The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,104

of her and probably never will. She might not be alive. You’ll never know and that understanding will eat you alive, is eating you alive.

“God help me.”

God. Jesus. All the Bible stories he’d heard and memorized as a child under his mother’s watchful eye.

How many pieces of silver did it take to betray Christ? Thirty? Does it matter?

A soft, pervasive voice came to him, the most seductive of the lot: End it all, Owen. End it now. Things will be better. For your mother. For everyone. You could find peace at last ...

His throat clogged. He would never be forgiven.

You won’t be anyway. It was true. The rest of his life would be filled with this torment.

Tell them. Leave a note. Let the truth out . . .

He couldn’t. He rotated the gun in his hand, put the barrel to his chin, finger on the trigger. As he’d done a thousand times before. Rehearsed.

Squeeeak.

The sound caught him off guard, caused his heart to stop for a second.

He turned down the volume and looked around but saw no one. The old house was just settling again. He’d heard that same squeak or one similar to it a million times when he was alone.

Heartbeat slowing, he turned his attention back to the TV.

Still holding the gun, he reached across to the table for his drink and downed it in one final draught. He was feeling the alcohol racing through his blood, mixing with the downers—over-the-counter stuff—he’d taken to help him sleep. He’d tripled the dose, just to make certain he would sleep, and now his lips were numb, his tongue thick, his fingers wobbly as they held the weapon.

Owen’s dead now.

He can’t feel the pain any longer.

He doesn’t have to live with his demons.

He’s at peace.

Just do it.

The gun was heavy. So heavy. And awkward. It nearly slipped from his hand. He leaned his head back against the chair for support and his hand dropped to his side, his grip slipping, his finger still on the trigger.

You’ll be asleep forever.

And they’ll all feel bad about it.

It will be their turn to be tortured, to experience guilt.

His eyes drifted shut and he felt drool on the corner of his mouth. He reached up to wipe it away, but the gun in his hand was too heavy and he couldn’t—

“Just do it,” the voice said, and it was a soothing whisper, unlike the other mice-like squeaks still yabbering in the echo chamber of his mind. “Let me help.”

“Whaaa?”

He felt strong fingers wrap over his and help him raise the gun.

“No . . . I . . . dun . . . I dunno . . .”

The barrel, cold metal, touched his temple.

“Do it, do it, do it.” A raspy, determined whisper in his ear.

“I . . . I . . . wait . . .” This was wrong!

Too late.

The grip over his fingers tightened.

Owen’s eyes flew open.

Was this a dream?

Fuck, no!

Adrenaline poured through his blood. He started to struggle.

The finger—was it his?—Oh, God! Pressured, it clenched over the trigger.

Blam!

The pistol fired.

Lights flashed behind Owen’s eyes for one millisecond.

Then Owen’s world died with him.

CHAPTER 26

The sky was gray and ominous, promising rain.

Not a perfect day to go snooping at the old Beaumont house, but Nikki was running out of time. With one eye on the darkening sky, she drove past the main gates to the spot where she’d parked on the day the Duval girls’ bodies had been found. From her conversation with Tyson Beaumont the other day, she knew that security cameras and alarms would be placed around the old mansion and estate in the coming week, and she didn’t want anyone to see what she was doing. So, she figured, it was basically now or never.

A beat-up old pickup with a camper was already parked near the trailhead, no one around, and she assumed the driver was a fisherman who’d made his way to the river. She pulled her Honda to a spot nearby, got out and hurried to the path leading through the woods.

The air was thick and muggy enough that she began to sweat as she jogged along the deer trail and through the thickets, the gloom of the day permeating the woods. This time she avoided the river and took a fork in the path that would lead directly to the clearing and the outbuildings near the old house.

Rain began to fall, droplets falling through the trees to the forest floor, the wind causing leaves to shiver. She threw up