You Betrayed Me (The Cahills #3) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,172
Frozen to the spot. She swallowed hard and quickly sketched the sign of the cross over her chest.
“Get back!” Rivers ordered.
“It’s not okay!” Gus stepped out from behind the wall, and damn it, he had a gun in his left hand.
“Don’t shoot!” Rivers ordered.
Jennifer let out a mewling cry and scrambled past Rivers and Mendoza, whose weapon was already trained on Jardine.
“Drop the gun!” Mendoza ordered. “Now!”
“No way!” Jardine was backing toward the rear door.
“Drop it!” Rivers too had his pistol pointed at Jardine, who awkwardly swung it, aiming first at Rivers, then Mendoza, and back again.
“Put the gun down, Gus,” Rivers said. “It’s over. We know you were in San Francisco the night Charity Spritz was killed.”
“No!” Korpi cried from the vestibule. “Oh, Gus! You couldn’t. You didn’t.”
Jardine snapped, “Shut up, Jen. Just shut the fuck up.”
“Oh. Dear. God. You told me you didn’t do it!”
“I said, ‘Shut the fuck up’!”
Sobbing, Jennifer opened the front door, letting in a rush of cold air carrying with it the sound of ever-approaching sirens.
Jardine was rattled. “You’re bluffing,” he said to Rivers. “I was here that night.”
“No, you weren’t. Your alibi doesn’t hold up, and Charity Spritz scratched you, Jardine. Got some skin under her nails. DNA came back, and once we get a sample of yours . . .”
“Not happening!” Gus shook his head. “Nuh-uh!”
“We’ll get a court order. Until then, we’ve got pictures of your hand before surgery, and guess what? Teeth marks match her bite.”
“What? No!” He was wild-eyed now, moving slowly and steadily to the door, but with one hand in a bandage and the other holding the gun, he couldn’t open it.
“Careful,” Mendoza said, still aiming.
“This is all a lie!” Gus charged, but he was sweating. “I’m not goin’ down for this. You set me up! You fuckin’ cops set me up!”
“Drop the weapon,” Mendoza ordered again.
“It’s over, Gus,” Rivers said and saw the reaction in Jardine’s face.
“Shit!” Mendoza said, and three guns fired as Rivers threw himself behind the recliner, a bullet whizzing within inches of his head.
Jardine spun, dropped the gun, and went down hard, his head cracking against the back door as he fell, his gun flying out of his hand.
“Gus! No! Gus!” Jennifer Korpi screamed and attempted to run to her brother, but Mendoza restrained her.
“Stay back! Ambulance is on its way,” Mendoza said. “I called. It’ll be here in two minutes.”
Jardine’s eyes started to glaze over. “I’m gonna sue you,” he swore as he stared up at Rivers as he approached.
Rivers kicked the gun into the living room, far from Jardine’s reach.
But the injured man wasn’t done with his invective. “I’m gonna sue the hell outta you, you miserable cocksucker, and I’m going to sue that shitty Sheriff ’s Department for all it’s worth.”
“No, Gus, that’s not going to happen. You got it wrong.” Rivers squatted just out of Jardine’s reach, his gun still drawn. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. You’re going down. For the murder of Charity Spritz and maybe a few more. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life behind bars, you’ll tell us everything you know and cut a deal. Not just about the murder in San Francisco, but who killed Willow Valente and what the hell happened to Megan Travers.”
“Not me,” he said. Then, before the EMTs and two deputies burst through the door, his face contorted in pain, a stain of red showing through his shirt at his right shoulder, he said again, “I’m gonna sue your ass, Rivers. And you know what? I’m going to sue everybody else’s fuckin’ ass, too.”
“Is that right?” Rivers said, spying the cigarette lighter Gus had dropped. He picked it up, slipped it quietly into his pocket, and said, “I don’t fuckin’ think so.”
* * *
How many days had passed?
Five?
Six?
Ten?
Sophia had lost count. But from the loft, wrapped in a sleeping bag, the fire gently hissing in the gas fireplace below, she’d stared out the small windows, watching the day break and pass to become the never-ending night.
With each day that passed, she felt a little stronger, the vengeance growing in her heart, a beating, palpable thing. She’d find a way to best her sister.
If she didn’t die first.
CHAPTER 50
December 29
Rebecca was no good at this.
She just wasn’t cut out to be a detective, or a spy, or whatever.
As she sat in her rental car, huddled in a down jacket and scarf, cradling a cup of coffee in her gloved hands, she kept her eyes