Mimicry, page 16
“I want your sister and her little friend down here with us. It’s time to repeat history, if you know what I mean.” He nodded at the table, hinting at the idea of playing Russian roulette all over again. “Make the call, Mr. Black.”
Mason shook his head. “No. There’s no goddamn way you’re going to get us doing that crap again.” He thought back to before, when Sandra and Evie had been involved. When Mason had almost swallowed a bullet to save everyone. “Go to hell.”
“Nuh-uh. Make the call.”
“What makes you think I would let you hurt them?”
“Because if you don’t, I’m going to rush up there and start firing anyway. Your sister will be the first to go, then the other one. There’s a whole bunch of cops up there, which means plenty of targets. Trust me, you’re better off taking the chance than ensuring their deaths.”
Mason took a deep breath to calm himself. It didn’t work. The worst part of tonight was knowing this man was right. If his options were for Simon to run upstairs and shoot Evie or to summon her down here to repeat one of the worst moments of her life, Mason knew what to do. There was only one thing he could do, despite what his nagging conscience told him.
Reluctantly, he made the call.
Chapter Ninety-Five
Evie’s face was a picture of horrified recognition as she entered the bunker and was directed toward the wooden table. Amelia came in close behind her, looking around the place with fresh eyes, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.
“Sit down,” Simon said to them all, snapping his fingers.
Mason sat closest to him, keeping as much distance as he could between his family and the killer. It dawned on him he was no longer in a position of power, and that understanding only grew stronger as Simon sat far across the table, training the gun on him and sliding a spare revolver across the decaying wood.
“The rules, as I understand them from the reports, is that you each take it in turns to pull the trigger on either yourself or the person to your left. There’s only one bullet, which means some people get to leave. Maybe even with the knowledge that your nearest and dearest would rather see you dead than them.” Simon aimed his gun at Evie. “You first, seeing as we know your brother will die either way.”
Evie slowly and hesitantly picked up the revolver. Mason didn’t think for a second that she would point the gun to her left—at her own daughter—and she clarified that very quickly by putting the gun to her head and pulling the trigger.
Nothing.
After a hollow click, three exhales breathed across the table, all full of tension. Amelia looked Evie in the eye as she took the gun from her, quickly feeling the weight in her hand. Had she even held one of those before, Mason wondered? He doubted it.
“Point it to me,” Mason said to her, unwilling to let any harm come to her. “Don’t be afraid. Just point and squeeze the trigger. It’s okay.”
The tension in the room was palpable. Simon sat chuckling as the three of them lived one of the worst moments of their lives. Amelia held the gun out with a shaking hand and aimed it at Mason. Squeezing her eyes shut, she coiled her finger around the trigger. She pulled…
And there was a click.
Mason took it from her, quickly deliberating his options. It was between shooting himself or his sister, and he already knew what he would do. What he didn’t know was whether he could get a round in at Simon before he fired back. How many times would he have to squeeze that trigger at the killer? It was a one-in-four chance of an immediate kill shot, but he didn’t like those odds. Not when his family was involved.
“Don’t waste my time,” Simon said.
“Why? Going somewhere?”
Simon sneered at that as Mason raised the barrel to his head. He angled it in such a way that he could quickly shift his aim to Simon and take his chances. The world was about to collapse around him as he became aware of the stakes. If he missed this, they would all die. His sister and his niece, all because he didn’t want to shoot himself.
Mason took one deep breath, then made his move.
Chapter Ninety-Six
Mason wasted no time. He pointed the gun at Simon and fired quickly. The first two shots were empty clicks, giving Simon time to react. But he didn’t go for Mason, which was the biggest shock of all. The madman’s gun turned toward Amelia, knowing it would hurt Mason the most to wipe out his family first.
As Amelia’s eyes lit up in horror, Mason tried two more shots. Both empty. Another twisted game to mess with their heads. Panicking, he flipped the table and rushed Simon. A gunshot exploded in the narrow confines of the room, but Mason kept moving. There was a wail of terror somewhere behind him as he grappled with the killer. They both toppled backward over the chair as Mason wrestled with Simon’s gun arm.
“Go!” Mason yelled to the girls. “Leave! Now!”
Mildly aware of two pairs of feet rushing past him, Mason continued to fight Simon. They were engaged in a close-quarters battle of strength, and Mason was surprised to find how strong the killer was. For such a small guy, he seemed to have the power of two large men. It was likely rage fueling him, causing him to bear his teeth as they struggled. The footsteps rushed up the stairs quickly, seeking escape.
“Why won’t you die?” Simon asked, sneering as he continued to fight.
Mason said nothing. He did nothing but push harder, putting all his might into keeping the gun arm pinned down toward the floor. It became harder and harder as time went on, Mason’s own arm shaking as dizziness began to blur his vision. He let his eyes wander slightly to the right, and finally, he found where the recent gunshot had made its target.
There was a wound in his bicep. Adrenaline had masked the pain until now, but seeing it made it real. Made it hurt. Mason felt the strength leave his arm. Simon spat in his face, making him reel back. Like a first-time fighter, Mason used his arm to clear the spit from his eyes, giving Simon the opportunity to shove him.
This is it, Mason thought as he rolled to his side. This is where I die.
But there was something hard and lumpy where he fell. Something metallic. It took all of two seconds to become aware that he had landed on the loaded gun. Simon’s hand retreated to get an advantage on him. Mason contorted his body, taking the weight off the gun as hot pain seared up his arm. With his good hand, he reached for the gun, only for Simon to kick it away. It went spinning across the floor, landing up against the wall.
“Stay down!” Simon yelled.
Mason didn’t waste his breath talking. That wasn’t how fights were won. He was already at a disadvantage, finding yet another as Simon scrambled to his feet. Mason reacted quickly, grabbing his foot and pulling him back down until they were a tangle of furious men. They each recovered quickly, clambering around as they reached for the gun. Two hands stretching out to grab the weapon—the power. They were both within feet of it, and only the winner got to live. The loser, whoever that might be, would be dead within seconds.
Mason ignored the pain in his arm and used all his strength to reach. But it wasn’t enough. He moved slow, like he was underwater or stuck in mud. It was Simon who snatched up the gun, declaring himself the victor and finally taking aim at Mason.
Before squeezing the trigger.
Chapter Ninety-Seven
They ran for their lives, Evie pushing her daughter ahead to get her out first. They hurried up the steps, rushing out toward the group of police officers who had gathered around the cabin. Amelia ran instantly into the arms of a random cop, while Evie made her way toward Bill. The man who had dragged himself out of the hospital to lead the charge, his arm in a sling and exhaustion riddling his face. The friend of the family who always came through in one way or another. The man who could save her brother’s life.
“What’s going on down there?” he asked, stopping her.
“They’re fighting. You have to go,” Evie said, her lips barely moving as she spoke so fast. She then stood back as Bill took charge. She watched him collect his team – who had been forced to stay idle until now – and directed them toward the cabin. By then Amelia came to her, twin rivers of mascara streaming down her soft cheeks. Evie held her close to her chest, protecting her as they continued to watch.
“Is he going to die?” Amelia asked.
Evie didn’t answer. How could she? Even if she knew what to say, she could hardly bring herself to say it. She only held her daughter to her chest, combing her fingers through her hair while she watched the police in quiet anticipation.
The team gathered at the hatch. Bill used hand gestures to signal his directions, and they quickly filed down the stairs in an order that was too quickly decided to be random. Bill followed in close behind them, limping. Suddenly, even the open air felt close. Like they were back inside that underground bunker. Evie held her breath without realizing she was doing it, waiting for some sign that Mason was still alive. That he had won the scuffle with the killer.
That was when the gunshot echoed through the woods, forcing a gasp from her dry throat. It told her for sure that her brother had lost and that now he was just another body to go on the killer’s list. Another man who had suffered from that twisted man’s games.
Chapter Ninety-Eight
The steady beep-beep of a machine sounded to his left. The cup to his mouth was supposed to help, but it just seemed to suffocate him. Mason reached up with a weak hand to shove it aside, knocking it off his face at an awkward angle. It wasn’t until he heard the voice that he opened his eyes, finding even that a strain.
“Don’t push yourself.”
Mason’s eyes leveled on Bill, who sat beside the bed in a little foldout chair. He looked around, immediately recognizing the scenery: the plain-blue walls, the pamphlets pinned to a corkboard on the nearby wall, the signs by the door pointing in every direction. They were in a hospital. The same one where Amy had taken her last breath.
“What happened?” Mason asked. Then, as he thought about Simon, the machine to his left began to beep more aggressively. He sat up, finding it hard work. “Where is he? Tell me you got that son of a bitch. Tell me—”
“Settle down, will you?”
“Tell me what happened.”
Bill looked over his shoulder, reaching out a hand to pat him back down. “We won,” he said. “My team took him down. When we got down into the bunker, he had a gun pointed at you, and we had to take the shot. He died on the way to the hospital.”
Mason fell back with blessed relief. It made all the pain worth it. Not just the wound in his shoulder, but all the screwed-up emotional torture of making them choose like Alison Wendell—Lady Luck herself—had forced them to do all those years ago. Now he got to lie here in only mild discomfort, knowing his family could live thanks to him. But was it really thanks to him? It was his actions that had put them here in the first place.
“Who was he?” Mason asked.
“There isn’t much to tell. His name was Simon Griffin. A loner with a big savings account. They’re in his home right now, combing over the evidence to find out more about him. My guess is that he was just some obsessed nut who wanted to play killer.”
“That explains why he didn’t want you.”
Bill tipped his head to one side. “Huh?”
“We got Wendell together, but the papers only reported on me. It seems all his facts were coming from the details we gave to the press, which explains why he didn’t know who Amelia was. It also explains why you got away with it while I have to lie here with a hole in my arm.”
“Don’t act like I wasn’t caught in an explosion.”
Mason grinned, aware of his defeat. “How you feeling?”
“A little fragile, but I can move.”
“I’m glad you did. Thanks for coming for me.”
“Come on, you know we’re in this together. I’m just sorry I kept things from you.”
“You did what you had to.”
Mason wasn’t sure he meant that, but the forgiveness was true. With his family safe, he could at least relax enough to let Bill off the hook. He had come to his rescue, after all, still adamantly refusing to tell the police the truth about what they’d done to Wendell. Only now he was in a position to learn something: he would no longer let anger blindly lead him.
“You want some good news?” Bill asked.
“Always.”
Bill checked over his shoulder, confirming again they were alone, then leaned in close. “They found Wendell’s body down there. Not only can they confirm that bastard is dead, but they’re pinning it on Simon Griffin, who is too dead to care.”
“Wait. He’s taking the fall?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope, completely true.”
Mason rolled back onto his pillow, the machine taking longer breaks between beeps. It had all fallen into place nicely, and although this usually meant something would come back to bite him on the ass, at least he knew he could finally relax.
For now.
Chapter Ninety-Nine
“So, what do you think?” Mason asked as they headed down the steps.
They turned and gaped up at the tall but narrow house, each trying not to talk about the terrible décor of the interior. It looked like it had been plucked from an older decade—a much older decade—but it was all stuff that could be worked on. The age wasn’t in the bones.
“It doesn’t feel like home,” Diane said.
“Then we’ll keep looking.”
Silent, they walked back to the car, ready to go pick MJ up from a friend’s house, where he was being taken care of. Mason held open the door for her, despite that she would be driving for as long as his arm was in a sling. The bullet had hit a nerve, the nurses had said, but it would mend in time with only the occasional spasm.
They sat together, taking one long look back at the house, double-checking it wasn’t the right place for them to live. Mason knew he wouldn’t be happy here, but if Diane was excited about the house, then he could try to be, too. Thankfully, she seemed less interested than he did.
“When we find the right place,” she said, “we need to talk about your work.”
Mason nodded, unwilling to have this discussion again. Once more, a sadistic killer had come out of nowhere to mess with their lives. All after he had promised yet again that he would give up this insane lifestyle.
But when Diane continued talking, Mason was shocked to find a new point of view. It was like a different person was talking.
“I understand it all now,” she said.
“You do?”
“When he had me in the back of that RV, all I thought about was whether or not you were coming for me. I was so scared. Every time he pulled open those doors, I thought I was going to die. So now I see why you have to do these things. It made me wonder if everyone else feels the same. If you’re their only hope. I thought that if you had listened to me and stood your ground, I would probably just be the center of a crime scene right now.”
“It’s slightly different.”
“How?”
“You’re somebody I couldn’t bear to lose.”
“But when some random person is kidnapped, they have people who care about them, too.” Diane shifted in the driver’s seat, facing him. She reached out a hand and softly turned his chin to look at her. “What I’m saying is that I won’t argue with you anymore. If this is the life you need to live, I won’t stand in your way. I’ll be right here at your side, a part of the team.”
Mason gazed into her perfect hazel eyes, seeing truth and understanding. This wasn’t some sort of trick or sneaky method to draw things out of him. She genuinely cared for him, and he read that without an ounce of doubt. It was all he needed to carry on with the life he had carved out for himself, and now more than ever, he was so grateful to have her there.
“Thank you,” he said, because no other words were needed. She finally got him, and he would always protect her because he loved her more than anything in the world.
It really was that simple.
Chapter One Hundred
Across town, Evie was having her own trouble with acceptance. She had been forced to wave goodbye to her car, the insurance company unwilling to pay out even due to the special circumstances. And besides, it was a write-off. The front half of the car had been folded like a duvet, and the dent in the RV was more proof of the impact.
“It’ll get better,” Amelia said.
Evie spun around to look at her, her blonde hair waving like a flag in the wind. She had recovered nicely from the ordeal, seemingly unfazed by being held at gunpoint. It occurred to Evie then that her daughter was just that—a blood relative, which probably meant she was screaming on the inside while trying to look tough.
“It’s just a car,” Evie said as she turned to watch the tow truck pull her mess of a car away. She looked around at the cliff, where the sun was now warming them with only a little threat from the wind. It was like a whole new place than it had been just two nights ago.
“Was that normal?” Amelia asked.
“The wreck?”
“The events from that night.”
Evie thought this one through before she spoke. “Being a journalist requires you to be on the front line of a story, but it’s not supposed to be like that. It’s just an effect of being related to Mason, I guess.”
Smiling, Amelia nodded. “It feels so weird when you say it aloud.”
“That you’re related to Mason?”
“No, just generally having new family members appear from nowhere.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?”
“It’s good.”
Grinning back at her, Evie saw all the good things of her but none of the bad. None, save for the stubbornness, which was really more of a family trait than a curse. Other than that, there was nothing more a mother could ask for from a daughter. The way Amelia had run in there headfirst when Diane was in trouble told Evie everything she needed to know—that she wanted her at her side, no matter how complicated things got. How could she go back on this now, letting Amelia’s adoptive mother be the only one in her life? Evie knew it was selfish, but this was something she couldn’t undo. Something she couldn’t give up. Not again.
