Love, Alchemy Page 6

  “I give the orders here,” Marx said.

  The situation was hopeless. There was only one way out. Palmer nodded. “Okay,” he said, fighting back the urge to vomit. “Okay.”

  Marx smiled. The same hand responsible for demonstrating the sudden outburst of violence only seconds before beckoned for Davey with a wave that was almost gentlemanly in manner. As she brushed past Palmer, Davey turned to see him. The look of understanding in her eyes pierced straight into his heart. Just as Marx led her away, Palmer’s hand shot out as if remotely controlled and grabbed her arm. There was a millisecond to note the collision of surprise and anger in Marx’s face. And then as Palmer yanked Davey back, agony slammed through his opposite shoulder. A single thought occupied his mind: get her to safety.

  *

  Davey went to her knees as Palmer pushed her downward. She heard screaming, too loud to be her own. Deafening cracks shattered the air. Men shouted. A boom erupted directly overhead, and after that it was silence. Still, she saw muzzles flash, and the smell of gunpowder burned her nose.

  When Palmer pushed her toward the door, survival stamped out panic, and Davey forced her legs to work again. Outside, she pushed her body to a flat out run. Palmer was shouting, dragging Davey faster than she could move, but somehow they reached the car in one piece. Palmer shoved her into the driver’s seat. His lips were moving, eyes wide as he shouted. Davey knew what was saying, even if she couldn’t actually hear him. Go.

  Never before had she felt so grateful for Palmer’s pretentious need for a powerful muscle car as nearly four hundred horses came alive, and the GSX shot forward like a rocket. Davey barely let off the gas as she steered through left and right turns, blew through stop signs and multiple red lights. She didn’t know where she was going, they just had to get away. Palmer was strangely quiet through it all. She wondered if it was just the gunshot fired next to her head still affecting her hearing. Davey hadn’t even known Palmer owned a gun.

  Staring straight ahead, his expression was vacant. But when she hit a jagged pothole, Palmer’s features pulled tight with pain. Davey tried joking to bring him around. “Don’t freak. The car is okay.”

  “It’s not the car I’m worried about.” He winced again as he pulled himself upright in the seat. “Are you okay? Did you get shot?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  Palmer checked the mirrors and turned to look behind them, grunting softly as he did so. “Slow down, babe.”

  It took two attempts for Davey to successfully ease off the accelerator. But once the speedometer was out of the triple digits, she felt in control enough to take a closer look at Palmer. “Oh!”

  A dark stain, originating from him, had spread all over the front seat. Flashes of dim light from passing street lamps illuminated the dark puddle on the white leather. It was blood. Following her gaze, Palmer looked down at himself as if noticing he was injured for the first time.

  “Where did you get shot?”

  “Everywhere.” He summoned a lopsided grin. “Dad’s gonna be pissed. This custom interior will never be the same.”

  “We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

  “No. They have to report gunshot wounds,” he said, shaking his head weakly. “My dad would really kill me.”

  “Palmer. Now is not the time to be stupid.” Davey choked back a sob. “You’re going to the hospital. And you don’t have a choice.” The engine roared in agreement as she punched the gas.

  A pair of headlights appeared on the roadway behind them, closing in even though their speed neared one hundred miles per hour.

  “Palmer,” Davey said, glancing into the rearview mirror.

  “Get off the main road.”

  “No. We’ve got to get you—”

  “Get off the road!” Palmer yelled hoarsely.

  Davey’s hands stubbornly gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. She kept her eyes locked ahead. Yelling wasn’t going to win this fight. Palmer tried again. “This is the main highway. They knew to look for us here.” Gasping, he stopped. When he finally spoke again, his breaths came in shallow pants. “It’s a straight away. We’ll never lose them.”

  “Where should I go?”

  It took him a long time answer. Too long. Davey fought back another sob. “Somewhere safe,” he said.

  His reply was so faint, she barely heard it. “Palmer?” she said softly.

  He turned his head toward her voice but didn’t speak again. His eyes were strangely unfocused, as if they didn’t see her at all.

  Davey called his name louder.

  Palmer’s head jerked up. For a moment, he seemed to focus, but then his gaze slowly slid away again. His eyelids drooped, and Palmer closed his eyes.

  Davey screamed.

  12

  It was a miracle Davey didn’t seriously maim herself running through the woods. Every bit of exposed skin had been bloodied in some way, scratched by low-hanging branches or battered by sharp rocks as she lost her footing multiple times. She only hoped her pursuers were having just as difficult of a time.

  Moonlight helped her find the trail she knew by heart. From there, the way was less treacherous. Thinking it smarter to avoid an obvious trajectory, Davey crossed the trail and doubled back to run parallel to it. By the time she reached the wooden porch of her grandmother’s house, she wasn’t sure if she could have run another step. It worried her that the house was so dark. Not a single light glowed from behind its shutters, and there was no car in the drive or any other sign of someone being home.

  Davey banged her knuckles against the door hard enough to make them bleed. “Come on. Come on,” she whispered frantically. “Please be in there.”

  No answer. No movement. No indication anyone had heard her.

  Suddenly, two arms encircled her in an unbreakable grip. Davey opened her mouth to scream but a hand clamped down, sealing in the noise. Legs still free, Davey kicked with all of her might.

  “Please stop struggling,” a familiar voice whispered. “I’ll let you go, but you have to be quiet.”

  Recognizing it was Ethan, Davey tried to nod, but his hands were too firm. She signaled her cooperation by relaxing into his arms. As soon as she did, Ethan let go. “What happened?”

  “Palmer is dead,” she said, panting. “They killed him, and now they’re after me.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  Davey shook her head. “No.”

  Ethan turned his gaze to the woods and was quiet. The moon had nearly disappeared behind a cluster of clouds, making it too dark for Davey to see his expression. Eventually his voice floated to her. “Go inside,” he instructed gently but firmly. “Lock the door behind you and hide in the attic.” He passed her a cell phone. “Call 911 but not until you’re in the attic.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “No. Ethan, there could be four guys out there, and they all have guns.”

  He looked toward the trees again. “I count five.”

  Confused, Davey started to grab his arm but stopped. She held both palms up instead. “You can’t be thinking of going out there. You’re a rookie, not a freaking commando.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he repeated. “I’m trained for this.” Taking her hand, Ethan steered her toward the door. “You have to go.”

  Davey was frightened, but not so afraid as to just run and hide, essentially leaving Ethan to die. It was only last night when he’d saved her ass. She owed him. “Ethan,” she started, thinking she could reason with him.

  He touched her hair, silencing her objection. “Don’t open the attic door for anyone but me. Go.”

  She backed away from him, fighting down the sludge of bile in her throat. The second time she tried the front door, Davey found it unlocked. Slipping inside, she ran quickly to the nearest window and peered outside just in time to see Ethan leap over the porch railing. Straining her eyes but failing to see any further sign of him, Davey ran up her grandmother’s staircase. It took two att
empts before she jumped high enough to reach the cord that dangled from the attic door. The old wooden ladder creaked beneath her weight, echoing each step through the empty house. Davey winced and pulled it up behind her. After closing the hatch as softly as she could, she turned and hid behind the only object remaining in the dusty attic.

  The old trunk had been carved by hand from the wood of a one-hundred-year old pine tree. Made by her grandmother’s great-grandfather, the trunk had survived through many generations. Dings, scratches, and the weathered surfaces only added to the piece’s charm, but took nothing away from its value. Davey couldn’t understand why it had been left behind. There was no way would Tina would have passed up such an easy opportunity to line her pockets with a little extra cash. After all, her greed was what had catapulted Davey into this mess and gotten Palmer killed. Unable to stop shaking, she closed her eyes at the memory of his lifeless face staring at her. Certain his death had shattered what was left of her, Davey thought she would never feel normal again.

  Dialing 911, she gave the operator her grandmother’s address and explained an officer needed backup just how it was done on Brady’s favorite crime show. Davey hung up as the operator’s cool but insistent voice tried to glean more information. Ethan had told her to keep quiet, so Davey couldn’t risk being overheard by anyone who might have slipped past him and gotten inside the house.

  Davey waited alone in the darkness for a long time, listening to the sound of her quivering breaths and tormented by the role she had played in Palmer’s death. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking if only she had been more careful with the bag, Tina never would have found it and spent the cash. Then maybe none of this awful night would have happened.

  A muted scrape sounded against the floorboards below, making her tense. The next exhale caught in her throat, too afraid to be born. Davey thought she heard a faint knock at the attic door. Not trusting her ears, she waited.

  The knock came again.

  As silently as possible, she crawled to the folded ladder and listened.

  “It’s me, Ethan. It’s safe. You can come out now.”

  Trembling fingers made it difficult to release the latch securing the door from the inside, but she managed. With Ethan’s help, she lowered the ladder to the floor and climbed down. “Are you alright?” she whispered. Faint moonlight filtered in through sheer curtains covering an interior window, allowing Davey some idea of Ethan’s movements.

  He nodded and looked her over quietly. “You’re shaking,” he finally remarked.

  “I’m okay,” she lied.

  “You could be going into shock. We should go downstairs and keep you warm until help arrives.” Ethan offered his hand, and Davey stared at it, remembering what happened the last time she had touched him. Bracing herself, she took his hand. The shock came, more intense than she expected but not entirely unpleasant. A sharp tingle rippled through her finger tips, into her palm, and radiated halfway up her arm before the sensation faded. Gathering the courage to look at him, Davey lifted her gaze to Ethan. His expression perfectly reflected the wonder she felt. “What was that?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know.” He rotated her hand in his, examining the areas of contact between their skin. “I don’t understand it.” Without further comment, he tugged her forward, leading Davey down the stairs and into the living room. There he sat her gently on the couch and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Beneath his touch, her tremors were finally stilled. “Wait here,” he said.

  Rising slowly, Ethan walked into the kitchen but was only gone for a few seconds before gunshots robbed the silence and Davey of all peace. Jumping up, she couldn’t stop the scream from leaving her lips. In a blind panic, she turned but was unsure of which way to go. Gasping as her foot caught the leg of the coffee table, she was thrown sideways just as another bang split the air. Her ribs slammed into the table’s wooden edge, forcing the wind from her lungs as something clattered onto the floor beside her. Reflexively, Davey reached for it, seeking anything to defend herself as yet another gunshot ripped through her world. She’d hoped for a paperweight or a vase. A good launch could at least distract her would-be murderer. A better aim might even maim him.

  But when her fingers curved around cool steel, Davey realized she had something even more superior. Flipping onto her back, she pointed the gun, closed her eyes, and squeezed the trigger. The recoil was more powerful than she could have imagined, and Davey nearly lost her grip. She fired again, heard the intruder swear and then the sound of heavy footsteps rushing toward her. Davey opened her eyes in time to see the huge man crossing a band of moonlight, wearing a scowl of rage and almost close enough to grab her. Steadying her hand and praying to a god she’d stopped believing in long ago, Davey aimed and pulled the trigger. The man jerked backward as his body rotated, but he recovered and barreled straight at her. She fired the gun twice more. At such a close range, even a blind person could not have missed. Both bullets hit square in the chest. Momentum carried his body forward, but the man was dead when he landed next to her.

  Flinging the gun from her shaking hands, Davey pulled herself to her knees. Sobbing and trembling all over, somehow she found a way to her feet.

  Ethan.

  She had lost Palmer tonight. No way Ethan was dead too.

  Turning on every light as she went, Davey stumbled into the kitchen and confirmed her worst fear. Ethan lay on the tiled floor, and he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. Two circular wounds marred the area right over his heart. Blood oozed from a third hole…at his temple.

  “Oh my God.” Sinking next to him, Davey felt for a pulse. She checked both his neck and wrist but found none. “Oh my God,” she repeated, nearly choking on the words.

  Shoving to her feet again, she picked up the hard line telephone from the counter. It was dead. Davey threw it against the wall. She should have heard sirens by now. The police, the paramedics, someone should have been there.

  In the struggle, she had lost track of Ethan’s cell. Looking at his motionless body, Davey swallowed. She really didn’t want to go back into the living room with the other dead guy but really didn’t see where she had a choice. She did her best to avoid the blood pooling beneath and around the intruder’s body as she patted the front and back of his pants. Rolling the heavy corpse enough to reach inside the folds of his jacket, Davey’s heart fluttered with relief when her fingers touched two rectangular objects. She removed them both and immediately began dialing 911 for the second time in one night.

  The phone slipped from Davey’s hand as the other item rocked her dizzy with shock and dread.

  A shiny metal badge shined up at her, wielding an accusing glint even as it reflected the look of horror ravaging Davey’s usually solemn features. She swept a finger across the shield, hoping it wasn’t real, that she had somehow imagined it all.

  Feeling ill, she dropped the badge and crawled back to Ethan. Knowing her behavior irrational but unable to stop, she held his face in both hands and swore she could already feel the warmth abandoning his body. “What do I do? I think I just killed a cop.”

  Sobbing, she shook him gently. “What do I do? No one will believe me,” she whispered. “No one ever believes me.”

  Hearing sirens snapped Davey from her despair. She knew she couldn’t be found like this—covered in blood, surrounded by two dead policemen, and connected to a third body. Still, she’d dropped Ethan’s phone somewhere in the living room. No doubt her prints were all over it and everything else she had touched. It was only a matter of time before the cops caught up to her. Still unsure of what to do or where to go, Davey stood up on trembling legs.

  And then she ran.

  13

  In hindsight, Davey realized the school wasn’t the smartest place to go, but she kept extra clothes there, and it was somewhere warm to hide while she figured out her next move. She just hadn’t counted on being slammed by a wave of exhaustion after the adrenaline wore off. Before she understood what was happeni
ng, her eyes had closed as she drifted into a deep but troubled sleep.

  She awoke to the most unbelievable pain ever experienced in her eighteen years of life. Her skull threatened to split apart as she scrambled wildly from the sleeping bag. Her vision was severely blurred, and she couldn’t hear a sound. Davey cried out as something blunt and heavy pounded into the space between her shoulder blades, driving her face down into splintered floorboards. Hands came from everywhere, seizing her hair, hands and legs. She couldn’t see the faces of who grabbed her, only dark helmets and safety glasses with lips that moved, shouting words Davey could not hear.

  With her arms twisted painfully behind her back, Davey was hoisted to her feet and half-marched, half-dragged across the dilapidated locker room. By the time she and her escorts reached the hallway, her vision had cleared enough to see a small crowd of students lining the corridor, whispering and staring like she was some circus freak. Academic students. On the weekend, only the biggest brains would be caught dead on school grounds. Wilting inside, Davey steeled her exterior, squaring her shoulders as much as the cuffs would allow. She couldn’t let them see her break because whether she admitted it to herself or not, Davey had already shattered.

  It was awkward, sitting in the back of the police car with her hands cuffed. She considered the little amount of room left between her knees and the front seat and couldn’t imagine anyone bigger fitting in the cramped space. Resting her head against the worn leather, Davey closed her eyes and was actually grateful when the door slammed shut. At least now she could escape the stares.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble, little girl.”

  Davey opened her eyes again. She wasn’t afraid of cops, regarding them with the same disdain she held for any other type of hold-all-the-cards authority. However, something in this guy’s voice sent a chill across her skin. His tone was casual, yet laced with an undercurrent of malice. When Davey met the officer’s eyes in the rearview mirror, she saw no hint of emotion, no sign of feeling.