Murder at Castle Rock (23 page)

Stacy poked out her red lips in an ugly pout. "I was just having a little fun," she whined. "And I thought
I
was your baby."

"Was it fun when you nearly killed me?"

"I said I was sorry!" Stacy crossed her arms over her chest. "How was I supposed to know all your stupid car scraps were going to fall out? I drive a Camaro! I don't have to worry about that kind of stuff."

Tony grumbled under his breath. "Anyway," he said, turning back to me. "I would've offed you once I pulled the van over, but that stupid bozo rocker and his pretty boy bass player had to show up and whisk you away."

Jared and Bobby had saved my life. Too bad they weren't here to bail us out now.

"Babe," Stacy whined again. "Just kill them already. I'm getting antsy."

"Just tell me one last thing," I hedged. "Why are you doing all of this?"

Stacy rolled her eyes. "If you must know, Stone and Daddy wanted to buy Castle Rock. Our Florida venues have casinos on the bottom floors, but the rest of our East Coast locations are in states where gambling is illegal. That's why we're going to remodel the back rooms of our bigger venues and build secret casinos."

"An illegal gambling ring," I said, dumbfounded.

Stacy's mouth twisted in a wicked grin. "It's the perfect cover! There's no reason for anyone to suspect concert venues— we always draw big crowds of people for our shows. We'll just have a secret area in each location where gamblers can go to give us even more of their money." She sneered at me. "Of course, I wouldn't expect you and your stupid boss, Parker, to understand such a brilliant business plan. That jerk wouldn't sell the place, and we couldn't pay him off. Stone and Daddy said he had to go. Parker didn't have a will, so there was nobody to inherit Castle Rock once he died. All of his property and belongings would go to the state, and then Shawn could've used Daddy's connections to purchase this lot and Castle Rock for a good price."

"But they couldn't because all of his belongings, including Castle Rock, went to Kat," I said, putting the pieces together.

Stacy shrugged. "Not for long. We'll just have to get rid of her too. Make it look like a suicide, like she couldn't take losing her precious husband. Or," she smirked, "we could just pin Parker's death on her. Then this place is all ours." She swept her hand around the tower room. "It's going to be perfect! Daddy and Stone are going to wall up this balcony and then bring in some slot machines and black jack tables. It's a shame you won't be around to see it."

I gulped. I'd known Owen Jefferson and his spoiled rotten daughter were scum, but I'd had no idea just how low they'd really gone. They were conducting illegal business with a dangerous mob family, bent on killing off anyone who wasn't willing to cooperate with their new plan for a chain of black market casinos. Parker had left Kat his most prized possession—Castle Rock—and in doing so had signed her death warrant. With Parker gone and me soon out of the way, Tony and Stacy would kill Kat, and Owen and Stone would get Castle Rock.

Funny, when things like this happened in the movies, the good guys always won. I didn't see any way that we could get out of this, though. Bronwyn and I were cornered, and the only person who had known we would be here was Tony—and Mr. Not-So-Right-After-All was ready to blow my brains out.

"Would you light a smoke for me, babe?" Tony asked Stacy. He eyed me warily and steadied his aim.

She wrinkled her nose. "Gross! No way. I hate kissing you when you taste like an ashtray." I hoped her nasal voice wasn't the last thing I heard before I died. "Those things will kill you, you know."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Not as fast as this will," he said, gesturing with the gun. When Stacy didn't make a move to assist him, he jerked the pack and lighter out of his back pocket with his free hand. "Fine. Keep an eye on them," he said. He took his aim off me and tucked the weapon under his armpit while he quickly pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it.

That's when all hell broke loose.

Bronwyn had gone deadly silent ever since Tony pointed the gun at her. Seeing an opportunity to fight back, she fearlessly launched herself at him, trying to swipe the weapon away. Score one for the good guys! Screeching like a banshee, she ducked her head low and charged him, connecting with his abdomen and sending them both flying backward onto the tower floor. The cigarette dropped from Tony's lips, and he gave a surprised howl as the back of his head smacked hard against the stone. I heard a sickening crack, and he went silent. I hoped he was dead. The handgun came loose from under the crook of his arm. Bronwyn smacked it with her arm as she toppled onto Tony. The weapon skidded across the floor.

Stacy and I stood gaping at the two tangled bodies on the floor. I snapped out of my trance first and lunged forward, going after the loose firearm. Stacy realized what I was up to and was only a split second behind me. We reached the gun at the same time, and she yanked my hair back, wrestling me away from it. "You're not going to ruin this for me, Amelia!" she shrieked. I screamed as her grip on my hair tightened, but I held onto the weapon for dear life, jerking this way and that to pull out of her grasp.

Across the room, Bronwyn grunted and struggled to pull herself off Tony's motionless body. "I could use a little help over here, Bron!" I called. I thrust an elbow back as hard as I could, landing a direct blow to Stacy's windpipe. She yelped and released her grip on me as she writhed on the ground. Stacy coughed and sputtered, and as I rolled onto my back, I noticed with satisfaction that a small stream of blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth. With any luck, I'd silenced her whiny voice permanently.

With both of our captors at least temporarily out of commission, I picked up the handgun and hauled myself to my feet. I made my way to Bronwyn, who was still working to disentangle her legs from Tony's. Giving her a hand, I pulled her to her feet. "Way to go, Bron," I panted. "I was beginning to think we were done for."

"I can't believe that worked." She stared in disbelief at Tony's still figure.

His eyes were closed, and a small pool of blood had formed on the stone floor beneath his head. "Think he's dead?" I asked, poking his leg with the tip of my boot. He didn't move.

"I hope so," Bronwyn replied. She glared down at him. Rearing back her leg, she brought it forward to kick him in the gut. "That's for threatening to shoot me." She reared back again and kicked him even harder. "And that's for calling me half-pint, you jackass!" We both turned to eye Stacy, who was still rolling around on the ground, clutching her throat. "What should we do with that one?" she asked.

I opened my mouth to reply, but my words died in my throat. A howl of agony erupted from within me as a searing pain sliced through my left calf. It felt like a hot poker had been buried in my leg. I let go of the gun and dropped to my knees, screamed. I wrenched my head back to see a knife buried deep in my calf. Tony's pocketknife.

Bronwyn stumbled back as Tony twisted the knife further into my muscle. I screamed bloody murder. He pulled back his hand, leaving the knife firmly embedded in me. "That hurt," he growled, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. "And that." He rubbed his side, where Bron had kicked him.

Bronwyn scrambled for the gun and pointed it at Tony with trembling hands. "Come any closer, and I'll blow your head off," she warned, but even from my collapsed position on the floor I could see the uncertainty and fear in her eyes. His sudden attack on me had shaken her, and she'd lost her nerve.

Tony sensed her hesitation too. He rose to his feet and walked stiffly toward her. He knocked the gun out of her hand, sending it flying over the side of the tower. Lightning illuminated his face. A deep fury burned in his grey eyes, fringing on utter madness. "I'm going to make you pay for that," he threatened, rubbing his gut again and advancing closer to her. Bronwyn backed up until she was once again on the edge of the tower balcony, her hands held out protectively in front of her. Tony caught her by the throat and squeezed hard.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and I wished with all my heart that they were heading for us. I could see the terror and pain in Bronwyn's bulging eyes as Tony's other hand snaked around her neck. He was going to throw her off the tower, and I was powerless to stop him. I sucked in mouthfuls of air and tried in vain to remove the knife from my calf. It was buried too deep, and the pain was severe. I felt like I was going to pass out from blood loss at any moment.

"Ame!" Bronwyn squawked. Her cry was cut short as Tony tightened his grip to cut off her air supply. The desperation in her voice zipped through me like a shot of adrenaline. With my last remaining ounce of strength, I hauled myself up from the floor. I limped on my right foot to the nearest window, where one of the red Castle Rock flags hung just over the ledge. I struggled to pull the flagpole from its holder then turned on my one good foot to face Tony.

The sirens grew closer—maybe someone heard us scream and called the police. Tony was weakening. Blood oozed from the wound in the back of his head, and he was swaying slightly. If I could hurt him again, maybe Bron and I could subdue him until reinforcements arrived. I limped forward with a renewed sense of strength.

"I told you I'd take you out tonight, Amelia," Tony growled without turning around. In all his fury, he hadn't noticed that I'd gotten up from the floor. "But first, your little friend needs to take a dive." He struggled to lift her, and I saw Bronwyn's toes leave the ground. She clawed frantically at his hands, but her face was starting to take on a purplish hue, and her strength was waning.

"Bron, duck!" I yelled. Tony released her and spun around in surprise. Bronwyn dropped to the floor and rolled off to the side. I gripped the flagpole and lunged toward Tony like a knight in a jousting match. The tip of the pole caught Tony in the chest just above his heart. I released it with a hard shove, sapping the last of my strength. My legs buckled beneath me. As I collapsed, Tony staggered backwards. The momentum of the flagpole slammed him against the balcony ledge. With an ear-splitting scream, he topped backward over the side. Brilliant lightning flashed, and the coinciding thunder erupted, thankfully covering the sound of his body hitting the ground.

Bronwyn jumped up from the floor, rushing to my side as approaching footsteps thundered up the stairwell. The door burst open. As my eyes began to lose focus, I saw Cliff Rogen, Bobby's drummer, bound into the room with a gun raised. "Freeze!" he yelled. "FBI!" His voice sounded far away, as if he were yelling from the other end of a tunnel.

"It's always the quiet ones," I said, and then I sank into darkness.

"I think she's coming to," said a voice close to my ear. Disoriented, I lay still with my eyes closed, at first only aware of the mixture of sounds surrounding me. There was the peaceful rhythm of raindrops. I liked that. It made me want to retreat further into myself, to forget…what was I trying to forget? I couldn't remember, so I guessed the rain was working its magic.

There were also several voices. I recognized Bronwyn's, her father's, and Detective Dixon's. There were two others I couldn't put a face to—a man's deep Southern accent, and another male voice that was rich, smooth, and somewhat familiar. "Addison, call an ambulance," yelled the latter.

Multiple sirens wailed, some in the distance and others very close by. As I focused on them, something clicked in my brain—or, rather, my
leg
. Blinding pain crashed over me—and with it, my memory of the night's events. I'd been stabbed, and I'd lost a lot of blood. Even worse, I'd killed a man. I moaned, tossing my head from side to side as I willed myself to forget the pain again and retreat into the peaceful, comforting darkness. For a short time, I succeeded.

I was next aware of the sensation of being lifted from the ground. There were more voices now. "Alright, Agent Larson," a woman said. "She's all patched up, but you need to be very careful with her on the stairwell. The stretcher is waiting downstairs." Two arms slid underneath my back and the backs of my knees, and I was scooped up. My eyes flew open, and I cried out against the flare of pain I anticipated—but to my surprise and relief, there was nothing more than a dull ache.

"What the…?" I grew even more discombobulated. I began to feel light and strangely giddy, as if a huge weight had been lifted from me.
Oh no…I died. If I can't feel pain, I must be dead. Right?
Truth be told, dying didn't seem too bad so far. My eyes adjusted, and I swept my gaze up to the handsome, angelic face peering down into mine. "Well, at least I'm in heaven," I mumbled with a happy sigh.

"Why is that, Amelia?" The angel arched a brow and studied me with quizzical green eyes.

"You're the angel—you tell me." It was pretty swell of the Big Man Upstairs to have such a sexy spirit escort me through the pearly gates. I yawned and lolled my head back to gaze outward as we passed through the gilded threshold—only to find that they weren't as glorious and shiny as I'd expected. They looked an awful lot like the tower stairwell at Castle Rock. "Tell the Big Guy I, uh, love what he's done with the place."

"I think she's going to be okay," my savior said with a laugh, and I chuckled drowsily along with him.

As we passed through another doorway, I was sobered by icy drops of rain pelting against my face. The spell of the pain-killers was broken. I looked around frantically, trying to process what was happening.

"Can I ride with her?" Jared Flynn asked as he gently lowered me onto the gurney and flashed his badge. Two EMTs rushed in front of him, carting me toward the waiting ambulance.

"Alright, Agent. Come on." The EMTs secured me in the back of the ambulance, and Jared climbed in after them.

"Hey," he said softly, sliding in next to me. He squeezed my hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been stabbed in the leg. Jared, why do they keep calling you 'Agent?'"

He sighed. "My name isn't Jared," he said in a tone that was slightly sheepish but still held an air of authority. "It's Emmett. Special Agent Emmett Larson of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."