Cassie turned on the wounded woman. Laura Merrick. Seriously? The makeup person and hairdresser to the stars was Cassie’s half sister and probably a psychotic killer? Or was the murderess Allie?
“Why?” Cassie demanded, but Laura only groaned.
“Why?” she asked again, this time focusing on her younger sister, the little girl who had turned into a monster.
Allie just stared, and Cassie couldn’t help but wonder if she was indeed almost catatonic or this, like so many scenes in her life, was just an act.
“It’s not my fault,” Allie whispered.
Cassie lost it.
Before thinking, she whirled and she slapped the wretch that her little sister had become. Allie’s head snapped back and her lost, forlorn expression instantly morphed into an ugly rage.
Barely aware that the barn was suddenly alive, blue and red light pulsing through the windows, policemen and women converging on the barn, Cassie plowed on. Shaking, she said, “It is your fault. You could have let us know you were alive! You didn’t need to put Mom and me and everyone else through this hell!” She was shaking. “Quit faking it and acting like you didn’t know what you were doing, Allie! You’re not a frightened little girl anymore.”
“And you hate me for it,” Allie said, her facade slipping a little, her lips curling in disgust.
“You effin’ thought I was going to die on that set!” Cassie said and lunged at her sister as Laura moaned at their feet.
Shane stepped in. Grabbed Cassie. Held her back. “It’s over,” he whispered into her ear and she heard the sound of other footsteps thundering through the barn, echoing on the floors. She struggled, wanting to beat the living tar out of the woman Laura had dubbed “Baby Sister.” It was fitting, really. Allie had always played the part of the wounded little girl, at least in their family.
“Police! Drop your weapons!” a man shouted.
From the floor, Laura, one eye exposed glared up at them. With an effort, she said, “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. Don’t you get it? I should be the star. Not you, Baby Sister!” She spat and coughed. “I’m the firstborn. Me!” She was gurgling now, spittle and blood frothing red on her lips. “I’m the Big Sister and you two are the interlopers.” She glared at Cassie and snarled. “You’re a freak, Little Sister, that’s what you are. You could never make it in the business even though you had the chance!” Her words garbled then, and Cassie, looking over her stepfather’s shoulder, met Trent’s eyes.
Leaning against a wall, his face chalky white, blood staining his jeans, he looked as if he might pass out at any second. “Oh, Jesus,” she said, her anger evaporating, her heart wrenching. “Trent!” Hurtling out of Shane’s arms, she ran to him. “Oh, God. We need an ambulance.”
He forced a bit of a smile. “ . . . or two.” He hugged her fiercely and buried his face in her hair. She collapsed against him, drinking in the smell of him, feeling the strength, his incredible strength waning. The thought of losing him was too much to bear. “Hang in there,” she whispered over the rush of other officers arriving and the bleating of a rescue vehicle piercing the night.
“Cuff her,” Shane said to the first deputy on the scene. He was motioning to Allie. “And get this one,” he indicated Laura, “to a hospital. Keep her under guard. She’s dangerous. But first,” he hitched his thumb toward Trent, “get this one to a hospital STAT. After you see to Kittle here.”
Cassie said, “And there’s . . . there’s a dead body in the silo. I think maybe Belva Nelson, but I’m not sure.” Involuntarily, she shuddered remembering the brush of cold flesh against hers.
“Check it out,” Shane ordered another deputy and the man responded, despite the fact that Carter had no jurisdiction, was no longer an officer. Still no one questioned his authority. Not tonight.
Carter bent down on a knee and tried to revive Laura.
“Come on. Stay with me,” he ordered, but the woman was still. “Come on, Laura! Hang in there.” But it was obvious to Cassie the woman she’d known as Laura Merrick was gone.