In one convulsive movement, Jude flung himself up, the muscles in his good shoulder and neck bulging as he strained against the ropes, which held tight. The bedposts began to creak under the stress. The sound seemed to rally Jude, who squeezed his chest more forcefully, attempting to draw his wrists together and snap the bed frame. Calvin heard the noise too, and scrambled to return the candle in his hand to the nightstand, trading it for the more immediately threatening gun at his hip.
He leveled the gun at Jude and commanded, "Lie still or I'll punch another hole in you."
Ignoring him, Jude tugged harder on the ropes, his face screwed up in exertion and raw hatred, sweat pouring freely down his face. The bedposts protested with a higher wail of bending wood, and Calvin fired a warning shot into the air.
Jude sagged against the mattress, his breathing coming in shallow, ragged pants. He gave a guttural moan of misery and his limbs flopped uselessly into the same sprawled star formation.
"You're a coward,” he told Calvin. "No wonder your dad tried so hard to make you succeed-he knew he had nothing to work with. He didn't have to worry about Korbie, she knows how to get what she wants, but you must have been a severe disappointment. You were never going to make it. Your dad knew it. Deep down, you've always known it too."
Calvin's back went up. "You don't know me.”
”There's not a lot to know."
Calvin shoved the gun in Jude's face. His whole body shook. "I can make you stop talking."
"You killed those girls. You killed them. Say it. Stop hiding and man up. This is what it feels like to be a man, Calvin. Admit what you did."
"Why do you care if I killed them?" Calvin spat wrathfully. "You don't care about people. You left my sister to die."
Jude's answer was hardly audible, it was spoken with such quiet lethality. "If I'd known Korbie was your sister, back when I had my chance, I would have kept her alive long enough to make sure you were present when I slit her throat."
A muscle in Calvin's jaw leaped in anger, his finger tightening on the gun's trigger. "I should kill you right now."
"Before I've told you where the map is? Wouldn't advise it. I figured out that you killed those girls before I hiked here. I needed insurance that even if I failed to kill you, the death penalty wouldn't. Wyoming uses lethal injection. I'm not a man of many regrets, but I'll be sorely disappointed I won't be there to watch you lose your bowels when they strap you to the table. I put that map where it will be found by authorities. That's the one thing you can count on."
"You're lying." Calvin dismissed the threat immediately, but there was a wavering in his voice that hinted at worry.
"You searched my clothes. You know I didn't bring the map with me. Why else wouldn't I have it, unless I knew I couldn't risk it falling back into your hands, because I knew what the map really marked the grave sites of your victims." Jude managed to keep his tone cool and level. But his body, racked by shivers, and the sheen of sweat on his pale, clenched features revealed he was in agonizing pain. A wide crimson circle spread across the sheet beneath his wound.
"I'll give you a choice,” Calvin said finally. "Tell me where the map is, and I'll kill you with a bullet to the head. Keep chasing me in circles, and I'll draw out your death as slowly and creatively as I can."
"I'm not talking. If you kill me, quickly or slowly, I have the assurance that you're up to five counts of first-degree murder, and there's no chance in hell you're escaping the death penalty with that kind of blood on your hands."
Calvin's eyes slid over Jude in curious assessment. "Who are you?" he asked again, with something almost like amazement.
Jude raised his head off the pillow, his eyes reflecting a brilliant, savage light. "I'm Lauren Huntsman's older brother. The last guy you should have crossed."
Calvin's composure faltered, but he recovered quickly. Flinging his head back, he managed a spirited laugh
"What's this? You assume that I killed your sister, and now you're here for-what? Retribution? This is a vendetta? Let me guess. Mason isn't your real name. You clever bastard,” he added, with a strange mix of admiration and disgust.
In the hallway, I leaned against the wall to hold myself up. I'd made a horrible mistake. Jude had been telling the truth. He'd quit school to avenge his sister's death. I remembered him mentioning how close he was to her, how she had meant everything to him. Of course he wanted justice for her. I wondered if his parents knew. I wondered if his friends knew. What lies and excuses had he told them when he left? I was beginning to sense the enormity of his mission. He had given up everything to hunt down his sister's killer, and now he was about to give up the last thing he had. His life.
Because Calvin would never let him leave here alive.
Calvin shrugged, businesslike. "I guess The Godfather was right. Blood is blood and nothing else is its equal."
Jude shut his eyes, but not before I saw him grimace with emotion.
"I won't stop until I have the map, you have to know that,” Calvin said, strolling around the bed, stopping on the far side. He lifted his eyes, staring directly toward the door I hid behind.
I froze. It was dark in the hall. I was sure he couldn't see me. He continued to stare my way, but I was positive it was a blank, unfocused stare; my silhouette couldn't be distinguished from the shadows behind me. He tucked one arm against his chest and rubbed his jawline more vigorously, a look I knew meant that he was weighing his next move.
When Calvin's eyes shifted back to Jude, I took my chance. I walked silently down the hall, and down to the kitchen. I checked the phone. No dial tone, like Korbie had said. Either the storm had brought down the lines or Calvin had cut them.
Calvin had left his cell phone on the counter, but I couldn't get a signal. I rifled through the kitchen drawers, looking for a gun. Nothing. In the living room, I sifted through the desk drawers, but Calvin had already removed the gun. Growing more desperate and panicked, I looked under the couch cushions. I nearly hurled the last cushion against the wall in frustration. Calvin's dad collected guns. There had to be several in the cabin. Rifles, handguns, shotguns-where were they?
I hurried over to the antique trunk pushed against the far wall, thinking it was my last hope. Lifting the lid, I looked in, my heart fumbling.
At the bottom of the old, grooved trunk lay a small pistol. With shaking fingers, I pushed it into a pocket of my pj's.
I rose to my feet, feeling the weight of the gun drag at me.
Could I shoot Calvin? If it came down to it, could I kill the sweet, vulnerable boy who was always at the mercy of his father-the boy I'd fallen in love with? Our story began years ago, and his life was so deeply woven into mine, it was impossible to find two separate threads. who was this warped, damaged version of Calvin? I felt him slipping away, growing cold to me, and the loss slashed me to the core.