don’t understand why, Cyndia. Were you hoping the drugs would enable you to coerce one of them into playing the role of your long-lost daughter? You wanted one of them to take Camilla’s place? And your husband has been drugging them, recording their behavior. Yes, we read about Subject K and Subject M. Do you know how sick that is? How crazy?”
She screamed in his face, “You’re a fool! How could you ever believe any of those girls could ever take my Camilla’s place? That I would want one of them to take her place?” Her eyes turned nearly black. She was panting now, locking her eyes on his face, and again, Griffin shook her hard.
“What you’ve done—kidnapping, using drugs, imprisoning these girls, murdering Amy—”
“Let her go, Agent.”
Griffin slowly dropped his hands at the sound of Quint Bodine’s calm voice. He had a shotgun aimed not at him, but at Carson. Rafer was behind him, his hand outstretched. To stop his father?
Griffin felt a sudden tearing pain in his chest, a pain nothing like he could ever have imagined. It was agony, he knew it had to be a heart attack and he was dying. He staggered back, slapped his hands to his chest, and fell to the ground.
Carson yelled, “Stop it!” She fired once, kicking up dirt a few inches from Cyndia’s foot.
Griffin had to stop Cyndia or he knew he’d die. He looked straight at her, pictured her lying on the road, a huge boulder on her chest, her eyes rolling back.
Cyndia screamed, leaped back, and Griffin was free. The pain in his chest vanished, he could breathe again.
Quint Bodine fired his shotgun at the same time Carson fired hers. His bullet struck the road in front of Griffin, spewing up rocks and dirt. Carson didn’t see where her bullet hit, but she didn’t need to. A fountain of blood spurted from Quint Bodine’s head. He fell to his knees, then over onto his side.
“No!” Rafer fell on his knees beside his father.
Cyndia leaped at Carson, hit her with her fists, kicked her. Carson grabbed her around her neck and pressed the small Colt against her cheek. “Stop it. You tried to murder Griffin, just like you hurt Sherlock, but you failed this time. Your husband was going to shoot Griffin. I had no choice. Now stop it!”
Cyndia was cursing, struggled frantically to get free. Carson swung the Colt against her head, watched her crumple to the ground unconscious, one flip-flop falling off her foot. She didn’t move. Good.
Carson yelled, “Rafer, don’t you dare pick up that shotgun or I’ll shoot you!”
Rafer jerked back his hand, pulled his father up in his arms, shook him, but Quint was gone. Rafer screamed at Carson, his voice high and broken, like a little boy’s, “You shot my pa in the face! All the blood, too much blood—he’s dead. Do you hear me? My pa’s dead!”
Carson felt roiling nausea, swallowed convulsively. She hadn’t meant to shoot him in the face, she’d been aiming lower. Hadn’t she? Carson’s world shifted, what was real and what seemed like a mad nightmare mixed together, a toxic brew spewing real death at her, swamping all sense of control. She’d killed another human being. No, no, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except Griffin. She’d had no choice. Quint would have killed him. No way would she let that happen. She saw Griffin was sitting up, staring at Cyndia Bodine, still lying unconscious on the rocky ground, her robe tangled above her knees, the single flip-flop on the ground beside her. She moaned, shifted, fell onto her back, but stayed down.
Carson called out, “Rafer, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill your father, only stop him. Stay there and don’t move.”
She went down on her haunches beside Griffin, put her Colt on the road, and shook him. “Are you all right? What did Cyndia do to you? How did you stop her?”
He struggled up to his knees. “It was my heart. I thought at first it was Quint trying to kill me, but I realized it wasn’t Quint at all—”
“You’re right about that, you stupid man, it wasn’t my poor husband.”
They turned to see Cyndia Bodine on her knees facing them, her bathrobe fanned around her, a Beretta in her hand, pointed at them. “I’m an excellent shot. Either of you move and I’ll finish what my husband started. No, don’t raise your gun, missy. Drop it to the ground. Good.” She turned to stare at Griffin.