The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,70
living room, then dropped into the uncomfortable chair again.
Roxana returned, fists curled at her sides, eyes welling with tears. “Of all the dick things you could do.” The tears spilled. “If Mom could understand a single thing you just said, you would’ve killed her.”
Another sniper round lodged in his chest.
Jason walked to her side. “You need to take five.”
“No,” Roxana snapped. “You show up here, angry or sad or whatever you are, and she’s the reason?”
A swell of cold anger prickled down his neck. “Ease up, Rox.”
“Are you kidding me?” Roxana demanded.
He closed his eyes and pictured Amanda. Her smile. Her laughter. He couldn’t explain why he hadn’t seen the truth, and now listening to his sister rage the same way he had…he missed Amanda. “You’re not even listening.”
“You haven’t said anything worth listening to.”
His throat tightened. One second, he understood Roxana’s disgust and condemnation, and the next, he recalled the pain in Amanda’s face when she connected him to Dylan. The image vibrated with as much pain as he felt—which was impossible. Amanda Hearst wasn’t allowed to act shocked and hurt because she had known from the day they met: Mandy Hearst was responsible for his brother’s death.
“Hagan,” Roxana pleaded. “We hate her.”
“I know.” Except he didn’t hate Amanda. He hated the gothy, glorified party girl who the press loved to track as much as she loved to taunt. Dylan’s reminders struggled to find their footing. He’d always said not to believe what they saw.
He scrubbed his hand over his face and met Roxana’s fury. “Mandy’s the reason I flew home. But Amanda…I don’t know what to think right now.”
“I’ll tell you what to think.” Roxana jabbed her finger, then threw her arm toward the kitchen. “If it wasn’t for a headline-addicted twit, then Mom wouldn’t be living a life like that.”
Jason seemed confused but knew better than to confirm Mom had had a stroke. Clearly, Roxana hadn’t given the guy the nitty-gritty details. Just like Hagan hadn’t with Amanda. He’d called Dylan’s death an accident at work. What did that say about his problem with her secrets and omissions?
Roxana curled into Jason’s arms and cried.
Hagan’s head pounded. He laid a hand on his sister’s trembling shoulder and listened to her sob as though it might serve as penance. That atonement wasn’t nearly enough.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Tiny, carefree clinks of a wind chime and a crick in Amanda’s neck urged her to wake. Her head ached. She blinked, trying to place the little tree fairies kicking chimes in her skull.
The dark room smelled of gasoline, and when she moved, her skin pulled like it had stuck to the seat. She sat up. Her head swirled. What had happened to her—the dead agents. Halle driving. “Oh, God.”
She was still in the car? Her hand reached for the door, her stomach threatening to throw up. The armored door swung wide, but Amanda turned for her mom.
Mom laid over the back seat, and Amanda reached over the center console. “Mom.” She pressed her fingers to her mother’s neck, relieved at the steady pulse. “Mom, we have to wake up.”
Then figure out what the hell was going on. Mom didn’t wake. The wind chime’s song danced in the night. Amanda checked for her weapon. Gone. She studied the surrounding area. Rusted tools haphazardly covered the uneven floor. Moonlight poured through the open garage and cast a gauzy light over the shiny black SUV that had every window rolled down.
“Halle?” Amanda called.
Only the wind chime and the whisper of rustling leaves answered.
She returned to the backseat and shook her mother. “Wake up.”
“You’re up?” Halle called.
Amanda turned to the garage opening. “What the hell is going on?”
“Is your mom awake?” Halle stepped into the moonlight.
Unlike Amanda, she had her weapon, and by the looks of it, access to a militia’s payload. “Where are we?”
“Home.” She leaned against the garage. “Where we grew up.”
“We?” Her thoughts struggled to catch up.
“Amanda?” Mom called.
“Right here.” She jumped into the backseat of the SUV and helped her mom sit up. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve got a hangover from hell,” Mom muttered. “What’s going on—”
Through the shadows, Amanda saw as her mother recalled the events that led to where they were now.
“Where’s Halle?” Mom rubbed her temples. “Halle, can I have a word?”
“Mom,” Amanda hissed for her mother to be quiet, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if Halle wasn’t watching them from behind. “This isn’t something you can lecture us about.”
Her mom waved Amanda aside then slid from the backseat,