That's her husband, the man she must have been married to for almost fifty years, shot dead, and she's shoving his body aside. What the hell is going on here?
She looked up. She saw me and she gave no reaction. None at all.
When I'd first seen Gabriel without his sunglasses, I'd thought his eyes looked empty. They weren't. Frosted over, yes. Walled off, yes. But not empty. Mrs. Evans's eyes were empty. Blank pools of nothing.
I flashed back to that morning. I heard Rose and Patrick, talking about mind control. That's what I was seeing. As impossible as it seemed, that was the only answer.
I remembered Maria's face when she walked into the study. The way she dropped the tray and fired like a seasoned assassin. A middle-aged woman told to play assassin. Triggered by a phone call. From Edgar Chandler.
I started to run. I didn't need Gabriel's help anymore, but he kept his iron-grip on my arm.
Mrs. Evan's shoes thumped on the hardwood. It was a slow thump. Methodical. Just following orders.
Orders to kill me. That's what Chandler had been telling her on the phone. The "girl" had escaped and now Mrs. Evans was to make sure I didn't get far.
I looked down at the gun still in my hand. I could kill her first. Easily, I was sure.
The thought barely flitted through my head. If this was mind control, then Mrs. Evans wasn't a killer; she was merely the puppet of one.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she'd been in on it all, even her son's death. If I'd known that for certain, I could have killed her. Protected myself and Gabriel. But I didn't know. So I kept going.
We made it out of the living room easily. Mrs. Evans was an old woman and her orders obviously hadn't been "run after the girl." Chandler knew the limits of his weapon.
We reached the front hall. The hair prickled on my neck and as I turned, the edge of a shadow crossed on the sidelight.
I yanked Gabriel back as the front door flew open. The young gardener stood there, spade in hand.
I saw the gardener's eyes--those empty eyes--and I heaved Gabriel off balance just as the spade swung at his knees. He twisted. The spade hit his calf instead. It struck with such force that he gasped, leg buckling.
The gardener pulled back for a second swing. I lifted my gun. I heard the shot. Saw the gardener crumple, and for a second I was certain I'd pulled the trigger ... until a second bullet grazed my shoulder and I stumbled back. Gabriel swung around, gun raised, in time to see Chandler's bodyguard--Anderson--dive to the side, out of sight.
Gabriel started for the door. I caught the back of his jacket as pain ripped through my arm. Gabriel stopped. We couldn't see Anderson, but we knew he was there, and any second now, his gun could swing around the doorway and fire.
Gabriel hustled me along the hall. At the first door, I reached for the handle. Gabriel struck me in the back and I stumbled as a gun fired. I turned to see Mrs. Evans. Gabriel was falling, twisting, his injured leg buckling, blood blossoming. He hit the floor. I fired. I react
ed too fast, no time to aim, probably for the best, the bullet hitting Mrs. Evans in the hip, just enough to send her to the floor.
I started to drop beside Gabriel, but he was already rising, pushing me toward that door. I yanked it open, took a step into darkness, and almost tumbled down a flight of stairs. The basement. I started to back out, but Gabriel was at my shoulder, prodding me, whispering, "Go!" between clenched teeth.
I went. He followed.
Chapter Sixty-five
I felt my way down the stairs, shoulder blazing. By the time I made it to the bottom, my eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and I turned to see Gabriel still near the top, leaning on the rail, slowly descending, hand pressed to his thigh, grimacing with every move.
I started back for him, but he waved me off, emphatically gesturing for me to get into the next room. I stayed where I was but did look around, taking in our surroundings. A basement. Unfinished. Bare walls. Concrete floor.
Light filtered in through distant windows. I jogged to the nearest lit doorway and peered through. It was a laundry room with one window, near the ceiling. I checked the other two rooms--both storage, similar windows.
"Hide," Gabriel said as he hobbled over. "Before--"
I raced back to the stairs. He let out an oath and tried to grab me, but I'd already passed. I wiped blood drops off the steps. Then I hurried back to Gabriel and prodded him into the laundry room. I closed the door most of the way--all the way would seem a clear sign we were in there.
I tried to nudge Gabriel to sit on a pile of sheets, but he caught me instead to get a look at my shoulder. Blood had seeped through and it hurt like hell, but there wasn't a bullet hole, just a shredded line of blood-soaked fabric.
"It's a graze," I whispered. "I'm fine."
I tried to move away, but he caught me again, by the chin this time, lifting my face up to his and studying me. I knocked his hand aside.