CHAPTER 45 JESSALYN
JESSALYN
Hello, Jessalyn.
Two little words, and they turned my spine to ice.
I spun to face my husband, and he was wearing the cold, flat expression that meant he was about to explode. The expression that led to bruises and worse.
Tread carefully.
“Ridge, what are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here? I’m saving you from your own stupidity.”
“I…I…”
“You got brainwashed by a serial killer, that’s what you did. Did he script those videos? Was slandering me his idea?”
“Uh…”
“Of course it was. No doubt he’s been grooming you for months.”
“Shiro…Shiro escaped.”
“I should have realised you’d try to retrieve the dog.”
“Where is he?”
“How should I know?”
“Because you let him out?”
That made more sense than Ari leaving the gate open. She was careful.
Ridge sucked in a breath. “There you go again with the false accusations.”
“Then what…? How…?”
“One of those imbeciles milling about at the front told me to try the back, and it’s a good thing I did because here you are.
” Ridge took my arm, and instinct kicked in.
I tried to wrench myself free, but his fingers dug into my flesh, and all I got was more bruises.
“Don’t try me, Jessalyn. You’ve already ruined my reputation.
Your little band of trolls has tanked the firm’s Google rating, and who do you think is going to suffer from that?
That’s right; both of us. If clients shun me, then our income takes a dive.
Your spa appointments won’t pay for themselves. ”
“I have my own career.”
“A career that I built, and you tried to ruin. I’m not sure the publishing deal is even salvageable at this stage.”
Ridge began pulling me along the trail, and as he tugged, his jacket fell open and I saw the gun on his hip.
The freaking gun. Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell.
He’d bought the pistol years ago after a spate of home invasions in the neighbourhood, even though I hated the idea of having a gun in the house, and then he’d signed both of us up for membership of the local shooting club.
Which had been a waste of money—we only went twice because the lessons clashed with his golf games.
The gun lived in the safe in his study. Why had he brought it with him today? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer, and for the first time, I felt glad Justin was safely out of the way in jail.
“I’ll make the cookbook work,” I lied.
“Good. But first, you’ll need to apologise.”
“Uh… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”
“Not to me; to your fans. You’ve broken their trust by turning a lifestyle show into a soap opera.”
He sounded unhinged. Even more unhinged than normal. Sweat beaded on the back of my neck as the drizzle settled on my hair, but Ridge didn’t seem to notice the weather as he forced me along the trail. There was a note of mania in his voice, and that worried me even more than his usual anger.
“So you want me to record an apology video?”
“Exactly.” Triumph mixed with venom. “You’ll recant your earlier lies and explain that you were brainwashed by a lunatic.”
That part was actually true, except it happened six years ago and now he’d come back for more.
I’d be making a hostage video. But when Saylor saw it, she’d call the police because she knew there was no way I’d ever go back to Ridge.
And when Justin got out of jail, he’d raise hell too.
Ari was a private investigator, so she’d find me in Maine, and—
“Is this your dog?”
My heart stuttered. A stranger had stepped out in front of us, a blond man in an overcoat, and he was holding Shiro’s collar. Which should have been a good thing, but Ridge would only give him back to the shelter.
“N-n-no, I think he lives over there.” My hand shook as I pointed toward home. And Justin’s house was home now, even if he was away temporarily.
The gentleman looked from me to Ridge. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
“She’s fine,” Ridge snapped.
“Do you know this man?” The stranger’s eyes turned from friendly to hard as he saw a side Ridge tried to keep hidden.
“She’s my wife.”
“Ma’am?”
I couldn’t speak. The lump in my throat blocked the words. But I didn’t want to go to Maine, and I wanted to be free of my wretched husband. So I shook my head.
“Let the lady go.”
“Butt out. This is none of your—”
Ridge never finished his sentence because the stranger shot him.
Just pulled out a gun and shot him twice. Pop-pop.
My scream was swallowed by the wind, and Shiro ran for the trees as Ridge crumpled into a heap on the muddy ground. The man motioned to me with the silenced pistol.
“Walk.”
“Is he…? Is he…?”
There was no blood, but Ridge wasn’t moving, not even a twitch, and how could I walk when my knees were about to give way?
“Don’t get all emotional. You didn’t even like him.” The blond stranger nodded along the path, away from home. Away from safety. “Move.”
I had no idea who this man was, or why he’d overreacted with Ridge, or what he wanted with me, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I’d be joining my ex-husband in the afterlife if I made one wrong move. I should have followed Shiro into the trees. I should have run when I had the chance.
I walked.
Slowly.
“Why? Why are you doing this?”
“Because the men in your life make poor decisions.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand.”
Yes, okay, Ridge should have let me go, but shooting him dead was literal overkill.
“You don’t have to understand; you just have to do as you’re told.”
“Are you going to kill me too?”
“Not if Justin Norquist cooperates.”
“J-J-Justin? What does he have to do with this?”
But suddenly, I knew.
I knew Justin hadn’t killed Amie, but this man had. He’d killed her and framed him. Bile rose in my throat because I’d heard how Amie had been found, battered and bloody with a star carved into her flesh.
“It’s nothing personal. Once Justin accepts responsibility for Amie Carlson’s death, you can move back to Maine and forget this ever happened.”
Yeah, right. He thought I’d stay meek and quiet and let Justin spend the rest of his life in prison? Was he crazy? I mean, obviously he was, and yes, I’d stayed silent for years about Ridge’s abuse, but this…this was on a whole other level.
Which meant I was dead.
Today, tomorrow, or next week, I was dead.
Because this man wasn’t deranged. He was eerily calm, terrifyingly competent, and underneath it all, desperate. The worst possible combination.
“Did you let Shiro out of the yard?”
“Of course. Stop stalling.”
“I—”
A blur of white shot out of the undergrowth and barrelled into him, and he yelled as teeth sank into his ankle.
Shiro! He’d come back. He hadn’t left me.
He was…about to die. I threw the only thing in my pocket—a poop bag dispenser—and the shot went wide.
The psycho tried again, and this time Shiro yelped, but he made it to the trees, and so did I.
Branches whipped against me as I ran, and I heard cursing from behind as my pursuer gave chase.
I couldn’t outrun him. I hated cardio. Pain shot up my leg as I twisted an ankle on the uneven ground, and I landed on my knees.
Shit! I waited for a bullet to thud into me, but silence fell.
Why had he stopped? Because of his injury? Or was he lining up another shot?
I flattened myself against the spongy earth, waiting.
Where was he?
Rain splattered down, and I strained my ears, listening for movement.
A twig cracked.
The stranger? Or Shiro?
Where was I?
Which way was home?
I’d run off the trail and careened blindly into the forest, but the trees all looked the same, and there were no landmarks. I was hopelessly lost.
A tree rustled.
A bird squawked.
I crawled along, staying on my hands and knees, running in a crouch whenever I had to cross a clearing.
My pounding heart threatened to drown out the stranger’s approach, and I wanted to crawl under a bush and hide, but Shiro was out here too, maybe dead but possibly just injured, and if he was alive, I needed to find him. I needed to get help.
But first, I needed to survive.
Was that…was that the trail? It was. But which way was home? Which way led to safety? I looked left and right and found I was back where I started. Ridge’s body lay where it had fallen, and blood was seeping from a wound in his forehead, trickling past glassy eyes over pale, wet skin.
Instinct made me recoil, but newfound strength stopped me in my tracks.
The gun.
Ridge had that damn gun. I blinked back tears as I grabbed it and thumbed off the safety the way I’d been taught. Where was my phone? I’d dropped it somewhere near the trail, and if it still worked…
“Jessalyn…”
The stranger’s voice was mocking, almost playful.
I raised the gun as I turned, and his expression barely morphed into shock before I pulled the trigger.
Fuck him. Fuck these people who ruined lives to fit their own twisted narrative.
I kept firing until he fell backward, my ears ringing, blood spraying across the path.
His gun bounced into the grass. Mine clicked as it ran out of bullets.
Shit, shit, shit!
Home. I had to get home.
No, no, no. I had to find my boy.
“Shiro!”
The gun. Should I grab the man’s gun? What if he had friends lurking in the forest? My magazine was empty, but his pistol was covered in blood and guts. Yeuch. Instead of picking it up, I darted back into the trees, watching, waiting. Listening.
All I heard was rain.
Wind.
Voices?
Oh, hell. Someone was coming.
No, not someone. A whole group of people.
I almost wept with relief when I recognised Richard leading the Wednesday Walkers through the trees like a band of arthritic Avengers. At least three of them were holding firearms. Behind them, half a dozen podcasters were complaining about the weather.
A shout went up when the group spotted Ridge. Guns came up. Three podcasters ran away, and the other three whipped out smartphones.
“Jiminy Cricket!” Richard exclaimed. “Is that man dead?”
A podcaster tiptoed forward. “Whoa, those are gunshot wounds.” He turned to his buddy. “Are you getting this?”
“Uh-huh, we’re live.”
Shit. Well, at least if there was another murder, there would be several thousand witnesses.
“Richard!” I called. “Don’t shoot me.”
“Jessalyn? Oh my goodness, is that blood on you?”
Was it? Was it? I scrubbed at my face, and where had that come from?
“H-h-he shot Ridge.”
“Who shot Ridge, hun?” one of the ladies asked.
“I don’t know; I never saw him before. And then he tried to kidnap me, but Shiro bit his leg, so he shot him, and then I took Ridge’s gun and now he’s dead.”
“Who’s dead? Not that beautiful white dog of yours?”
“No, the kidnapper. Over there somewhere.” I waved my arm along the trail. “I th-th-thought he was going to kill me.”
A podcaster came running back along the trail. “Hey, there’s another dead guy, and his face is hamburger.”
“Someone should call the police,” a gun-toting walker said.
“Ida already did that. Jessalyn, your colour doesn’t look good.”
No freaking kidding. I wasn’t sure whether to throw up or faint.
“I just need to find my dog.”
“You were walking him?”
“No, he escaped from the yard, and I went to find him, and then…and then…”
“The police will be here soon.”
Great, time for Special Agent Rimer to show up and botch another investigation. Or maybe she’d arrest me for shooting a man, and I could be reunited with Justin? Wait, did men and women go to separate prisions?
“Jessie!” Violet was running toward me with Dawson behind her. “Ohmigosh, are you okay?”
I shook my head and burst into tears as she flung her arms around me.
“Shiro’s hurt, and Ridge is dead.” Now I heard sirens in the distance. “I have to find Shiro.”
Dawson cursed liberally under his breath. “Where did you last see him?”
“Uh, farther along the path. Past the other dead body.”
“What other dead body?”
“I th-th-think he killed Amie.”
“The shit’s hit the fucking fan here.” I realised Dawson was wearing an earpiece. “Jessie’s okay, but the dog’s missing. Two dead. Okay. Yeah, good.”
“What’s happening?”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me over to a nearby rock as a helicopter flew overhead.
“Where’s your gun?”
“Here.” I tried to pull it out of my waistband, but Dawson grabbed my hand in a heartbeat.
“Careful. We don’t need anyone else getting shot today,” he said. “Especially you.”
“It’s empty. There’s nothing left.”
Much like my freaking soul.