I ran to the front of the car and peered under the crumpled hood, praying I wouldn’t see—

Flame. I saw flame.

I tore back to the passenger side, squeezed in, and undid Gabriel’s seat belt. It wasn’t jammed. Gabriel was, though—wedged in tight enough that he didn’t even budge when the belt came loose. As I tugged at him, he groaned.

“Gabriel?” I said. “Gabriel!”

I shook him, but he slid out of consciousness again without even opening his eyes.

I could smell the smoke now and hear the whoosh of fire. No time to second-guess. I grabbed his shirt by one shoulder and heaved, my other hand bracing his head. I had to brace my legs, too, against the car, using every bit of leverage I could, until—

His head and shoulders swung free and he fell, nearly knocking me down with the dead-weight drop. I dragged him out of the car. Smoke billowed, making me cough, my eyes tearing up. I had Gabriel out on his back, my hands wrapped in his shirt, and thank God it was well made, because I’m sure I wouldn’t have gotten him very far otherwise. As it was, the seams still ripped while I dragged him over the rocky ground.

Once he was out of the smoke, I went for my cell phone … and remembered it was in my purse. I dropped down beside Gabriel and patted his trouser pockets. No phone. It must be in his jacket.

I raced back to the car. Flames poured from the engine, but they hadn’t yet broken through to the interior. I fell onto all fours and pushed in through the passenger window. The interior was filled with smoke, and I had to close my eyes, pull my shirt over my nose, and feel around blindly. I couldn’t find my purse. I didn’t try hard because I knew Gabriel’s jacket was in the back. I located it after fumbling and groping. I backed out of the car, sputtering now, eyes streaming tears as I returned to Gabriel’s side, where the air was clear, reached into his jacket and—

There was no goddamned cell phone.

I crouched on the ground, heaving breath, my lungs burning.

Get Gabriel somewhere safe and go for help. There was no other option. The car was on fire. I’d never find my phone in time.

I looked around for a place to drag Gabriel. The car had landed at the base of the cliff, twenty feet from the river. That limited my choices.

I grabbed Gabriel’s shirt again and hauled him another ten feet before the fabric gave way. I tried putting my hands under his armpits, but I couldn’t get any leverage. He was too big.

I looked back at the car. Fire still burned in the engine compartment. How much longer until it reached the gas tank? Even if it did, Gabriel was far enough away.

I tried rousing him again, but after dragging him twenty feet from a burning car, I had to acknowledge that he wasn’t waking up. I hoped he was just out cold. Otherwise … I wasn’t even thinking of “otherwise.” I already knew the damage I could have caused, hauling him from that car.

I made sure he seemed okay, then started climbing the embankment.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

I got about halfway up the cliff, grabbing whatever I could and hauling myself up the nearly perpendicular incline. Then there was nothing else to grab, and I scrabbled for a hand-hold, my fingers digging into dirt, nails breaking as I frantically pulled myself—

I lost my grip and fell backward, my ass hitting the ground hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I scrambled up and looked around.

The gully was shallower farther down. I really should have looked before trying to scale the damned cliff.

I ran, pain jolting with each stride. I was still exhausted from the fever, and climbing the cliff had me panting already.

I saw a path heading up the gully. Just another twenty feet. Ten—

There was blood on the cliff side. A patch of bright red, just ahead. My feet skidded to a halt as my brain processed the sight.

Not blood. Poppies. Growing on the cliff.

I whirled back toward Gabriel.

A dark shape rose from behind a bush.

I hit the ground. Even as I dropped, my brain said, What the hell are you doing? But I dropped anyway, and a bullet hit the cliff beside me, dirt exploding.

My gun. Where was—?

In my purse. With my cell phone. And my switchblade.

God-fucking-damn it! I armed myself and then stuck it all in my purse like I was still a goddamn socialite.

I dove behind a boulder as the second shot fired. As I did, I thought of Gabriel. Unconscious. Defenseless. With a killer between us.

I dashed to the next boulder. Then the next. Drawing the shooter away from Gabriel.

Yet as I ran, no shots rang out. Instead, a voice called, “Stop.”

It was a woman’s voice. Macy’s.

I darted to the next source of cover, a sofa, dumped over the cliff.

“Do you think I won’t shoot you?” She fired a bullet into the sofa as I dropped behind it. “You’re not going to make it to the road, Eden, and even if you did, do you have any idea how long it would take for someone to find you? I was behind that billboard for twenty minutes and yours was the first car I saw. I could have killed you, you know. We’re both lucky that fancy car has side air bags.”

“We’re both lucky?” I croaked a laugh. “I could have sworn you were trying to kill me.”

“No. I thought he’d be driving. The lawyer. It’s his car.”

She sounded put out, as if I’d deliberately thwarted her plans.

“I bet you’re wondering how I intercepted you so fast,” she continued.

Um, no. Last thing on my mind, really.

“I was at a motel off the next exit,” she said. “Trying to figure out how to talk to you. How to make you listen to me. Then Kendrick called.”

“And you decided the best way to talk to me was to run me off the road?”

“No, I realized we were past the point of talking. You’d figured everything out. It was time to cut a deal. Or kill you.”

“I’d prefer a deal.”

She laughed. “I’m sure you would.”

I shifted behind the couch. As I did, I swore I smelled cat pee, as I had hiding behind the sofa at Will Evans’s house, the odor triggering some hidden memory that started my gut twisting.

There weren’t enough cover spots for me to dodge my way to safety. My best bet was to stall and hope Gabriel woke up. Which, given that he hadn’t done so before now, seemed unlikely. Failing that, maybe if I talked long enough, I’d actually come up with a plan.

“You killed Ciara,” I said.

“No.” The denial came hot and fast. “I wanted to talk to her, but she kept screaming. The sedatives weren’t working, and she wouldn’t be quiet. I just wanted her to be quiet. I wasn’t trying to choke her. It was her own fault.”

“And then you embalmed her.”

“It was his idea. Tristan’s.”

“He’s the one who told you who you were.”

“Yes. Tristan told me about my birthright. About Ciara. He took me to see her, that rich bitch, turning her back on a good life to tweak in a scummy apartment. She belonged with my family—she’d fit right in.”

“And you belonged with hers. So Ciara dies, and Tristan has you embalm her and cut off her head—”

“No, he cut off her head. But only to protect me. To erase any evidence I left strangling her. Afterward, he realized he could use her head to get your attention.”

Tristan had done his work here, weaving Macy a story that she could accept. Sprinkled with pixie dust to make it go down easier.

A shadow passed. I looked up to see a raven circling, leisurely, as if getting the lay of the land.

Are you here to help? To observe? To gloat?

The raven winged off toward the wreck, as if to check that out, too.

Not hindering. Not helping, either. There was no help here. No sudden brainstorm that would solve my predicament. Only the obvious plan—play along and watch for my opportunity to get that gun from her.