, various disguises and wigs that had hairs that were certain to match those found at Cherise Favier’s home. There were notes and a computer—a laptop—that had already been taken as evidence.

But no Diedre.

No baby.

Paterno walked outside and popped an antacid as the rain poured from the sky. The feds had been so certain they’d caught her that they’d pulled their van from the street in front of Jack and Cissy Holt’s house.

But she wasn’t here.

There was already a BOLF on Diedre’s car and her picture was being circulated to the media, but he was disappointed that they hadn’t nailed her.

Pulling out his cell, he listened impatiently to his messages, hearing a few he dismissed, then, lastly, a call from Jack Holt. “Holy crap,” he said and rounded up Quinn.

“What’s up?”

“We’d better get our asses up to Sausalito. Jack Holt’s decided to be John Wayne.” He quickly explained what he knew. “We’ll call for backup if it turns out to be something more than a wild-goose chase.”

She didn’t argue, just got behind the wheel of her Jetta, and, as Paterno slid inside and pulled the door shut, she circled in a quick one-eighty and sped north.

The minute Cissy stepped into the foyer, she heard the muffled sound of a baby’s cry. Over the rattle of rain on the windowpanes, the scream of the wind around the house, her own heartbeat thudding in her ears, she was certain she heard her child.

Her knees nearly gave way, and she motioned to Jack to climb the stairs that swept to the second floor above this wide foyer. The house was cold and dark inside, and though she had flitting little memories of playing here as a small child, they seemed in black and white, faded with the passage of time. There had been lush parties here once, and if she thought really hard she could imagine the ghosts of guests long gone, the tiny tinkle of glasses and laughter long forgotten.

But that was fleeting. A millisecond memory, for now Cissy was focused solely on finding B.J.

Behind Jack, she slowly mounted the stairs.

Near the second-floor landing, Jack stopped and tensed. He glanced at Cissy. The sound of a baby crying was closer. Nodding toward the big doors before him, he took the final steps. Biting her lip, Cissy opened the multi-bladed tool to its longest knife, wanting to force herself into the room. It was killing her to wait. She could hear the distinctive sounds of her baby crying, louder and louder, hiccupping and sobbing.

At least he’s alive!

“Mom-mee!” he cried. “Mom-mee!”

Cissy tried to rush past Jack, but he held her back and she felt it too, that this was too easy. Where was Diedre? Motioning for Cissy to step aside, Jack tried the door, slowly edging it open.

Over his shoulder, she saw the silhouette of her son. Standing at the edge of a playpen in the darkened room and crying, his body thrown in relief by a dim fire. “Mom–mee!” he yelled unmoving. She couldn’t see him clearly, but she knew he was upset.

“Oh baby,” she cried, rushing past Jack into the darkness. “Baby, I’m here.”

Jack tried to grab her, but it was too late. She flew into the room and tripped, landing on the floor and staring into the dead eyes of Jack’s father, Jonathan!

Cissy screamed, scooting backward as Jack entered the room. He paused at the sight of Jonathan Holt’s blood-soaked body, his pale skin, his lifeless eyes.

“Dear God,” Cissy whispered, terrified, as she scrambled to her feet.

Diedre had killed Jonathan and left him in the same room with her baby!

Jack’s stunned gaze lifted from his father as Diedre stepped from behind the open door on the landing, her gun trained on him. “Drop it!” she ordered. Jack didn’t comply. “Drop it or I’ll kill the kid! You, too. Let go of your knife,” she said. Unlike Jack, Cissy dropped the Pomeroy utility weapon. Diedre trained her gun on Beej.

“No!” Cissy screamed, still far enough away from Beej not to be able to console him, not to see his little features, only to hear his sobs. It was so dark in here. “Jack, don’t let her do this!” she ordered but felt something was wrong. Off. Jack tossed the gun onto the bed, then knelt at his father’s side to feel for a pulse as the loose shutter banged loudly. Bam! Bam! Bam!

“He’s dead.” Diedre said it without inflection.

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