CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Rachael froze, all fight in her suspended.

“Tell them,” Taylor growled at her. “Tell them right now, or so help me God I will shoot you full of whatever is in this syringe and send you straight to hell.”

The whites of Rachael’s eyes shone. She was genuinely scared, panicked. Taylor’s instincts were dead-on. The contents of the syringe were deadly.

Taylor saw the plan. It was ingenious, devious. With all of Taylor’s strange medication allergies, it would have been a no-brainer for Rachael to inject her with something, then claim Taylor had suffered anaphylactic shock and died from a bad drug interaction. Memphis would have been there to corroborate the story that Taylor was acting crazy, that “Maddee” was just trying to help.

Too close for comfort.

Memphis was struggling to his feet. She glanced at him and immediately felt horrible. She’d done a number on him. His nose was broken, his cheekbone probably, too. Jacques was back on the ground, groaning. Knee shots were so effective.

“Tell. Him.” She moved her thumb to the plunger. Her teeth were gritted, her own voice so raspy, so broken. She didn’t even recognize herself. But that wasn’t going to stop her.

Rachael began to cry.

“Stop that. Tell him the truth. Rachael.”

“Maddee? Taylor? Tell me what’s really going on. Right now.”

Finally. Memphis was starting to realize the situation wasn’t as it first appeared. Taylor held herself back from openly rolling her eyes.

“She’s insane. I told you.”

“You poor, stupid girl,” Taylor said. Her thumb moved, and the tiniest bit of the contents of the syringe went into Rachael’s neck. She hissed in pain.

“That stings, huh? Good to know.” Taylor pressed harder.

“Stop,” Rachael screamed. “It’s true. It’s true, okay? Evan isn’t dead. I didn’t want to kill her—she’s my friend. I just needed her out of the way.”

The transformation on Memphis’s face was impossible to watch, but Taylor forced herself. Disbelief, followed by crushing pain, and then, with the tiniest of movements that settled in his eyes and forehead, hope.

Followed immediately by rage.

Where All the Dead Lie
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