If She Only Knew (51 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: If She Only Knew
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“I've got my ways.”
“All talk, Monty,” she said, and he hesitated, obviously didn't believe her ploy.
“We'll see about that,” he said. “You just wait here.” Slowly he placed James on the carpet.
“What are you doing?”
“You'll see.”
“Please, please don't hurt him.”
“I won't. Not if you do what I want.”
“Promise me you won't hurt him,” she pleaded, terrified to her bones.
“Okay, I promise.” His eyes glinted malevolently.
She didn't trust him. She was trembling inside, aching to be with her child who was lying by the coffee table. “Now, you, in here.” He waved his gun toward her bedroom. “Come on, Marla.”
Just do what he says. James is safe in here. Maybe someone in the house will come by . . . if anyone was around.
Heart in her throat, she walked through the open door and Monty followed inside, to Marla Cahill's bedroom with its perfectly coordinated drapes and bedspread. He glanced at the canopied bed and a slow smile curved over his lips. “Okay, bitch, this is where it all started between you and me. Maybe it's time to end it here.”
She swallowed her fear and stared at him. “If you think it would be a good idea.”
“I think it would be a helluva idea,” he said, then, with the gun pointed at her temple, he grabbed her with his free hand, dragged her close and kissed her hard on the lips. He tasted of old smoke and coffee and she wanted to throw up but she closed her eyes and her mind, knowing that if she just got him into the bed, in a compromising situation, she could grab his gun or . . . or reach under the mattress and pull out Alex's pistol.
His hand was rough over her clothes, pawing at her breasts, groping lower. “Come on, baby,” he said inching her toward the bed. The back of her knees hit the mattress. “Let's see what you can do. I remember you gave the best head I've ever had.”
She moaned though her insides curdled and they tumbled on the bed together. In that moment, she flung one arm out and arched against him. He kissed her hard on the lips and she flipped on the control of the intercom, then held him tight, as if she couldn't get enough of him. Never releasing the gun, he ripped open her shirt with his free hand and rubbed her breasts, pinching her nipples through her bra. She pretended a fever she didn't feel and stripped him of his parka and sweatshirt, running her hands up his ribs to tangle in the springing hairs guarding a thin chest.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” he murmured, his eyelids lowering to half-mast, his fingers still tight on the pistol, its nose digging into her throat.
She moved lower and her fingers slid his zipper down over a hard, anxious erection.
I can't do this,
she thought wildly, but touched him with her fingers, stroking gently then harder as she heard him groan deep in his throat.
Dear God, help me.
With her free hand she reached over the edge of the mattress, her fingers searching between mattress and box springs, stretching to find the cold metal.
“That's it baby, now suck me,” he said and she thought she'd puke all over him.
“Take off your pants,” she ordered though her voice shook.
“You do it.”
Forcing herself she complied, using both hands. The muzzle of his gun slipped a little. She wiggled, as if really getting into stripping him and as she lowered his jeans, let her fingers trail over the inside of his thigh.
“That's it, that's it,” he growled. She slid one hand to the edge of the bed again, found the gun, and, sweating, certain he would figure out what she was doing, worked hard, inching it toward the edge of the mattress until she was able to pry it free. His fingers loosened over his own pistol, though he still held it. But no longer was it pressed to her throat. She said something dirty against his thigh. “You know I want it,” she rasped. “No one was ever as good as you, Monty. I just didn't want to believe it.”
“Prove it. Suck me.”
Help me,
she silently prayed, adjusting herself and using all the energy she could muster, drew her knee up swiftly. Hard. Connected with his testicles.
He bellowed in pain and curled into a ball. His gun fell off the bed. “You fucking bitch!” he gasped, scrabbling for his weapon.
Kylie yanked Alex's pistol free and clicked off the safety.
“You bitch! You're gonna pay!” he cried as he reached over the edge of the bed and his fingers curled over his gun.
Kylie didn't wait. At point blank range, she pulled the trigger.
Crack!
The gun went off. Monty's arm exploded. He shrieked in pain. Blood and bits of bone sprayed over the bed, over Kylie, onto the wall and on the lacy canopy. Monty rolled away from her, blood pouring from the wound in his arm.
Somewhere nearby the baby screamed and there were footsteps racing, thundering through the house. Finally, help was on the way.
Sobbing, gasping, forcing herself from the horrid bed, Kylie trained her weapon on Monty. Naked, he managed to get to his feet, then as he took a step, the jeans bunching at his ankles, acting like shackles, held him fast. “Don't even think about it,” she ordered, ready to fire again though the gun wobbled in her hand. He sank to the floor, dragging in breaths and moaning in pain.
“Don't move.”
With a groan he passed out.
Her feet landed on the carpet as the door burst open.
Then all her bravado fled.
She was standing, half naked, face to face with her half sister, the woman she'd envied all her life. And Marla wasn't alone. In her arms, blinking and crying, was Kylie's son, James.
“Wha—what are you doing here?” she asked.
“This is my house.”
“But—”
“I came for my son, Kylie.”
“Don't take him away from me,” she begged as Alex slipped through the door.
“Too late, Kylie.” His smile was cold as ice, the shotgun in his hand deadly as he lifted it to his shoulder and sighted on Kylie. “The way I see this scenario is your lover, Montgomery over there, and you tried to steal our son, to kidnap and ransom him. Everything went wrong. Montgomery tried to double-cross you and you killed each other.”
Kylie turned her gun toward Alex, who laughed.
“That's it, go ahead, try to shoot me or Marla . . . it'll only add credence to my story that I had to kill you to protect my home and family. And remember, the baby might get hurt with all the bullets flying. I don't think that's a chance you're willing to take.”
“Why did you do all this?” she asked, anger and fear raging inside her.
“Did you ever really think I'd give this baby to you?” Marla asked.
“I figured you were in on this.”
“From the start. You've always been a thorn in my side. It killed me to have to ask you to conceive my baby.” Marla had cut her hair to the same length as Kylie's and they looked enough alike that few people could tell them apart. It was all so sick.
“How did you know where I was going that night . . . after we had the fight in the foyer?” Kylie asked, trying to stall, to come up with some plan to wrest her child from Marla and break free.
“Don't you think we knew you'd take the bait and drive down to Monterey?” Alex asked. “Jesus, we set that up, too. I made it look like Marla called me. I knew you'd figure it out, that you over heard the conversation—at least half of it—and that you'd call the automatic callback service and find out that the call had been from the bed and breakfast.”
“But you weren't there, were you?” Kylie asked, her gaze turning to Marla, as she remembered the call.
“No. Montgomery did the honors. The minute you left Alex called him back and he took up his position on Highway 17.” Marla's eyes gleamed as if she'd just won a very important game.
“But I could have taken another route,” Kylie argued.
“But we followed,” Marla said. “Alex, James and me. In a rental car. We followed you down to Haight Street and saw you get into Pam's Mercedes. From there it was easy—just call Monty and get him into position. Pam was a bonus. We were going to have to deal with her, too, since she was your attorney of choice and was not only going to help you in court but write the damned book. Even though you didn't die in the accident, at least we got her out of the way.”
Kylie's fingers curled on the bloody bedspread. Was there no way out of this mess. Think, Kylie. Think! “Why would Monty want to kill me?”
“Not you,” Alex said. “
Marla.
He wanted to kill Marla for betraying him and he needed money. Monty had himself a pretty expensive cocaine habit.”
Kylie dropped her head in her hands, but again, she knew she couldn't give up, couldn't let them win. She was thinking fast, trying to come up with a way to snatch the gun from Alex and still save James. “And Cherise was in on this?”
“She had no idea,” Marla said with a mirthless laugh. “But then she always was a fool. Just like her stupid brother. I used him, you know. When Alex wasn't interested in me, I used Monty to get back at him.”
“You really can be a bitch,” Alex said, but there was a note of fondness and pride in his voice that Kylie found disgusting. They were all sick. Twisted. “Okay, now, we've got to use the .38.” He kicked the gun toward Marla. “You do it. Go stand by Monty and shoot at her.”
Marla sucked in her breath. “I can't.”
“You have to.”
“No, Alex. I . . . I can't pull the trigger.”
“For Christ's sake!”
He stepped forward. A muffled shot reported. Alex's body jerked wildly and he fell to the floor, dropping the shotgun.
“No!” Marla screamed. Monty, one hand holding his gun, fell back again, his eyes closing.
Kylie lunged for the shotgun, grabbed it and rolled to her feet. She trained it on Monty but the man didn't move. She crossed the room and kicked the pistol into the bathroom, then with her weapon still trained on Monty, she backed up, nearly tripping over Marla, who had fallen to the floor and was huddled over her husband. “Give me my son,” Kylie ordered.
“But Alex, he's wounded.”
“Let him bleed to death. Give me my son!” Kylie was standing over Marla and she reached down and yanked James from the other woman's arms. Marla was sobbing now, crying and cradling Alex's head on her lap while blood gurgled over his lips. The baby cried fitfully, but Kylie held him fast.
“This is all your fault!” Marla screamed up at her.
“That's where you're wrong,” Kylie said. “It's all yours.”
There were footsteps on the stairs, then running down the hallway.
Thank God!
The door to the suite banged open. Tom flew into the room. He stood horrified, eyeing the bloody, rumpled bed, Kylie's state of undress, Alex and Marla and the naked wounded man crumpled in the corner. “What the hell—”
“Call the police!” Kylie ordered as Monty moaned and Alex's breaths rattled wet and ragged in his lungs.
Tom didn't move.
“Oh, God, honey, don't die,” Marla sobbed brokenly to Alex. “Not now. Not when it's all ours.”
Monty rolled over, trying to struggle to his feet. “Take one step you son of a bitch and I swear, I'll blow you away!” Kylie warned sharply, then to Tom, “Call the damned police. Now!”
“They . . . They're on their way,” Tom said, his face ashen. “I heard everything on the intercom when I walked into the kitchen and I called 911. I—I have medical supplies in my room.”
“Then get them.”
“You'll be okay?”
“Yes! Go!” The words sank in and Tom dashed out of the room. Somewhere in another part of the house Coco barked. An ambulance's siren wailed from far down the hill. Alex gave a final rasping breath. Marla sobbed brokenly, tears raining from her eyes. Montgomery groaned, the bones of his forearm shattered, all the fight seeming to have finally left him.
“What was it you told me? That you wanted everything? That you deserved it?” Kylie snarled at Monty, the gun shaking in her fingers as she kept it pointed at his pathetic naked body. “Well, it looks like you're going to finally get what you deserve, and its going to be hell.” She glanced down at her half sister. Tears streamed down Marla's face, ruining her mascara and eyeliner as she tried to will life into her dying husband's body.
“Alex, please don't die”
Kylie, standing over her half sister, held James close. She almost felt sorry for Marla Amhurst Cahill.
Almost.
But not quite.

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