Chapter 21

By the time Mac arrived at Taft's place, it was closing on eleven. She could see moving light beneath the window curtain—the television—as she knocked lightly. Almost immediately Taft pulled open the door, standing in the aperture half a heartbeat before the pugs scrambled up from wherever they'd been lolling and charged toward Mackenzie, curly tails whipping, their welcoming snorts bringing a smile to her face, lifting her spirits. She bent down to them, closed her eyes, and let them eagerly lick her face. She knew she wasn't responsible for her classmates' deaths, but it felt like she kind of was.

Standing again, she stepped inside and Taft closed the door behind her. He was in light denim jeans and a thin camel sweater that hugged his upper arms. He'd pushed the sleeves up and she could see his taut forearms. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his chest.

"Hey, sit down," he said, pointing to the couch. There was real concern on his face.

"Do I look that bad?" Mac asked, but damn near collapsed onto the cushions. The pugs immediately swarmed her and she closed her eyes again, leaning her head back.

"You look like you're spent."

"That's a good way to put it."

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes. Sometime in my life. I can't remember when. Oh, right. Cheese and cracker at Kristl's."

"Cracker? Singular?" She opened her eyes and he was staring down at her. "Burger, pizza, DoorDash . . . I'm good with ordering, if you're interested. I always have crackers. Plural."

"Crackers would be good."

"Wine? Beer? Scotch?"

"Water is fine."

As he headed for the kitchen her mind circled back to Mia's death. Drugs suspected enough for NARCAN to be employed. The Sorority . . . words tumbling out of their mouths . . . fear and lies and deceptions, mostly for show . . . the blue Accord that was nowhere to be seen amongst the cars they'd driven to Kristl's . . . Kristl herself and her part in Tim Knowles's death . . . bossy Natalie . . . self-absorbed Leigh . . . Roxie Vernon . . . I Eta Pi . . . and Erin, who admitted sleeping with Ethan and was the only one who seemed to truly rue his death.

Taft came back with a plate of water crackers, sliced cheddar, and plump green grapes and placed it on a side table along with a glass of ice water. Then he shooed off the pugs, who'd come to attention at the sight of food.

"The grapes are a nice touch," she said thankfully, holding a small sprig and popping several into her mouth.

"Occasionally I pick something up at the store," he admitted as if it were a deeply held secret. He mock frowned at the pugs, who looked for all the world like they were going to launch themselves back onto the couch. "Be good or it's a trip to behind the bedroom door."

He then went back to the kitchen with Blackie and Plaid eagerly trotting behind him as he poured some more kibbles into their bowls.

When he returned he sat on the couch on the side next to her. She tried to pick up the half-finished plate and hand it to him but he waved it away and she set it back down. "That's for you. When you're ready, keep going about tonight."

She nibbled some more but finally shook her head and Taft took the plate to the kitchen. He came back and then fought the pugs for his spot on the couch and Mac just started in, beginning with the meeting with The Sorority and ending with the call from Mason, learning about Mia's death, seeing the shattered parents, and her conversation with Detective Verbena.

Taft listened throughout, his frown deepening. "Haynes is on administrative leave?" he asked at the end.

"Because of me. Because Art Stanhope has connections and is mad that I got the tox report."

Taft swore softly. "And Mia died of an overdose."

She nodded.

"From this boyfriend who followed her from California?" He sounded doubtful.

"Mason thinks so, but . . ." Mac thought through the evening. "I don't have the time of her death, exactly, but it could have been someone she knew here. They were all waiting for her at Kristl's. Someone told her about the meeting."

"You gave Leigh her number."

Mac was half turned toward him with Plaid sprawled on her lap and Blackie on his. "But she called them all apparently." She gently pushed Plaid off her legs. "I gotta see what I look like," she said, easing away from the dog and heading into Taft's bathroom.

The sight of her wan pallor and bluish-green bruising made her suck in her breath. The makeup she'd applied before her meeting with The Sorority was all but gone and her lips were bloodless. She pinched her cheeks to throw some color in. No wonder Taft had told her to sit down.

"I look like hell," she said as she came out of the bathroom.

Taft had moved to the kitchen and was pulling down the prized bottle of scotch.

She remembered he'd shared some with Anna DeMarcos and a cold feeling settled in her stomach.

"You look fine to me," he said. "I've had a few long weeks like the one you're having." He pointed to his chest in the approximate area where a bullet had nearly sent him to his maker.

He poured two fingers of scotch into both glasses and handed her one, lifting his to his mouth.

"Don't drink it!" she ordered.

Taft stopped with the rim of the glass at his lips. He slowly set the glass back down, taking hers from her nerveless fingers.

"Anna DeMarcos left you a note to cover up her real reason for being here."

"Damn," Taft said softly.

"Maybe I'm wrong, I don't know. But something's off about that—"

"I don't think you're wrong," he cut in.

They looked at each other. Mac asked herself: Would Anna spike his bottle of Macallan? Oh, yes. No question.

Taft said tautly, "I've been . . . dismissing them. And I've been warned enough times that I should listen. I got a call from Veronica Quick, who told me not to go over to Mangella's tonight."

"The psychic?"

"She also admitted to seeing Helene, in a way."

"You're kidding."

"Bullshit."

"I know."

"So, you're a believer?" That was so un-Taft-like she wanted to laugh.

"She believes it. Enough to call me, even though she knew I'd scoff."

"Were you thinking about going to Mangella's?"

"Not consciously, but yes. I don't believe he fell off that roof. I'd like to prowl around that house sometime. See if I can find something."

"That is a bad idea."

He smiled faintly. "Wouldn't be my first." He carefully pushed both glasses of scotch to the far back of the counter, placing the fancy bottle beside them. "She came back to poison the one thing I wanted, the one thing Mangella knew I cared about."

Blackie yipped at him as if in agreement. He and Plaid had settled into their beds but were watching Mac and Taft with bright, brown eyes.

"She came back to kill you," Mac murmured.

They both moved toward the living room at the same time and she stumbled and he shot out an arm to steady her and said. "And maybe you."

"I'm not on her radar like you are."

"Yes, but you're my partner and I . . ." She saw his eyes widen.

"What?"

"Oh . . ." he growled softly.

"What?" she repeated impatiently, but then she picked up his thoughts almost by telepathy. "You think she's the one who ran me off the road!"

"You matter to me."

"We don't know—"

"That fucking car is in the Mangella garage."

He moved purposely away from her and she grabbed his arm. "Don't go there tonight. Veronica warned you."

"Now you're the believer?" His eyes were bright with repressed rage.

She grabbed his other arm as well, holding tight. "Don't do anything to get yourself killed. You'll play right into her hands."

"I'm not going to get myself killed."

"I don't have to be psychic to know that you might."

She rarely touched Taft. They weren't physically demonstrative in day-to-day life, only in extreme circumstances. And this was one of those extreme circumstances. She could feel it in her bones.

"Mackenzie . . ." He tried to pull away from her grip.

"Jesse," she responded.

The intimacy of their first names stopped him. He regarded her stonily, his thoughts clearly full of Anna DeMarcos's treachery, not on the tense moment between them. "She's systematically attacking what matters to me. She did this. She hurt you on purpose."

"Maybe . . . yes . . . but—"

He yanked an arm free of her grip, but didn't move away. His gaze was on her face, focused on her bruises. "That's because of me."

"It's because of her ." His eyes moved to the knot on her forehead. "I know," Mac said quickly. "I know you want to kill her. I can feel it. But I'm okay and now we know."

"Now we know."

The muscles in his arm bunched as he turned away, and Mac instinctively moved into him, pressed herself against him to keep him from leaving. At least that's what she told herself. Her breasts crushed into his chest.

"I'm not going to—"

"Yes, you are. You're going straight into danger. I don't want you to. I want you to stay here with me."

"Mackenzie—"

"Don't leave me. Don't." She was gripped onto him, nearly embracing him.

He carefully turned his head and looked into her upturned face. His eyes slowly focused on her mouth. He was tense as a coiled spring. So was she.

Mackenzie's lips parted in anticipation and his gaze suddenly slammed directly into hers.

"Don't think too much," she breathed.

"You're trying to seduce me into staying?"

"Is it working?"

His brows lifted in surprise at her candor. His eyes moved back to the bruising, then to her mouth, then up to meet her steady gaze.

"Yes," he whispered.

He pulled back and regarded her steadily. She slowly unclenched her fingers from her grip on his arm. Mackenzie's heart was beating so hard she could feel it pulsing at the base of her throat.

He said unevenly, "You're my . . . partner . . . and that matters to me more than anything."

"Same." She couldn't find the breath for more.

"This could ruin . . ."

Everything. He didn't have to say the word. He was right. It could ruin everything. She'd been fighting this war within herself for ages, hanging onto their friendship, their partnership, by her fingernails. But she wanted this.

It must have shown on her face because he expelled a pent-up breath and his swollen left hand moved to her neck, sliding around to the nape, easing her toward him until his mouth was less than an inch from hers. She wanted to reach up and capture his lips. Her heart was thundering in her ears. It was madness, but she didn't damn well care.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" she whispered.

He groaned and pressed his lips to hers, hot and hard and lovely.

She felt herself melt. Her knees wobbled. Oh, God, it was good. She'd known it would be. She'd thought about this for so long.

She kissed him back carefully. She wanted to ravage his mouth but held onto the moment, stretching it out. Her lips parted of their own free will and his grip tightened around her as his tongue slipped in to taste her.

They were standing in the kitchen aperture but he suddenly moved her back against the wall. Thank God. She needed the support! Her own arms were around his waist and she wanted to pull him as close as possible, press his hips to hers, hold him in place. Her blood sang in her veins, pounded through her body. One kiss . . . one long, wonderfully exquisite . . .

He pulled back long enough to say, "If you—"

"Don't stop," she cut him off.

He swore softly and kissed her even harder. His hand slid to the small of her back, increasing the contact between them. She rejoiced in the feel of his hardness. Man, she didn't want to wait. She sensed this could be it. Her one and only chance. Maybe. Maybe not. She didn't care, she just wanted.

And Taft was into it now. His one hand slipped beneath her sweater and slid up to her breast. The other held her hips in place as he pushed her against the wall. The sweet pressure was killing her.

Blackie suddenly howled, a keening wail that broke their kiss as if he'd sliced between them. Her chest was heaving and Taft was catching his breath the moment before Plaid squeezed between them, too, on her hind feet, paws scratching at Mackenzie's jeans.

Taft let out another groan and pulled back to stare down at the dogs. Blackie was attacking his jeans in the same way Plaid was attacking hers.

Taft looked at her and Mackenzie looked back. "Damn dogs," he said.

"Damn dogs," she agreed and then they both started grinning. She saw the dimples hovering inside his three-day growth of beard and wanted to drag his mouth back to hers, his body pressed against her. She restrained herself with an effort as he took a step back, but she didn't have the strength to push herself away from the wall.

"Don't look at me like that," he warned, but the smile still played on his lips and she sucked in a breath when he leaned forward and lightly cupped her chin, tilting her head upward until her eyes met his. "I'm going to tell you something. Don't let it piss you off."

Oh, great. What did that mean?

"I would love nothing better than to spend the rest of the night, all night, right here, with you." The intensity of his gaze said he was telling the truth.

"But . . ." She also heard the unspoken caveat and was flooded with disappointment.

"I'm going to take that bitch down tonight. Stay here. Sleep. Rest. Get your strength back. I'll be back as soon as I have proof and we can . . . pick up where we left off . . ."

"I'm coming with you."

"No. You're beat and I—"

"I'm coming with you!" she insisted.

"—don't want you to—"

"I'M COMING WITH YOU, TAFT. Get that through your thick skull!"

"—be caught up in it, in case Ronnie's right."

"Ronnie?"

"Veronica Quick. She told me to call her Veronica or Ronnie, and I—"

"You chose Ronnie?"

"—want you to be safe. Jesus, Laughlin, let me finish!" He was torn between frustration and laughter.

"All I'm hearing is NO. But if you're going, I'm going. That's all. We're partners. You just said so. So treat me like one."

He drew a breath said slowly, "What we just did wasn't treating you like a partner."

"Partners with benefits, then."

Something flickered in his eyes, but he just shook his head and turned to the pugs. "Be good," he advised them and they grinned and wagged their tails. To Mac, he said, "I don't want you to go because I'm going to break into the Mangella garage."

She felt a little thrill. "B and E. You could lose your license. I'm still going."

He shook his head and went into his bedroom. He returned a few moments later, tucking his Glock into the back of his jeans and grabbing up the black jacket that lay across the back of a dining chair. She owned a Glock as well, leftover behavior from her time on the force, one that she used to stash under the seat of her car but had resorted to keeping in a drawer in her bedroom as she rarely used it. He surveyed her own black jacket and sweater, which was hiked up a bit in the front. His eyes darkened for a moment then he turned away as he said, "You're lookout."

"I think—"

"You're lookout," he said again, stronger, shooting her a glance that said there was no further argument if she wanted to go.

She snorted but nodded. Fine. This was his show. Her job, from her point of view, was making sure they both got out unscathed. A shiver of cold fear ran down her spine.

"You're not listening to Ronnie," she said.

"I listened. I'm just not following her advice."

"Semantics."

He opened the door and stepped back. Mackenzie moved forward but his arm blocked her at the threshold. She turned and shot him a warning look, until he said, "For luck," and kissed her hard and fast before she could step into the cold, black night.

Damn, it was good.

* * *

Cooper lay in bed next to his wife and listened to her even breathing. It had taken Jamie a long time to fall asleep but now she was dead to the world and it gave him time to think. Humph had buckled to the pressure exerted by Art Stanhope and the mayor and all Stanhope's other wealthy cronies who silently ran the government behind the elected officials. He'd thought things would get better, that the department would stand tough after Chief Bennihof's departure. Humph had seemed like the guy to do it. But his "fight for right" had eroded with all the subversive politics and now Cooper was at a crossroads. Should I stay or should I go? It was a crazy question to be asking himself in light of the fact he was soon going to become a father for the first time—twice.

But he'd been burned. Same old political shit.

He wasn't sorry he'd given Taft the results of the tox screens on Ethan and Ingrid Stanhope. Hiding the information had only muddied the truth. It was just disheartening that the department was back to square one per accountability.

He hadn't told Jamie about his leave-taking thus far. He knew she would be supportive, but he didn't want to worry her unduly. And she'd already dealt with a surprise visit from Mary Jo, whose girth had grown wide as her pregnancy progressed.

Mary Jo had wanted to see Jamie for herself; it was the first time she'd witnessed the evidence of Jamie's own pregnancy. Cooper hadn't been able to tell what the surrogate thought of the situation. She'd actually seemed a bit boggled, but had gotten over it and then acted like she was delighted that "her" child and Jamie's would be almost like twins.

Something a bit odd about Mary Jo, though. Jamie had always felt it, but he had dismissed her fears as this wasn't Mary Jo's first rodeo. She'd been a surrogate before and all had been well. Now, he wondered if he'd been too eager to get started. Mary Jo had been vetted, but . . .

Don't borrow trouble.

He snuggled in closer and Jamie murmured in her sleep.

Bzzz . . . bzzz . . . bzzz . . .

His phone was on the dresser, quietly humming. Gently he eased himself away and walked barefoot to where the cell was charging.

Verbena.

He glanced at the clock. Midnight. Sweeping up the phone, he headed into the upper hallway, quietly snicking the door closed. "Haynes," he answered in a sober voice. She wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important.

"Sorry," she said. "A classmate of Mackenzie Laughlin's, Mia Beckwith, is dead, probably overdosed. And Erin Humbolt, another classmate, was brought in unconscious to Glen Gen. Also an overdose."

He sucked in a breath and moved as quietly as possible down the steps to the first floor.

"I knew you'd want to know."

"These aren't accidental overdoses."

"Doesn't look like it," said Verbena. "I think someone's trying to kill them."

His blood ran cold. "Does Mac know? She could be in danger."

"I've tried to reach her. Phone's off. Left a voice mail."

"Erin Humbolt's still alive?"

"So far. Still unconscious. If she makes it to morning, she's got a good chance, but it's iffy. Front door wasn't properly locked and a cat was roaming around. Neighbor knew it was Erin's and found Erin on the floor as the paramedics arrived. Humbolt had called nine-one-one, but couldn't make herself clear." A pause. "I didn't call you earlier about Mia Beckwith as her family's convinced a boyfriend involved in the marijuana trade treated her like a prisoner and that she slipped the leash whereupon he found her and killed her."

"But you don't think so."

"It looks like something's going on right here in River Glen."

Cooper thought about Gavin Knowles, his death only a few days ago. And Ethan and Ingrid Stanhope, whose own deaths' cause was hushed up by their father.

And then he thought about Mackenzie, what she'd said about a particular clique calling themselves The Sorority. "There are other classmates who could be in danger. Mac knows them. I don't. Except Kristl Cuddahy. She's a regular at Lacey's and was involved with Tim Knowles."

"On it," said Verbena grimly.

"I'll keep trying Mackenzie."

He hung up and phoned Mackenzie. Got the voice mail. Clicked off and called Taft, got his voice mail as well.

Maybe they were together. He needed to know who the other classmates were, fast.

* * *

The Mangellas' quadruple car garage looked vaguely threatening under a row of black barn lights washing the exposed aggregate that served as the wide curving driveway. Or maybe that was just her imagination as they moved silently and quickly, past the obscuring laurel hedge and across the side yard. They'd parked up the street, far enough to be outside of any camera range, though Taft said Mangella was less concerned with security than he ought to have been, something Taft had warned him about more than once back when they were "friends," so working cameras were unlikely anyway.

Taft stopped with Mackenzie behind a tree in the backyard and pressed the Glock into her hands. He'd loaded it in the Rubicon before they'd taken off. Now he handed it to her and Mackenzie felt the cold metal and her heart started a slow, worried cadence.

"Be careful," she mouthed.

He nodded and skulked quickly to the door on the garage's northernmost side. Mac moved around the tree to get a better view. He was bent down in the dark, working the lock, a penlight held in his teeth. She gripped the gun loosely by her side. He was just going to find the Accord, that was all. See if it was there. They would figure out the rest later. Have the scotch tested. Explain about both Prudence and Anna's threats. Find a way to get them arrested.

She shivered, not because it was cold, though the temperature was definitely dipping. She didn't want to think about it, but there was "Ronnie's" warning to consider. Mac didn't believe she was psychic. She didn't believe there even were true psychics. Those who proclaimed they had "powers" were all charlatans and grifters or misguided fools who believed they were tuned into the universe, in her opinion.

She realized she was trembling from head to toe and had to move her shoulders up and down to release tension. There was a soft wind blowing but not enough for her to miss the light snick of the lock opening.

Penlight off . . . and Taft was in.

Hurry, hurry. See if the car's there. Get out.

Nothing happened for a moment and then a strip of light shot out from the door Taft had left cracked open. Someone had flipped on the lights.

And then a voice . . . "I wondered when you'd figure it out."

Anna DeMarcos.

All the hairs on Mac's arms lifted and she was already moving stealthily forward as Taft drawled, "You should have gotten rid of the Accord . . ."

"You're the only one who knows it's here and you're not going to tell."

Bitch. Fucking bitch.

The Glock was ready to fire. Mac held it in front of her with both hands and gently, quietly, carefully moved up to the partially opened door.

"All you had to do was sign off on the will and none of this would have happened," Anna said on a dramatic sigh.

"You rammed Mackenzie's car with a PIT maneuver."

"Well, I don't remember what that is, though Carlos taught me a lot of things, so it's probably true."

Carlos. Her deceased husband. A cop. The one she'd helped murder.

"You also poisoned the scotch and left your calling card," he went on conversationally.

Keep it up, Taft. Buy time. Mac's pulse beat deep and hard.

"What are you talking about? I just left you a love note." Her voice was cool and amused. "Try proving that one."

Mac took a breath, held it, dared a quick glimpse inside before darting back. Taft was being held at gunpoint, his arms up, his back against the opposite wall, forcing Anna to face him, which kept her back toward Mackenzie.

Mac looked again. Anna was holding the gun like a pro.

Mac started to ease the door open when the door from the house suddenly flew open, freezing Mackenzie where she stood.

Prudence Mangella stood in the door's aperture, but her gaze was on Anna. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

Prudence was in Mac's line of sight. Mac carefully aimed her gun at her, pulse rocketing. If she looked this way . . .

"Saving your fortune," Anna snarled, not in the least intimidated by her friend.

"Well, don't kill him here!"

"You killed Mitch," Taft said to her, but his eyes were on Anna and the gun she held so steadily.

"I only asked him to go up on the roof," Prudence denied. "I didn't know what was going to happen. I heard something. That's all. And he went up and slipped and just slid right off. It was terrible." Her words sounded rehearsed.

"You pushed him," accused Taft.

"I did not!" Prudence turned hard eyes on Anna.

"Or you let Anna do it . . ."

How could he sound so calm? As if being held at gunpoint was something he took in stride. Mac was about out of her mind, counting the seconds. What was her next move? He wouldn't be able to keep them talking forever. Something was going to snap.

Anna said, bored, "Too bad your scruffy little friend survived. I thought she might go over the edge of that ravine. That's where her poor driving got her sent to the hospital last time, right? I pay attention to these things."

Taft's face hardened. "You made a mistake going after Mackenzie."

"Touched a nerve, did I?"

"Anna, stop," Prudence warned and at that moment she glanced toward the door and her eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

Anna jerked her head toward Prudence and Mackenzie threw open the door. In that moment, Taft made a flying tackle at Anna, who yelled and squeezed the trigger.

BLAM!

Taft connected with her the same moment her gun flew from her hand, landing on the step below Prudence's feet. Prudence stared at it and scooped it up.

"STOP!" Mac yelled, aiming at Prudence.

Anna was shrieking and hitting at Taft, who'd pinned her to the cement floor.

Prudence leveled the gun at Anna and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

The sound deafened in the hollow environs of the garage. Taft jerked his head toward Prudence, who was shaking, her eyes wide as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done. She lifted the gun toward Taft. "Are you going to give me back my money?" she demanded.

Mac's eyes followed the barrel of Prudence's gun as she pointed it at Taft. Mac didn't hesitate. She pulled the trigger.

BLAM! BLAM!

Sheetrock exploded as the bullets ripped into it next to Prudence's head. She screamed and squeezed the trigger. BLAM! But Taft had already dived away from Anna. He rolled forward and yanked Prudence by her ankles, hard.

BLAM!

Another bullet sang through the garage, hitting one of the vehicles, but Prudence lost her balance, arms pinwheeling as she toppled off the step, pitched forward, her head smacking into the concrete with a loud crack. She lay still but her gun skidded beneath the nearest vehicle to Mackenzie. The one whose protective tarp had been yanked back revealing the blue, smashed right fender of a Honda Accord.

Mac had no time to process that as she flew forward to where Taft was just getting himself into a sitting position. She saw the blood, then, splattered on the right side of his face. Anna's blood? But no, his jacket had pulled back and she could see the spreading carmine stain across his upper chest.

"You're hit." She tried to keep her voice calm, sought to rely on her training, but this was Taft.

"My shoulder. It's okay." He looked at the prone bodies.

Neither Anna nor Prudence was moving, though they were both still breathing. Prudence had shot Anna in the head and blood was pooling rapidly beneath her dark hair.

"Call nine-one-one," said Taft.

Mackenzie's fingers were trembling as she pulled her cell from her pocket. They'd left Taft's in the Rubicon. She saw she had several messages but ignored them to punch in the emergency numbers.

"Thank you," he said, indicating where her bullets had ripped into the Sheetrock and scared Prudence into missing a straight shot at him.

"If I were a better shot, I woulda killed her."

"You're a good shot. You missed on purpose."

"If she hadn't shot Anna first . . ." I would've blasted her to kingdom come.

"Nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?"

Mac gave her name then quickly listed the particulars about Taft's, Prudence's, and Anna's gunshot wounds and the Mangella address. She left her phone on, but set it aside.

"Let me see that wound," she ordered as Taft had reached inside his coat and come back with a bloody hand.

"Bullet went through under my arm."

She saw how tight-lipped he was, the loss of color in his face. "Shit, Taft. Let me see!" She wanted to cut the jacket off him. "Lean forward."

He obeyed and she gently pulled on the jacket's arm, aching as she saw how he gritted his teeth as his arm slid from the jacket. She paled at the sight of so much blood.

"I've had worse," he said to whatever he could see on her face.

"I know."

He reached up and touched her chin with his good hand, smiling faintly. "I'll live." He then glanced down at the two prone women. Prudence was starting to stir, but Anna was immobile.

"Keep the gun handy," he said grimly.