Page 85 of Accidental Murder
Dennis had a brother, but he’d died ten years ago. Did Trask or Troy or Norton?
“Soon, maybe next week, the first client will reap results.” David’s eyes gleamed with zeal. “The news will be huge. Billions of dollars will exchange hands over the coming years. But Simmons said—” His breath snagged. “Sara said?—”
“Sara Simmons confided in you.”
“Sara said it wasn’t ethical. It was cloning.”
“Was she right?”
“I had to obey him,” he said and clenched her shoulders. Hard. “For my girls. You understand, don’t you?”
Kayla shook him off as the depth of his corruption sank in. Her uncle had allowed Sara, Ashley, and others to die to save himself and his legacy. “Where’s Bledsoe?”
Something whizzed through the air. A bullet slammed into her uncle’s head. Blood spurted from the wound. He toppled sideways.
“No!” Kayla bent to help him, but it was no use. He was dead on impact.
Another shot zipped past her and hit the ground. She pulled the Beretta from her jeans and unlocked the safety. Crouching low, she studied her surroundings. She caught a glint of sunlight on metal. In the forest.
A figure clad in black darted through the woods. Heading for the dirt path. The alternate road where someone could drive in and out.
Familiar with the trails, Kayla raced after him, dodging low-hanging branches and thorny bushes. Creatures darted out of her path. Birds screeched at the intrusion.
Before her uncle’s killer could reach the driver’s door of a Mercedes, she cut him off and elbowed him in the throat. He fell backward, dropping the M16 he was carrying. She booted it away, propped a knee on his chest, and pressed the Beretta into his neck. She ripped off his ski mask and gasped. Blond Guy.
He gripped her arm and flung her onto her back.
Kayla fired. Into his chest.
He recoiled. Struggled to his feet. Away from her. He staggered into a tree and collapsed into a heap, his head tipped to one side.
Kayla stared at the lifeless body until she realized there were two cars in the clearing—the Mercedes and a black Jaguar.Where was the other driver? She hoisted the M16. With the Beretta at the ready, she dashed back to the Honda Civic. She didn’t see a soul, but she wouldn’t wait around. She had enough evidence to gain Hanrahan’s trust.
Wedging the Beretta beneath the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, Kayla tossed the rifle onto the Civic’s passenger seat and slid in. She shoved the key into the ignition. Nothing. The engine wouldn’t turn over. She tried again. Dead. She bolted from the car. Opened the hood. Wires had been cut. Without something sharp, she couldn’t jury-rig the hatchback to life like she had her motorcycle.
She flashed on Peter’s artist kit and wondered if a palette knife was mixed in with his supplies.
Before she could make a dash for it to find out, a man said from behind, “Hey, there, Kayla.” The man swiped the Beretta and spun her around.
She cringed. Blond Guy had revived.
“Gotta love a bulletproof vest,” he said.
Options scudded through Kayla’s mind. Kick up dirt. Knee him in the groin. Jab his eyes with her fingers.
“Uh-uh.” He rested the cool metal against her cheek. “Walk to the house.”
“Why? So you can shoot me in the back?”
He leered. “I’ve something better planned for you. Move!”
When she didn’t, he smacked her on the side of the head. Her last question before sinking to the ground was where was the driver of the Jaguar?
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Kayla woke with a start.In the dark. In her uncle’s garage. Wrists and ankles bound. She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the dim light. A rag that tasted like rototiller grease was stuffed in her mouth. A stench of something foul came from her right. She glanced in that direction. Her uncle’s corpse lay on the cement.
She fought the urge to retch. If only she’d sensed his pain, he might still be alive.
