The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [122]
Betsy leaned forward and squinted. “Is that smoke I see back behind those trees?”
“Looks like it.” Simon nodded. “Where is this property?”
“There, over to the right, there’s a FOR SALE sign.”
Betsy slowed, looking for a road. “Where do I turn?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe farther down the . . . yes, there, by that crooked tree. Turn there.”
The road was pocked with holes, but its dry surface bore recent tire marks. Maybe, with any luck . . .
“Look,” Betsy spoke up. “Over there, by the barn. And there, see that shed? There’s the source of the smoke. And there, that’s my Jeep. . . .”
The woman on the ground looked up at Dina even as she struggled to breathe.
Dina fumbled in her bag for her cell phone, punched in 911 before realizing the battery in her cell phone had gone dead.
Sarah coughed, hacking spasms that left her all but breathless.
Dina leaned down and sought the woman’s pulse, found it faint, erratic.
“Maybe the adapter for the phone is in my purse. . . .” Dina stood up and took a step toward the Jeep just as the van raced into view.
“Don’t . . . bother . . .” the woman whispered as she closed her eyes.
“Dina!” Simon called as he slammed on the brakes and leapt from the van.
Dina looked up at his approach. “I tried to call nine-one-one for an ambulance, but my phone is dead. I don’t think she’s going to make it.”
“Oh, sweetheart, thank God you’re alive!” A tearful Jude embraced her daughter. “Thank God. . . .”
“I swear I didn’t mean to hit her. She just came at me, at the Jeep, and slammed into the front of it, fell under the wheels . . .” Dina began to shake as the realization of what had happened began to sink in. “I didn’t mean to hit her. . . .”
Simon reached for Sarah’s wrist to search for a pulse. There was none.
“She said she killed Blythe.”
“She did,” Simon told Dina. “Sarah Decker. Graham’s daughter.”
“She was my half sister,” Dina whispered. “She was my half sister, and she tried to kill me.”
Dina looked up as Betsy wheeled across the dry dirt road.
“I’m sorry,” Dina said as if in a fog. “I broke your headlight. I dented your car. And it’s all shot up—”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t driving it myself,” Betsy said, her face stony. She looked up at Simon and asked, “Is she dead?”
Simon nodded. “It’s over.”
“Do you have an adapter for your phone?” Simon asked Dina.
“I was just going to look for it,” she replied blankly. It was clear to Simon that she was going into shock. “My bag is on the front seat.”
“Blankets?” Simon asked Betsy.
“In the back of the van.” Betsy nodded. “Are you going to call the police?”
“Not yet,” Simon said as he ran toward the van.
He returned in moments with two blankets and a bottle of water, which he handed to Dina.
“Sip at it,” he reminded her as she lifted the water gratefully to her dry lips. “Don’t guzzle.”
He placed one blanket over the woman who lay motionless on the ground, her eyes open to the sky. The other he handed to Jude to wrap around Dina; then he returned to the van.
When he finally rejoined the three women, Dina looked up and asked, “Will an ambulance be here soon?”
“Yes. But it may take a while.”
“I think it will be too late,” Dina said.
“Maybe for her, but not for you.” Jude bit her lip, gingerly holding on to her daughter’s bloody hands.
Simon knelt down and searched for the source of blood on the back of Dina’s shirt.
“It stings.” Dina winced.
“Looks like you were shot,” he said, moving to look at the wound from the front.
“I guess that’s why it stings.” Dina nodded and forced a weak smile.
“It appears that the bullet only grazed your shoulder, though.” Simon looked up as several black cars sped into view.
“That’s not the Henderson police.” Jude frowned.
“No.”
“Who are they?” Dina asked as several men got out of each car.
“FBI. They’ve been looking for you. I called Norton, told him where we were, and he directed them here.”
“How can he do that?” Dina was becoming slightly groggy.
“He apparently has friends in high places. Now, listen to me. I want you to let