gears turning in her twin’s mind. “We can work something out,” Julia was saying, her voice softer. “Really, James, I just want a little bit.”
“A little bit?”
“Yeah. You know. Just some of the money I should have inherited.”
“What? How can you think of that now? For the love of God, Rebecca—Jesus, Rebecca’s dead, and your sister’s dying!” James said. “Put down the damned gun!”
Sophia heard a tinny voice squawking, and James cut it off, talking sharply into his phone. “This is James Cahill. I need to report—”
Julia said, “No! Stop it! I’m serious, James, and—” Julia was still inching backward, the heel of her boot brushing Sophia’s side so that she was standing directly above her twin.
So close, Sophia thought.
Precious sister.
Just near enough.
“I’m warning you,” Julia said to James.
Now!
With all of her strength, Sophia flung her torso up, flailing out with her arms, her fingers striking Julia’s knee but sliding.
“What the—?”
Gritting her teeth, Sophia forced her fingers to clamp over Julia’s ankle.
“Quit that!” Julia began to kick.
Still clinging to the boot, Sophia threw back her body, pulling Julia down as James leapt forward.
Blam!
The gun went off!
An earsplitting bang echoed through the small cabin.
Julia screamed, falling, toppling onto her twin, her weight mashing Sophia against the floor. “You . . . you bitch,” she spat over the sound of a siren wailing distantly. “You goddamned . . . stupid . . . bitch—” Words failed her. She started to gurgle and gasp, to cough, her eyes wide. “No . . . oh . . .”
Pushing her away, Sophia looked up just in time to watch James sway in the doorway, blood sprouting on his chest.
Oh, no . . .
He fell forward, crumpling, his head striking the bottom rung of the ladder with a horrifying thud.
Tears filled Sophia’s eyes. “No baby,” she whispered, vaguely aware of the sirens as her consciousness threatened to fade. Eyes fluttering closed, she heard the thunder of footsteps and the shouted, frantic bark of orders.
“Three down!” A woman’s voice. One she couldn’t name, but it was familiar . . . or was it? Sophia couldn’t concentrate, was losing touch.
“You heard me!” the woman barked again. “Three!” Her voice crackled with authority and concern. “I need EMTs. ASAP! . . . Yes, same address! Shit, just hurry!”
“Still unidentified?” Another voice. Male?
“Did you hear me? It’s bad here!” the woman said again. “I’m losing two, possibly all three.”
Sophia closed her eyes, felt a hand on her, heard the gentle commands from a distance. “Stay with me . . . can you hear me? Come on, now, lady, stay with me . . .”
But Sophia, fading, wasn’t paying attention.
Another voice was rising over the din.
Julia was speaking to her.
While the emergency worker tried vainly to capture her attention, Sophia heard her sister’s voice, as clear as the toll of a church bell. “We’re sisters, Sophia. You and I. Twins. It’s a miracle we found each other, and now we have a special, unbreakable bond. We’re together, you and I. Nothing can destroy that. Nothing!”
She didn’t have to say it. Sophia knew. But it was so hard to concentrate, to focus . . . she stopped trying.
“We’ll always have each other,” Julia whispered in a voice that broke with its sincerity, its truth. And as the blackness came for her, Sophia heard her sister’s vow. “Always. We’ll be together. I promise.”
I promise too.
And then Sophia let go.
CHAPTER 53
James opened an eye.
His head hurt.
His shoulder hurt.
His whole damned body hurt.
The room was in semi-darkness, and he saw that he was in the hospital.
“Déjà vu all over again,” he said through cracked lips. He barely recognized his own voice as he blinked and looked around the room to spy a man seated in a chair, wearing an overcoat, holding a hat between his knees. The detective. Of course.
“You got that right,” Rivers said.
“How . . . how long . . . ?” He was trying to piece together how he got here and remembered in bits and pieces his frantic drive following Julia to the cabin—a tiny house, on his own damned property. Then there was the panic, the gunshot that propelled him into the cabin. Sophia was on the floor, and there was so much blood, so damned much blood . . .
“You’ve been here a week.”
No!
“Surgery. And you hit your head, and it wasn’t completely healed from the last time . . . oh, hell, it’s not up to me to fill you in; the doctor will do that.”
“Rebecca?” he asked,