Page 70 of Traces of Kara

He peered around the corner, immediately pushing himself back against the wall. Oh, God. This is it. There was no time for apprehension. The time for what ifs was gone. An enormous man stood just inside a doorway, his back toward Smitty, one hand holding a gun, the other, a large plastic bottle.

Shit. The smell of gas was strong. A gunshot could send them up in flames. Smitty wasn’t certain that it would, but he knew there was a chance. He knew he legally had to warn the guy before shooting, but he wasn’t sure he could speak past the fear that threatened to paralyze him. His nostrils flared. He had to act quickly. Mimi and Kara’s lives hung in the balance, and this guy pulled the strings. On the count of three, he told himself. He could do this. One…two…three!

Mimi held her breath, her eyes wide, her body stiff with fear. Kara’s limp body was still across her lap. She watched Roland, his large body looming in the dark doorframe.

Roland dropped the antifreeze. Something small in the palm of his hand—a lighter.

She clenched her teeth to stop their chattering. She was sure he’d lunge for her at any second. Mimi released her grip on Kara’s body, letting her own body go limp. She had one chance. She had to pretend she was dead. Kara’s breath mingled with her own. Her daughter’s eyes were peacefully closed. Mimi opened her fisted hands. Three words ran through her mind like a chant—play Sleeping Beauty.

Roland gripped the cold metal lighter in his swollen palm. He’d had enough of this bullshit. There they were. That bitch lay across Marissa like she owned her. How dare she. He was done with this shit. Roland pushed his thumb against the thumbwheel of the lighter, the tiny metal notches pressing into the meat of his seared thumb. Roland swallowed hard. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. One quick downward swipe, and it was all over. Relief breezed through him. Born together. Die together.

“Put your hands—”

Roland spun around, facing the tall, thin police officer. The smell of gas hung in the air like a dense fog. He held the lighter high above his head, and the hand clutching the gun swung upward. Roland pushed his thumb against the wheel, the metal rough beneath his thumb as two shots rang out.

Chapter Fifty-Two

An invisible fog of gas infiltrated Mimi’s senses. Her skin burned with fear. She listened as the shots rang out—and a body thudded to the floor outside the room. She could barely think past the rush of blood in her ears. She prayed it was Roland, but what if whoever had challenged Roland was down? Ted? Jackson? There would be no one there to rescue them.

Mimi jumped as Roland stumbled against the door, sending it crashing against the wall. She bit back a mounting scream and tried not to bolt from the room. Everything inside her told her to run, to flee the gruesome scene, but she would not leave Kara. She lay across her daughter, praying that the blood pouring from Roland’s gut would lead to a quick death. Blood spurted forward with the heavy rise and fall of what Mimi hoped would be his last breaths. Mimi watched him reach for the doorknob, and miss. His body fell in a heap to the ground. Please, let him die. Guilt and anger coalesced, leaving Mimi praying for his demise and hating herself for doing so. Roland reached for the doorknob and pulled himself upright, his cheek pressed flat against the wooden door. Mimi watched him flinch with each breath, and cry out in painful, guttural moans.

Mimi squinted. Her eyelids trembled. She had to remain still.

A rumble like an earthquake shook the ground beneath them.

Play Sleeping Beauty. Mimi shut her eyes, begging God to let her breathing slow.

The lights of the plant beamed to life. Mimi willed herself not to flinch.

A groan, a gasp.

Play Sleeping Beauty.

Scratching—grating—dragging across the concrete floor.

Heavy breathing.

Another groan. “Hmph.” A gasp of air. A whisper, “Born together.” A deep breath.

The twisting of a bottle cap.

“Die together.”

Roland’s weak whisper filled the room. Her muscles tensed. She clenched her mouth shut to restrain herself from making a sound.

A slosh of liquid.

A loud, desperate swallow.

A hindered inhalation of air, as if sucked in through a kinked hose.

A slurp, a suck, a lick.

Mimi listened, stifling the urge to gasp air into her lungs.

Another desperate swallow.

The thin sound of plastic hitting the concrete wall.