Page 78 of Her Dark Lies
47
The Cavalry Returns
Jack is prone to paranoia, he has to be, considering the side work of his family, but on the island, he’s always felt safe. It is the ultimate controlled environment. Barring a torpedo or drone strike, naturally, which their enemies aren’t exactly capable of. Yet.
Until Henna’s death, all of the terrors of the past few days could be chalked up to the twisted desires of Shane McGowan. Jack had thought his death meant things would quickly return to normal.
Now he has to believe McGowan was simply a symptom. A hired gun with a convenient backstory tied to Claire. Someone else is pulling the strings. He’s willing to bet the farm it’s the woman who came to visit Claire at the studio. Ami Eister by name, but not in truth. Who the hell is she? How does she tie into their lives? Who sent her, and why? Well, that’s a silly question. Her goal is the destruction of the family, clearly. Starting with the one they hold most dear.
He just can’t fathom someone he knows killing Henna. A stranger is the only explanation.
So who the hell is this imposter?
Could she somehow have gotten to the island?
Into the house?
He hears someone coming fast up the hall and acts on instinct, tensing for battle. One hand goes to the back of his waistband out of habit, though there is nothing there to use for defense. The other brings the flashlight up in a grip that assures it is as much a weapon as a deterrent—in the gloom, the intense beam of the Maglite will blind whoever is rushing toward him, and he can easily use it as a club if needed. The butterfly knife he always carries in his pocket comes out, whips open, and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, the blade snaps into place. He’d gotten in the habit of carrying the knife years ago, though he’s rarely had to use it.
He waits until the last moment to thumb the switch on the Maglite. Does he recognize that breath? He hesitates and is relieved to see Claire turn the corner and run toward him. He blows out a breath, drops the knife into his pocket, and opens his arms. Claire throws herself at him, burying her face in his chest.
“Oh, Jack. I am so sorry. I don’t know what’s happened. My mom was hammered, she’d been drinking without a doubt, I could smell it on her breath. Brian claims he wasn’t aware, that he’d gone to take a nap after brunch, left her touring the house. And then I got lost, downstairs, and Fatima found me, and—”
“Shhh. It’s okay now.”
She peeks up at him, her beautiful eyes swimming with tears. It breaks him, seeing her so unhappy.
“Will the cameras capture anything, do you think? Will they be able to see what happened?”
“No. Without the power on, the cameras are conveniently offline here.”
She must hear something in his tone. “What do you think happened? Do you think she fell? Or—”
“Shhh,” he says. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions.” He’d so love to be screaming, raging,she was murdered, and it might have been your mother.But he knows this can’t be the truth. Knows it in his bones. Whoever killed Henna is working to destabilize the family entirely, and Trisha doesn’t care enough for that.
He realizes Claire is quietly fuming. He can feel anger shimmering off her in waves.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Other than Henna dying and my mom getting bombed? Something else is going on. Something bigger. Jack, when I was downstairs—”
There is a clunk and a whine he recognizes as the generators kicking in again, and the lights in the hallway flash on. It feels almost garish after the velvet-dark intimacy of the hallway. The scene is more horrible in the light—blood everywhere, Henna twisted, Claire a calamitous wreck. But the light will help to discern what’s happened. And to cover it up, as quickly as possible. They don’t need the guests wandering into the crime scene.
Gideon and Malcolm, burly in their gray suits and red ties, come back into the hall, followed by Fatima. When she sees the body, she utters a tiny little scream, themeepof a kitten stepped on by her mother, then collects herself, raises her chin and marches to Claire’s side, taking her by the arm.
“Come with me. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Jack gives Fatima a grateful nod, and squeezes Claire’s shoulder. “Go on. I’ll handle things here. You’re a mess. Hold on to her clothes, though, Fatima. In case the police need them.”
Claire looks down at her bloodstained shirt in distress. “I have to throw it out, I need—”
“Darling, it’s evidence. Just for now.”
She pales but nods, and Jack is relieved when she allows Fatima to walk her back into their rooms. The ruse is necessary. There will be no police. Jack intends to hunt down whoever is responsible, and kill them himself.
When the door closes, Jack turns to his security team. They are eyeing Henna’s body, but neither have spoken a word. Extremely well trained, they can handle pretty much anything. Even a dead body in the middle of a raging storm on an isolated island.
“What took so long?”
