Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,147

Robyn reeling back. She caught her balance, then replayed what she’d heard. A bang. A crash. Something falling. She told herself it was something falling not someone, but she’d heard those sounds too often in the last few days to mistake it for anything.

A gunshot and a body dropping.

She flew to the door, grabbing the knob.

“Hope! Hope!”

She screamed her name until she couldn’t, until her throat was raw, and still she whaled on the door, yanking and yanking and yanking, her shoulder blazing.

When Damon died, everyone said, “I’m here for you, Rob. Just let me know what you need.” Hope never said that. She was just there, making a meal or doing her laundry or working silently at her kitchen table while Robyn sobbed in the bedroom, thankful to be alone yet not alone. Hope hadn’t asked whether Robyn wanted her to come out to L.A. She’d shown up. She didn’t ask whether Robyn needed Portia’s murder solved. She just did it.

And now, when Robyn could have helped her, she’d failed.

She kept banging and shouting and then, finally, between pounds, soft as a whisper. “Rob?”

Her hand jerked back from the door. The gun fell. She let it, and swayed there a moment, before pressing her hands to the cold metal and leaning in until her ear rested against it.

“Hope?”

It could be a trick, the voice was too low to say with any certainty that it was Hope’s or that it was a voice at all and not just a sound she’d willfully misheard.

“Rob?”

“Hope! Yes, it’s Robyn. Open the door.”

Silence.

Robyn hammered the door. “Hope? Open the door, Hope!”

It was a trick. Had to be. Why else wouldn’t she—?

Robyn remembered what Hope had said about the boy, Rhys’s son, that if she saw a vision of his death, that’s all she’d see. She’d be lost in it. How much worse would it be to witness a death live?

Karl would know what to do. She’d get Karl, and he’d snap her out of it or break this door down—

If she walked away now, there was no guarantee she’d get back before someone else did. Someone just as dangerous as Adele.

“Hope? I need you to open this door.”

Robyn kept repeating it, as calmly and firmly as she could. After a minute, the door quavered under her hands, jerking back and forth.

“It . . . it won’t open.” Hope’s voice, but still with that chillingly flat affect, as if she really didn’t care whether she got the door open or not.

“Are there keys?”

A pause. “What?”

“Keys, Hope. Did Adele have keys?”

“Adele . . . I shot— I had to.”

That’s good, Robyn thought, but said, “That’s okay. Did she have a key?”

“Key? Yes. She . . . Hold on.”

Getting that key seemed to take forever. Robyn was tempted to bang on the door again. Then a key turned in the lock. The door opened. Robyn pulled Hope out and caught her up in a hug. Hope returned the embrace only a moment, then pulled back with a tired chuckle.

“No time for that,” she said. “I’m guessing the situation hasn’t resolved itself up there?”

“Probably not.”

Hope rubbed her eyes. “Okay. Let’s get out of here before someone finds us.”

“Is Adele . . . ?”

Hope nodded.

“You had to,” Robyn said.

“Yes, I did.” There was no emphasis in her voice, no need to justify. “

Is there another exit?” Robyn started reopening the door to look inside.

Hope backed into the opening and held the door fast. “No.”

“What is—?”

“No. Really, Rob.” She looked up at her. “On this one, trust my call.”

Robyn stepped back. Hope seemed about to follow, then held up a finger, slid back into the room and closed the door before Robyn could stop her.

A moment later, she heard Hope’s voice. She leaned forward to say she couldn’t hear her, but Hope was murmuring, as if talking to someone else. Was Adele still alive?

Hope came out and lifted her gun. “Almost forgot this. I grabbed Adele’s, too. For you.”

“I’ve got one.” Robyn retrieved hers from the floor.

“Armed to the teeth, aren’t we?” Another tired smile. “Who’d have thought?”

Hope closed the door.

“Is someone . . .” Robyn began. “I thought I heard you talking.”

“Hmm? Oh, muttering to myself. Still a bit confused. Don’t worry, it’s passing.”

Hope checked the door, making sure it was locked, then headed for the ladder.

FINN

* * *

“KARL’S IN THE BARN,” Damon called as he raced to Finn, striding through the wooded border, Rhys at his heels.

Finn was about to say, with all respect to Karl Marsten, that