Blood Vines

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Wednesday, March 17

10:55 P.M.

“No! Rachel, come back here! Help! Help! Somebody!” Alex grabbed the gate and shook it. “Dammit, Rachel!”

Her voice caught on the night air, was lifted and dispersed. She kept calling out anyway, until she was hoarse. Throat raw and voice gone, she shone her flashlight toward the main house, flipping it on and off.

A figured emerged from the path, hurrying toward her.

Treven, she saw. She cried out in relief. “Thank God-”

“Alexandra, what are you-”

“She’s gone to kill Clark! We have to stop her!”

“Kill Clark?” He fumbled with the locks. “Who?”

“Rachel. She has a gun.”

He got the padlock open, then the gate. “That’s crazy. Why would Rachel-”

“He raped her. The night Dylan disappeared.”

He looked at her as if she had sprouted horns. “That’s insane. I don’t know what you think you’re doing but-”

“Trying to save your son’s life! Where is he?”

“I’m calling the police.”

“Good. Yes, call them.” She grabbed his arm. “But by the time they get here, it may be too late. Do you know where Clark is?”

He gazed steadily at her, as if sizing her up, weighing his options.

She tightened her grip on his arm. “I remember everything, Treven. About that night. What was going on. I was there! I’d repressed it all… Rachel helped me remember. That’s how she learned that Clark was-”

He shook off her hand. “I stood up for you. When Reed and others called you crazy. But now, you’re calling my son-”

“Where is he! Home? Out somewhere? All Rachel would have to do is call him, ask to meet, say it was an emergency.”

She was getting through to him, Alex saw. She lowered her voice. “What do you have to lose by believing me?”

“He’s here,” Treven said. “In his office.”

Alex started to run. Treven with her. Light shone from the winery offices. In the parking area beyond, Treven’s BMW and Rachel’s Infiniti were parked, side by side.

They reached the building’s entrance, found it unlocked. “This way,” Treven said. They started forward; a shot rang out.

“No!” Alex cried and ran.

She reached the office and stopped dead. She was too late. Clark lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, a pool of blood slowly spreading around him.

“Clark!” Treven cried, rushing to his son’s side. He bent and checked his pulse, then looked up at Rachel’s stricken face. “He’s dead. You killed him.”

“I had to do it, Uncle Treven. Don’t you see?”

“Give me the gun, Rachel.” He stood and crossed carefully toward her, hand out.

“He raped me, Uncle Treven. And tonight, he laughed about it. He said-”

“Give me the gun.”

“He called me stupid. And weak.”

Treven took the weapon from her and Rachel slumped against him, crying. He looked at Alex. “Close the door, would you?”

Confused, she did as he asked. He motioned her over. “Check Clark’s pulse again. I thought I saw him move.”

Alex hurried to do it. Squatted beside him, she pressed her finger to his wrist, then throat. Nothing. She looked back up at Treven. And found him holding Rachel, one arm across her throat, the gun to her head.

“Treven?” Alex started to stand. “What are you-”

“Shut up. Stay exactly where you are.”

She froze. Heart thundering, she struggled to breathe evenly, think clearly. She wanted to look at Rachel but was afraid of what he might do if she did.

“Do you have any idea how sick I am of you?” He readjusted his grip on Rachel. Alex used the moment to peek at the other woman. She looked terrified. “I never should have gotten involved with your mother. Of course, I didn’t know what a complete whack job she was.”

Treven was her father. The family resemblance. The baby brush.

He smiled at her expression. “Shocking, isn’t it? Our plan was perfect. She would marry my brother, then break his heart. All the while remaining my mistress.”

“Why?” she asked. “What did you hope to gain-”

“It would hurt him,” he said simply, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

He hated his brother that much, Alex realized, shuddering. Her mother had been right to run.

“Problem was,” he went on, “she fell in love with the twerp, then gave him a son.”

“But it all turned out much better, didn’t it?” Rachel managed, voice tight with fury. “You were able to completely destroy him by killing his son.”

“You,” he said with a sound of regret, “I’m going to miss. You are an excellent winemaker. Clark, on the other hand, brought nothing special to the party.”

“You’re completely evil.”

He laughed. “Perhaps. Let’s get on with this thing.”

“Wait!” Rachel said, struggling to find her voice. “That night, Dylan, how-”

“I bashed his head in,” he said so matter-of-factly Alex’s blood ran cold. “It was so perfect. I was able to swoop in and save the day. Take over the business for poor, devastated Harlan. The way it should have been all along.” His voice hardened. “It should have been mine. I’m the oldest son! Me!”

Rachel struggled and he tightened his grip. “That’s what I want you to do. Fight me. Make it look good. After all, you killed Clark. Then Alex. I tried to stop you-”

“No one will believe you!”

“You’re crazy, Rachel. The rape left you unbalanced. You hid it all these years. Until poor little Dylan was dug up-”

The fire alarm’s piercing shriek rent the air. It mingled with the sound of a shot going off. Alex launched to her feet; a searing pain speared through her.

The office door burst open. Harlan charged through, swinging a wine bottle.

A wine bottle? Alex thought, light-headed. She brought a hand to her side; it came back wet. And red. She fell to her knees. As if from a great distance, she heard the wail of sirens.

“Alex! No!”

Rachel. Holding her. Crying.

The thunder of feet. Voices. Shouting.

“Jesus! Somebody! Get the EMTs-”

“On their way.”

“Hold on, sweetheart.”

Reed. She opened her eyes. He came into focus. She tried to tell him not to worry, but the words came out a jumble.

He leaned close. “Hang in there, baby. It’s going to be all right. You’re going to be just fine. I promise…”

Alex smiled and closed her eyes, serenity flowing over her. She believed him.