I could arrange for an officer to meet me there, but then stopped myself. They would ask me, “What’s your emergency?” and what could I say? My crazy, convoluted story about how the triplets, maybe aided by Pippa, were out to kill me? Where was the proof? They’d think me nuts. And with the problems on the highway right now, collapsing bridges, and God knows what other road emergencies, my story would be at the bottom of their agenda.
There was only one choice I had left. To deal with this on my own. And with any luck, and if my memory served me well, it wasn’t just Pippa’s spare car that was going to save my hide. There was her gun, too.
Fifty-One
My heart thrumming wildly with nerves and trepidation, I sat in Pippa’s Toyota, the car still in park, Beanie woofing at me, excited to go on an outing. I had the triplets in my mind’s eye and almost laughed about their gall. They had the nerve to accuse me of murder? How dare they! A spike of fury jabbed at me, spurring me on, needling me to take action, reminding me of how I’d been treated, how they’d killed my husband. Ruined my life.
I dug my hand into the glove compartment, adrenaline surging through me as I felt the cold metal with my fingertips, the textured handle. I curled my fingers around the pistol to test my grip.
Pippa’s handgun was neat and compact. She had probably forgotten all about it, or she would’ve transferred it over to her new car. I had remembered our conversation, how she kept it here, too nervous to bring it into the house.
I took it out from its hiding place and stroked its chilly contours, ran my eyes along its masculine backbone. I clenched the handle again. It molded to my hand as if it had been designed especially for me. I felt its weight.
A frisson of excitement and terror.
A chill of a premonition.
I drove off carefully, the car’s wheels sloshing through the rain. Because of Pfeiffer Canyon Bridge being closed there was only so far Pippa could go south on Highway One. Either she had gone to meet the triplets at Cliffside or somewhere nearby. I assumed she’d gone to the house.
Rain slashed at the car windows and even with the wipers on the fastest mode, I could hardly see through the windshield. I leaned forward in my seat, squinting at the road ahead. Yes, I was being reckless going to Cliffside, but I didn’t care anymore. Something stronger than my own self-preservation was urging me forward: a sense of justice, a steely resolve, a force of empowerment, now I had a weapon. I knew nothing about guns, didn’t even know how to check if it was loaded or not. I assumed it was, and I’d need to handle it carefully. My sum total experience was from watching cop shows and movies. Still, the pistol would do the trick even if it wasn’t loaded, because the triplets would believe that it was. Bullies are cowards. And I was one angry human being right now. Kate and Dan weren’t as tough as they thought!
The highway was awash with mud sliding off the soggy banks, which flanked the flooded road. I passed Bixby Bridge, my speed steady, eyes peeled, senses alert. Then a field on my right, the grass a lush, emerald green from all the relentless rain, the car tires sloshing and splattering as it sailed along the moody landscape, sodden clouds scudding through the hissing sky.
My plan ticked in my head. My eyes stared ahead in concentration. I’d force the triplets to leave, force them to get in their cars and promise to send on their belongings. They could go to a hotel. I’d pay. Bribe them with money. Hell, they could even take the eight million if they wanted. Good idea! I didn’t even want that bloody money. All it had done was cause heartache. It was tainted, cursed. It disgusted me.
I’d get the house cleaned up, change all the locks, fix the fence, make Cliffside like Fort Knox again, then put it on the market. It didn’t even matter if it didn’t sell straight away. I was still a qualified lawyer, I could go back to work. I could change countries even, adopt a child as a single parent.
I could do anything. The architect of my own fate, my own future.
“You’re strong,” Juan had always said. “You have a core of