Blood Always Tells, Hilary Davidson [good book club books .txt] 📗

and so cold Dominique hunched her shoulders and pulled her neck down, turtlelike. She was wearing Gary’s jacket, which was so large on her that cold air blew into the sleeves, preventing it from warming her up much at all. She forced her tired feet down the front steps and away from the house. It was raining lightly, and there wasn’t a single star visible in the sky to give her the slightest ray of hope. The only lights were the ones on inside the house, and they were more forbidding than the darkness.

At night, the forest was more alive than ever. There was a light crackling noise of creatures moving about, but nothing that sounded big enough to be a bear. She pressed the phone’s power button, and it came to life, its bright screen like a beacon in the darkness. She stared at it, grateful for the lone half-bar that indicated shaky service, and moved a little farther into the trees, putting as much distance as she dared between her and the house. The last thing she wanted was for Gary to overhear her. Something brushed against the back of her head, and she stifled her scream, realizing it was only a branch swaying in the wind. Dominique looked back at the house with longing. Awful as it was, it felt safe compared to the invisible horrors swirling around it.

She dialed 911. An operator answered, sounding briskly impersonal. “What’s the nature of your emergency?”

“I want to report a… um… an attempted murder.” Dominique gulped on the last word. That hadn’t come out right. She didn’t feel like herself at all. “I mean, a murder that’s being planned.”

“Are you in danger ma’am?” The coolly efficient voice of the operator did not sound convinced.

Dominique shook her head as if the operator could see her. “No, no. You don’t understand. There’s a woman in New York. Someone is going to kill her this weekend.”

“Just to be clear, ma’am, no crime has taken place?”

“No. Not yet. But a woman is going to be killed. Her name is Trin…” Her voice trailed off. What the hell was Trin’s last name?

“Is that a first or last name?”

“Um, I’m blanking on her last name. Hold on.” Dominique’s headache had subsided a little in the crisp air, but it was hard to focus. “Lytton-Jones, that’s it. Trinity Lytton-Jones.”

“Look, ma’am, if the crime hasn’t happened, you need to call Crime Stoppers.” The operator sounded exasperated.

“I need to talk to the NYPD. Can you transfer me?”

“Ma’am, I have to ask, have you been drinking at all tonight?”

“I’m not drunk! This is real. Listen! Her name is Trinity Lytton-Jones. Her husband’s name is Gary Cowan. He wants her dead.” The words tumbling out of Dominique’s mouth reflected her train of thought, but not what she actually wanted to say. They were twisting around her and getting tangled up.

“Ma’am, I hope you know it’s a crime to prank-call emergency services.”

“I’m not! I just—”

The line went dead. The operator had actually hung up on her.

Dominique put her hand over her mouth, fighting down her panic. Why wouldn’t the operator listen? Her head pounded again and she couldn’t quite catch her breath. It was so cold her teeth were chattering. Her next thought was to call her friend Sabrina. That was the only person she’d ever really talked to about Gary and his wife and all that drama. Sabrina was in New York and would be able to call the police for her. But the call just went to Sabrina’s voice mail. Dominique glanced at her watch. It was well after ten, which meant Sabrina had gone to sleep. Her friend was ill with lupus, and even though she was an incredibly active person, she needed a lot of rest. She wasn’t going to be able to help her now.

There was only one other person Dominique could think of to call, and that was her brother. Desmond knew Gary from his annual visit to New York City, and he was aware of the relationship’s sketchy background. Still, it was hard to imagine spilling this mess in his lap. Desmond was steady and calm, and if he wasn’t flying his plane he was probably parked with his nose in a philosophy book. She couldn’t imagine what he’d think of her situation, or of her. The last thing on earth she wanted to do was explain all that to her brother, but she was going to have to tell him some of it.

She dialed Desmond’s cell. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she whispered as it rang.

He didn’t. The call went to voice mail and Dominique almost threw the phone into the woods in frustration. This was too much. There she was, stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get out, and the only people she trusted were out of reach.

“I can’t believe you won’t answer your phone! You never answer your damn phone. The one time I need you, when I really need you, you’re nowhere to be found. Here I am in the middle of… of nowhere, Pennsylvania… no, the Delaware State Forest, or… whatever it is, I’m here, and I’ve tried to call the police, and they won’t talk to me. I don’t know what to do!”

She hit the button to end the call, wishing she could slam it and have that reverberate in his ear. She knew she was being ridiculous, and she was just as aware of what she had to do. Gary’s phone was in her hand. She could call his wife directly. That was in her power. Only, she was pretty sure she’d rather be struck by lightning than call. But what choice did she have?

“Fix me,” she whispered, recalling a spiritual Nana had been so fond of. She couldn’t sing it, but even whispered, it had power. “Fix me so that I can go on despite the pain, the fear, the doubt, and yes, the anger.”

She called up Trin’s number, and she held