I lost my grip and fell backward, my ass hitting the ground hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I scrambled up and looked around.

The gully was shallower farther down. I really should have looked before trying to scale the damned cliff.

I ran, pain jolting through my body with each stride. I was still exhausted from the fever, and climbing the cliff had me panting already.

I saw a path heading up the gully. Just another twenty feet. Ten—

There was blood on the cliff side. A patch of bright red, just ahead. My feet skidded to a halt as my brain processed the sight.

Not blood. Poppies. Growing on the cliff.

I whirled back toward Gabriel.

A dark shape rose from behind a bush.

I hit the ground. Even as I dropped, my brain said, What the hell are you doing? But I dropped anyway, and a bullet hit the cliff beside me, dirt exploding.

My gun. Where was—?

In my purse. With my cell phone. And my switchblade.

God-fucking-damn it! I armed myself and then stuck it all in my purse like I was still a goddamn socialite.

I dove behind a boulder as the second shot fired. As I did, I thought of Gabriel. Unconscious. Defenseless. With a killer between us.

I dashed to the next boulder. Then the next. Drawing the shooter away from Gabriel.

Yet as I ran, no shots rang out. Instead, a voice called, “Stop.”

It was a woman’s voice. Macy’s.

I darted to the next source of cover, a sofa, dumped over the cliff.

“Do you think I won’t shoot you?” She fired a bullet into the sofa as I dropped behind it. “You’re not going to make it to the road, Eden, and even if you did, do you have any idea how long it would take for someone to find you? I was behind that billboard for twenty minutes and yours was the first car I saw. I could have killed you, you know. We’re both lucky that fancy car has side air bags.”

“We’re both lucky?” I croaked a laugh. “I could have sworn you were trying to kill me.”

“No. I thought he’d be driving. The lawyer. It’s his car.”

She sounded put out, as if I’d deliberately thwarted her plans.

“I bet you’re wondering how I intercepted you so fast,” she continued.

Um, no. Last thing on my mind, really.

“I was at a motel off the next exit,” she said. “Trying to figure out how to talk to you. How to make you listen to me. Then Kendrick called.”

“And you decided the best way to talk to me was to run me off the road?”

“No, I realized we were past the point of talking. You’d figured everything out. It was time to cut a deal. Or kill you.”

“I’d prefer a deal.”

She laughed. “I’m sure you would.”

I shifted behind the couch. As I did, I swore I smelled cat pee, as I had hiding behind the sofa at Will Evans’s house, the odor triggering some hidden memory that started my gut twisting.

There weren’t enough cover spots for me to dodge my way to safety. My best bet was to stall and hope Gabriel woke up. Which, given that he hadn’t done so before now, seemed unlikely. Failing that, maybe if I talked long enough, I’d actually come up with a plan.

“You killed Ciara,” I said.

“No.” The denial came hot and fast. “I wanted to talk to her, but she kept screaming. The sedatives weren’t working, and she wouldn’t be quiet. I just wanted her to be quiet. I wasn’t trying to choke her. It was her own fault.”

“And then you embalmed her.”

“It was his idea. Tristan’s.”

“He’s the one who told you who you were.”

“Yes. Tristan told me about my birthright. About Ciara. He took me to see her, that rich bitch, turning her back on a good life to tweak in a scummy apartment. She belonged with my family—she’d fit right in.”

“And you belonged with hers. So Ciara dies, and Tristan has you embalm her and cut off her head—”

“No, he cut off her head. But only to protect me. To erase any evidence I left strangling her. Afterward, he realized he could use her head to get your attention.”

Tristan had done his work here, weaving Macy a story that she could accept. Sprinkled with pixie dust to make it go down easier.

A shadow passed. I looked up to see a raven circling, leisurely, as if getting the lay of the land.

Are you here to help? To observe? To gloat?

The raven winged off toward the wreck, as if to check that out, too.

Not hindering. Not helping, either. There was no help here. No sudden brainstorm that would solve my predicament. Only the obvious plan—play along and watch for my opportunity to get that gun from her.

“You mentioned a deal?” I said.

“I want you to tell the police about the switch. That’s what Tristan said you’d do. You’d investigate, and you’d realize what happened, and you’d tell the police. And then it wouldn’t matter how Ciara died, because my real parents would have their real daughter and they’d be happy. Her real parents wouldn’t care who killed her. They only care about themselves. Everything would be fixed.”

Did she really think a murder investigation could be halted if no one cared about the victim? That the Conways wouldn’t care about the girl they’d raised?

“So you want me to forget what I know about Ciara’s death and go to the authorities with the DNA results.”

“Exactly.”

I pretended to weigh the moral ramifications of this. Except there were no ramifications, because once I got to safety, there would be nothing to stop me from turning her in.

“All right,” I said. “You walk away. I’ll say I fell asleep at the wheel. I had a fever last night, which my doctor can verify. I drifted off and crashed the car. Then I’ll turn over the DNA results.”

“Do you really think I’d make it that easy?” Macy said. “You walk away scot-free?”

Why shouldn’t I? I wanted to say. I haven’t done anything. But I bit my tongue and said, “I’ve crashed a very expensive car. I’m battered and bruised. I might have seriously injured a guy who won’t hesitate to sue me for every penny of my trust fund. That’s not scot-free.”

“You’re right. You need to get rid of the lawyer.”

“Exactly. I’ll fire him.”

“I mean kill him.”