9:10 P.M.
Miranda had called for backup on her way to Catherine and Ian Stark’s home; she half-expected to find it surrounded by police already. Instead, light glowed reassuringly from the curtained windows as if it was any other night at the president’s home; Summer’s blue Ford Focus sat in the drive, looking for all the world like nothing more than a friend had stopped by for a visit.
Miranda parked directly behind the Focus and climbed out of her vehicle. A squad car would be here any minute. That gave her precious little time to save Summer from more blood on her hands.
If Stark wasn’t dead already.
He wasn’t, Miranda told herself. That would be too easy. Just as Summer had wanted more from Buddy, she wanted something more from Stark, as well.
If history held, Summer had gone right to the front door. She was a local business owner; perhaps she had portrayed herself to Stark and his wife as a friend? One who had come with information about their son’s killer?
Stark would have invited her right in, practically rolling out the red carpet for her.
Would the door be unlocked? Probably not. Unless Summer had taken control of the situation right away, pulling her gun, herding them to the kitchen.
Miranda made her way up the front walk. It wasn’t so late that the streets were quiet—cars rolled regularly past, students on their way to and from, some in a group, others alone, weighted down by their loaded backpacks. No one would look twice at the woman casually approaching President Stark’s front door.
She reached it and peered through the sidelight at the empty entryway. She tried the door, found it locked, and swore softly. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she broke the glass with her elbow.
She reached inside, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. Summer’s voice, coming from deeper in the house. Stark was alive; she wasn’t too late.
Miranda eased the gun from her waistband, praying she didn’t have to use it. She followed her friend’s voice, moving as quietly as she could, not wanting to propel Summer to action.
Summer’s voice grew louder. Light spilling out of a doorway dead ahead. Miranda pressed herself against the wall and listened.
“The pen, you son of a bitch. Pick it back up. Now.”
Miranda reached the doorway, peered around the jamb. Stark, like Buddy, tied to a kitchen chair, the taped proclamation across his mouth, eyes wide and terrified. Unlike Buddy, Stark had only one arm tied behind his back.
Summer stood beside him, a gun aimed at his head. “Sign it.”
A confession, Miranda realized. That’s why there’d been a spiral notebook and pen on Buddy’s kitchen table as well.
She’d had both men write a confession.
Unfortunately, it appeared Ian Stark didn’t want to sign his.
“You’re the worst, you know that?” Summer all but spat. “Because you allowed it. You supported it. You created the monster.”
Stark looked up at her, silently pleading. Summer’s cheeks turned an angry red. “You think that’s going to make a difference? Did it make a difference when I pleaded with you? You didn’t care about me, about what your son did to me. Pick up the damn pen, sign your name, or I’m going to blow your brains out.”
He whimpered and shook his head, making a sound, deep in his throat.
Summer’s eyes narrowed, and Miranda firmed her grip on the weapon, recognizing that Summer meant what she said. Miranda didn’t want to shoot her friend, but she would if she had to.
Summer clucked her tongue. “What are you trying to tell me, President Stark? That your wife created the monster? And here I thought she was like me, just another victim. That’s why I chose tonight, Catherine’s regular Guild night with the girls, so she wouldn’t have to see this. I thought she’d suffered enough.” She nudged him with the gun. “Was I wrong? Should I wait for Catherine to arrive home? Include her in our little party? Just like your son, I came prepared. I have plenty of tape and bullets.”
He shook his head again, this time violently.
“Okay then, last chance, Dr. Frankenstein—” She pressed the barrel to his temple. “Sign it.”
Miranda held her breath, gripping the butt of her gun, hands as steady as a rock. Five seconds, she thought, and counted down—four … three … two—
Stark went for the pen, hand shaking so badly Miranda wondered if his signature would even be legible. He scrawled his name and as the pen slipped from his fingers, Miranda swung into the doorway. “Drop your weapon, Summer. Step away from President Stark.”
Summer glanced over, looking unperturbed. “You got free. Considering past experience, I guess I should have planned on that.”
“I need you to lower your weapon and step away from President Stark. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
Summer snorted. “You’d shoot me to save this piece of garbage? C’mon, Randi, the world would be a better place without him.”
Miranda didn’t blink. “That’s not for either of us to decide.”
“So who will? The courts? The police? People in power, ones like Stark here and Cadwell?” She shook her head. “Nope, no more. They don’t get away with this. Maybe if enough women get the guts to take the law into their own—”
“No,” Miranda said, cutting her off. “Violence to combat violence doesn’t work. Stand up for themselves, yes. Things can change. And they will.” Miranda lowered her voice, coaxing. “But not this way.” She took a step forward. “Please, Summer, it’s not too late.”
“You have no idea what I’m doing.”
“I think I do. You had them write confessions, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” She smiled slightly, pleased. “It made so much more sense than just killing them. Every detail of how they covered up the truth. It’s all there, Randi. All of it!”
“Good,” Miranda said soothingly. “It’s done, then. You’ve won. Give me the gun.”
A cell phone sounded from Summer’s pocket. “That one’s yours,” she said. “Probably Jake again. He’s been trying to reach you. He’s called three times. Maybe you better talk to him?”
Gun still trained on Stark, Summer took the device from her pocket and tossed it to Miranda. “But be careful, my friend. Don’t say the wrong thing.”
Miranda caught it, brought it to her ear. “Jake,” she said, sounding out of breath. “What’s up?”
“Miranda?” She heard the frown in his voice. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Why?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you. Where’ve you been?”
“Tied up. I’m with Summer now.”
A moment of dead silence. “Miranda, she’s the one. Get away from her as quickly as—”
“Yes, I know. You had a good day?”
Again, a moment of silence. “With Jones’s help I took a look at the print evidence again. The partial from the clipping was a match to one taken from the water bottle. Nobody cross-referenced the two.”
“Interesting.” She glanced at Summer from the corner of her eyes.
“Going on your theory it was the other girl from that night, I narrowed the ages—”
Summer was looking at her strangely, so she cut him off. “Your mom’s okay?” Conversational tone. Like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“I went to Baton Rouge instead, to the office of Alcohol and Tobacco Control. To acquire a permit for a liquor license, you have to be fingerprinted. And bingo, we got a—”
The sound of sirens from outside, growing closer. “Give me the phone, Miranda. Time to say good-bye”
Jake obviously heard the command, because he sounded panicked. “Call nine-one-one, now.”
“Done already. Gotta go. Summer’s anxious to finish our chat.”
“Miranda, don’t—”
“Hang up,” Summer interjected. “Now.”
“Good-bye, Jake.”
She ended the call, held out the phone for Summer.
“Keep it.”
Miranda frowned. “I don’t understand—”
“I didn’t think so.” She smiled slightly. “Jake’s one of the good guys, isn’t he?”
“This is over, Summer.” The sirens screaming, right out front. “Let me have the gun, Summer. It’ll be better if I have it.”
Summer didn’t move. “You know what you said earlier? About letting it go? To just let it go and forgive?”
“Please! Give me the—”
“You were right. I’m tired of hating. I’m tired of hurting.”
“I know. You helped me let go.” The sound of the front door crashing open; the thunder of footfalls. Miranda held out her free hand. “You saved me. Now, please, let me save you.”
“I think you already have. Thank you, Randi.”
As a half dozen officers stormed the room, Summer turned the gun on herself and fired.