Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

did. But killing Gary—that makes this a completely different game. You do that, and you can never go to the police.”

“Really? You think the police would blame me when you’re threatening me?”

“I’m not threatening you. Gary dies in either case. That’s not a threat. The only question is what you’re going to choose. Because I believe you’re quite capable of murder.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I know all about you, Calendar Girl,” he added.

“You obviously don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I’ve looked you up.”

“Have you been Googling me out here?”

“We’re so far from civilization, there’s no Internet service. But I’ve already read about you. I know all about your mother.”

Dominique clenched her hands into fists. The metal chain of the cuffs rattled. “You don’t know a thing about her.”

“I only know what the newspapers said. But I also know that blood always tells. Your mother was a murderer. You’re capable of killing a man just like she did.”

“You listen to me.” She could feel her own heartbeat pulsing in her throat. “My mother didn’t murder anyone.”

“Your mother went to prison for putting a bullet in your father’s head.” The man spoke slowly, driving his words home with frightening precision. He wasn’t just a control freak. He was a sadist. “Her lawyer tried to claim it was self-defense, but there was no evidence your father ever beat her. No bruises, no doctor’s visits, no hospital visits. The jury didn’t take much time to convict her, either. Everyone knew she was guilty.”

“The gun went off by accident.” Now that she was cornered, she found herself clinging to the same story Nana and Desmond had told her, the one she’d always refused to truly believe. She’d grown up hating her mother for taking her father away from her, but hearing the same charge from a stranger made her recoil. “It wasn’t murder.”

“A shot in the head at point-blank range. That was no accident.”

Dominique backed away from him, bumping into a wall. She had been four years old when her father died, and her memory of that night was shadowy and vague. Her mother had given her a bath and put her to bed as usual. Then, later—she didn’t know when, because there was no clock in her room—there was shouting and firecrackers. It was like the Fourth of July, she’d thought, and she’d gotten out of bed and pulled back the shade over her window. But there were no sparkly lights in the sky. It was raining. She remembered seeing Desmond streak across the lawn, and she watched, fascinated, when a police cruiser pulled up in front of the house. The police had been very nice to her, taking her to the station and giving her candy and pop. Early the next morning, Nana came to collect her. There’s been a terrible accident, Nana said. Your daddy has been hurt. Nana wouldn’t say dead, but that was what she meant, only Dominique wouldn’t learn that until later. Nana never wanted to talk about what happened.

Later, when she was in elementary school, she asked Nana about that night.

Your mama said it was an accident, Nana replied.

Don’t you believe her?

She swore to me she never meant to shoot him. That means it was an accident.

She’d never been able to get Nana to say more than that. As she’d gotten older, she’d lost the desire to know more. It was a tragedy she wanted to bury. Dominique took a deep breath. “Is that how you want me to kill Gary? Put a bullet in his head?”

“That would be appropriate, don’t you think? History repeating itself, in a way.” He was as relaxed as if he were offering to grab some takeout for her. “You’d never be able to tell anyone. Think of the stories. ‘Like Mother, Like Daughter.’ It would have to be our secret.”

“You’re serious?”

“I give you my word,” he answered. “I’ll let you live if you kill Gary. I can’t be any clearer than that.”

Dominique held out her hands. “You going to uncuff me?”

His expression made it clear that he didn’t really trust her, but he fished a small key out of his pocket. “Don’t make me regret this,” he said as he released her.

He pocketed the handcuffs as she rubbed her wrists. “Where’s the gun?”

He pulled it out of the back of his jeans. It was all black plastic, like a stunt gun. “Don’t get all excited,” he said. “It’s not loaded yet.”

She pointed it at the window and fired. Click, click, nothing. So much for her fantasy of nailing him in the chest. “You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“What about your brother?” she goaded.

“He’s a psycho. You don’t want to mess with him.”

“And your other partner?” Dominique kept her inflection casual, determined to mine him for as many details as she could. So far, she counted three kidnappers, and she suspected there weren’t any others. From the quiet in the house, she wondered if the other two were outside.

“More trustworthy than most, but requires heavy supervision.” He grinned wolfishly. “Never questions orders, though.”

“Nice. Where’s Gary?”

“In the basement. Come on.”

He led her out of the room and along the narrow hallway. On the stairs leading to the first floor, Dominique dropped the gun. It clattered down a few steps, and the man reached for it. “Nerves must be making you clumsy—,” he was saying when Dominique palmed the nail, putting her thumb against its flat head and jabbing it into the left side of the man’s neck.

He shouted at her as he started to tumble down the staircase. He flung one arm out, seizing the railing to steady himself, but the wormy wood crumbled in his hand and he thudded down, down, down, his big body slamming against one step after another in rapid succession. The wood cracked and groaned in response, one stair splitting open as the man bounced off it. He collapsed on the landing at the bottom, bleeding from his neck.

Dominique held her breath, ready to run and barricade herself in