I grabbed a couple of waters from the fridge, ordered a couple of muffins, and paid. I glanced up at a TV screen on thewall. The news reporter talked about the death of Jefferson. The whole diner stilled again as all eyes peeled to the screen. The waitress turned the volume up, everyone listened to the story of the bear attack, how the bear was shot, but even with his death the development would still push ahead.
It wasn’t that story that sent needles through my mind, it was the next one. A picture of a dark-haired man flashed up, as the news reporter said, “Dr Phillip Raynor was found dead last night in the hospital carpark from a suspected heart attack.”
I looked with creeping anxiety at Ethan.
He read my thoughts, shrugged indifferently. “Heart attack, Amy, can’t cause those.”
I glanced back at Cole. He’d seen the news and his eyes fixed on us like lasers. He kept his face blank but he couldn’t hide the sweat beading on his forehead.
“That’s unfortunate,” Ethan said as we passed, “it appears you’re right, Amy. What goes around, does come around.”
Cole’s face turned an angry beetroot red. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had his own heart attack right there.
If I had to guess, Cole’s days were limited, but with everything I knew about him, I struggled to feel bad. If he knew what was good for him, he’d forget the development and run as far away as he could.
Run.
Run.
Chapter 51
Purged
We stepped outside. I moved my hand to my forehead to block the sun’s glare.
“If you weren’t already a target you sure as hell will be now,” Ethan said, stalking forward. He yanked open the passenger door. I threw the water, the muffins and Cole’s card on the seat.
“He did it, didn’t he—Katrina, Robert?” I breathed.
Ethan nodded. A muscle in his jaw twitching. His eyes as black as sin.
I kicked at a loose rock, sending it scampering across the ground. I looked back through the diner window. Cole was talking to the businessman, smiling like the fucking world was his oyster. Inside the anger roared like a wave, slamming against my head.
“You still want him jailed?” Ethan asked, following my line of sight.
What he was asking was, do I give him permission to him kill him? I couldn’t think around the anguish in my head. I neededto run to clear it. I wouldn’t admit it, not even to myself, but in that moment, I wanted him dead.
I turned and strode toward the woods. Ethan clicked the door shut and followed behind.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to walk.”
There was a well-worn track that ran behind the parking lot, just inside the tree line. It was littered with rubbish, cigarette packets, empty chip packets and a used condom. I crinkled my nose and skirted around it.
Dead or alive, dead or alive? The question gnawed at my gut like rats in a wall cavity.
Ethan walked behind, soundless as a ghost.
Shattered skulls.
Crushed ribs.
Fractured jaw, cheekbone and nose.
Ligature marks.
What Cole had put them through . . . My stomach churned. If I said dead, he could whip back and kill him. He was the executioner, but I would be the judge who ordered it. It just made me so ropeable he was sitting there drinking lattes and smiling.
