Both Mariana’s and Reyva’s eyes were on Claire, and she read every bit of their panic. She tried to clear a spot in her head to think. She didn’t understand what he was saying: Make what trade? To who? Free of what?
A few words were lost under the hum of the motor, but Claire heard: “—not yours to judge—deserve to go back to their families.”
“What about me?” Jack said. “I deserve my family too!”
“Listen to me carefully: I don’t want you to save me.”
“I’m not losing you, Dad,” Jack said. He was crying. Claire felt his tears land on the back of her neck. They slid down her shoulder blades, beneath her shirt. “I’ve got them right here. All you have to do is come back to the Lake House. Come on, Dad. Please.”
“Stop,” his father said. “Just stop. I can’t—Listen to me, Jack, it’s too late for me. I killed Mackenzie. I involved you in all of this, even though it was the last thing I ever wanted to do. I couldn’t stop myself. Do you understand? I’m already lost.”
Mackenzie. That must have been the dead woman in the woods, the program director. He was admitting that. It wasn’t just suspicion anymore. Claire wanted to ask why he’d killed her, what was going on, but she didn’t dare speak with the blade trembling on her throat.
“You didn’t do it,” Jack sobbed. “It wasn’t you.”
“My eyes looked into hers, and my finger pulled that trigger. I wasn’t strong enough.” His voice faded in and out beneath the roar of the boat motor. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”
“Don’t talk like that. Youarestrong enough! This is you I’m talking to right now! We can fight together! I know we can.”
“I was weak. So very weak. I thought”—she lost more words to the roar of the motor—“please... forgive me for involving you. I should have fought harder to not—never wanted—only now—you.”
“Dad, please, we can end this. Be free. Just come back. Dad—”
“You can’t save me, but I can save you.”
“No!”
Crack.
The shot rang through the phone and simultaneously echoed from across the lake.
Jack dropped the phone and the knife, then fell to his knees. Claire sprinted to Reyva and Mariana. Reyva pulled her behind them, and Mariana wrapped her arms around Claire. All of them stared at Jack.
“Was that...?” Mariana whispered.
Claire’s brain felt as if it were spinning:He shot himself. That was a gun. He’s dead. We heard him die.She sucked in oxygen.There wasn’t enough air. Her rib cage felt tight, as if it were squeezing her lungs.
Jack lifted his head. “This is your fault.”
Words felt clogged in Claire’s throat. Shaking her head, she wanted to say... She didn’t know what she wanted to say. She could still feel the ghost of the knife on her skin.He shot himself, she thought again.
“If you had come sooner, it never would have taken him. It was supposed to be one of you.” He gripped the handle of his knife as he stood. “It still can be. This isn’t over. I can get him back.”
Claire had never seen so much desperation in someone’s eyes. His charming face was twisted. She felt like a rabbit, caught in the sights of a rabid bear.
“Run,” she croaked.
He was close behind them.
She heard his footsteps pounding over the branches and leaves.
Unlike the man with the gun—his father, she corrected herself—Jack wasn’t impeded by anything. He was hurling himself through the woods, shouting that he needed them, it wasn’t too late, they had to fix what they’d done.
Her side ached, and her legs burned. She tried to watch every step, but she felt as if she were careening across the slick leaves. She caught herself on a tree before she fell. Her brain screamed:He’ll catch us! He’ll kill us!
“Can you take him?” she puffed to Reyva.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Reyva said, “but no.”
