Finding Stefanie (32 page)

Stefanie couldn’t wrap her brain around Karen’s words. What ending?

Gideon straightened, his hands raised. “Please don’t hurt her. She has nothing to do with this. Let her go.”

Karen took a step back. “Tape her hands, Gideon. You condemned her the minute you walked into her house.”

The look on his face as he turned to Stefanie made her weep. “What is she talking about, Gideon?” she whispered as she leaned toward the dashboard and let him tape her wrists behind her back.

“Tighter, Gideon. Or I’ll make you do it over.”

Stefanie bit back a cry as the tape pinched her skin. Or maybe it was just her frustration.

“I’m sorry, Stefanie. I’m so sorry.”

“What’s going on? Gideon? Karen?” Stefanie said as she turned and watched Karen tape Gideon’s hands, then tape his mouth. She shoved him back into the truck.

Karen climbed into the driver’s side and tightened a piece of tape over Stefanie’s mouth before she could demand more answers. “Apparently Gideon left something out of his past when he came to live with you,” she said as she tucked the gun beside her. She patted Stefanie’s knee. “Gideon killed my family. And now I get to return the favor.”

Stefanie glanced at Gideon. Tears rolled down his face, pooling in the tape over his mouth. She remembered Karen serving them earlier, touching her shoulder in greeting as she did it. Her mind tracked back to Karen giving her leftovers—poisoning her dog, probably like she’d poisoned them tonight. And Lincoln’s accident on the four-wheeler—had that been meant for Gideon? How long had Karen been in town?

Talk about Oscar-worthy performances.

They bumped through the fields, and in a moment, Stefanie saw the familiar outline of Cutter’s Rock rise before them. Darkness gathered in the ravine.

If she ever needed a superhero, it was now.

She could be every bit of a director, like hotshot Dex Graves, and a million times better than Lincoln Cash would ever be. He had money, sure, but did he have talent? or courage? Especially courage.

Like all things, opportunity was created for those with courage.

Karen hadn’t expected this turn of events, for everything to line up. She’d simply wanted Gideon to pay for his crimes.

When Lincoln had announced his scholarship program, she knew fate had dealt her another chance. Just like it had the day she watched Gideon exit juvenile hall, hike out to the highway, and lift the run-down Impala.

Fate had been good to her then, payback for the way it treated her the three years before and every moment after until she got out of treatment.

And tonight, fate, more than anything, had been her codirector,
culminating in a production that turned out better than she could ever imagine.

Lincoln had to choose her film,
The Last Ride
, for his scholarship, especially when he discovered that the author had been living under his nose for three months. Watching, plotting, cooking, cleaning. Did he know how difficult it had been to film the story? She’d had to work backwards from Gideon’s giddy smile as he met Libby and worked at the diner—that had been a sheer stroke of luck. And yes, she’d taken a few artistic licenses, like cracking his distributor cap, not once but twice, to make his car cooperate with her loosely written script.

She’d have to thank Dennis for that, too, when she gave her acceptance speech for her award-winning movie. If it weren’t for her husband’s car repair hobby, she would have never known how to disable Gideon’s car and Lincoln’s truck. She’d planned only to scare Gideon. She hadn’t meant for Lincoln to get in the way. In fact, she’d thought Gideon would walk home alone, but Lincoln had nearly destroyed everything with his sudden do-gooder offer of a ride home on his four-wheeler.

She would also thank her supporting characters—Luther had played a circumstantial part in kidnapping Libby. She’d have to acknowledge him. And then the fire, the glorious fire—it had been her inspiration.

It had all come full circle, despite the mistakes. She hadn’t meant to kill the dog. She’d been trying to test the amounts on Gideon, see how much poison might render him ill. How much more might then kill him.

And tonight, Stefanie Noble had been a last-minute powerhouse addition to the cast.

Power rushed through her as she finally took her life back, right here, before her eyes and on film. She held a torch, letting it illuminate her face. To her left was the pickup truck—gleaming black in the moonlight. From the gas tank trailed a rag, which she’d already soaked in gas.

She’d parked the truck at an angle, the nose pointed toward the cliff, a rope in her other hand connected to the emergency brake release. It would be a glorious crash, and she’d positioned two cameras at the bottom of the ravine, checked to confirm the angles.

A spectacular explosion would open the film, and in the editing room, she’d then backtrack to the moment, to the look on Gideon’s face when he realized who she was and the fate waiting for him at the bottom of Cutter’s Rock. She’d made good use of the duct tape, just like they did on
CSI
. Gideon and Stefanie would be together forever.

“I dedicate this film to Dennis and Gretchen Axelrod,” she said to the camera positioned ahead of her. It would capture the truck’s catapult over the edge. “Without them, this would never be possible.”

Her throat tightened at that. Her husband, Dennis, still visited her—he was the one who’d given her the idea. But Gretchen gave her endurance, encouragement. Karen could still hear her baby daughter’s squeals of laughter deep in the night, when she thought she was alone.

This was for them.

“Karen!”

The voice startled her, and she turned, watching as a light scraped the ground.

“Karen, stop! It’s Lincoln.”

She smiled. “You came!” She knew he’d figure it out. And he wanted to watch, wanted to—

“Karen, don’t do this.”

Her smile fell. She gripped the rope and backed toward the truck. “Don’t, Lincoln—stay there.”

He stopped outside the pool of light from her torch, a dark shadow that showed off his size.

“Just watch.”

“Watch?”

“It’s going to be perfect, I promise. You’ll love it—you just have to trust me.”

Lincoln seemed to be taking in the situation. “I see. And . . . I do trust you. But . . . are you sure this is the way you want the beginning to go?”

He’d read her script! “Yes, yes, don’t you see? It’s the explosive opening that every movie begins with, and it’ll draw the viewer in.”

Lincoln stepped closer. “But what about the hero? If he’s dead, the viewer can’t root for him. They’ll already know the ending, and they’ll have nothing invested in the story.”

She looked at his feet, now entering the circle of her light. He had a point, but . . . “No. I planned it this way.”

“So, you rewrite. You reshoot. That’s what directors do—they look at the story and rebuild the plot when it suits better.”

She could see his face now, and it held no blame, no guile.

“Start the story right here, right where you have it. And then bring it full circle, to this moment. With the hero staring at the end.” Lincoln had nearly reached her now. “It’s a great story about someone who sees what his life could have become and goes back to change it. Someone who knows that without this horrible, black
moment, he would have ended up on the bottom, broken. Now the hero has a chance to go back, to make things right. To tell the people he cares about how he really feels. It’s a redemption story. Critics will love it.” Lincoln put so much emotion into his voice, his eyes, his body language, that Karen could only believe him.

She lowered the torch. “I like your ending,” she said softly.

“Then let’s put this movie in the can.” He reached out and took the torch.

Lights in the distance pinpricked the darkness. She jerked. “Who are they?”

Lincoln didn’t even turn around. “Your fans?”

She didn’t have fans. Not yet. “No, Lincoln. They’re your fans! Fans that are going to wreck this entire movie!” Then, as he lunged at her, she yanked the emergency brake release.

The truck rolled over the edge and disappeared.

“Now the hero has a chance to go back, to make things right. To tell the people he cares about how he really feels.”

Stefanie knew exactly what Lincoln meant as she awkwardly tried to unwind the duct tape that held Gideon’s hands together. She’d already worked free the tape over her mouth. “Linc!”

She longed to go back and tell him exactly what he’d meant to her, that he’d made her see herself in a new light. She didn’t care if she sounded like a fool, if he didn’t love her. The real Stefanie Noble was tired of living her life listening to the voices of fear and failure.

The truck lurched forward, began to pick up speed.

“Stefanie!” Lincoln’s voice broke through her panic.

Gideon freed his hands and kicked open his door.

“Go!” She braced her feet against the floorboards. “Go, Gideon!”

But she felt his arm snake around her waist, felt herself sliding along the seat, felt herself launched into the air.

She hit the ground almost on top of him. He grunted and she rolled off him, tearing her dress, watching the truck finish its careen down the ravine and crash into the empty creek bed.

At least it hadn’t—

Boom!
The explosion threw her back as it lit up the night.

She looked up and saw Lincoln silhouetted at the top of the ridge, his hands on his head, staring at the blaze.

“Linc!” She doubted he heard her over the roar of the fire.

Gideon was pushing up on one elbow, groaning. “I think I broke something again.”

“Are you okay?” Stefanie was bleeding from a scrape on her chin, right into her dress.

“Turn around,” Gideon said as he went to work on her duct-taped hands.

“Gideon, you saved my life.” She looked at him over her shoulder.

He was concentrating on his work, but he shook his head. “No, Stef. I think you saved mine.”

“But—”

“Stefanie!” Lincoln had finally seen her and had begun to work his way down the slope, his face lit by the glow of the fire.

She watched him stumble toward her, nearly tripping, and remembered his words to Karen:
“Someone who sees what his life could have become and goes back to change it. Someone who knows that without this horrible, black moment, he would have ended up on the bottom, broken.”

Maybe his words weren’t all an act. Maybe he, too, knew what they had and nearly lost.

Confirming her thoughts, Lincoln looked at Stefanie as if his world had nearly crashed at his feet, his face white, his eyes glossy. She knew his expression wasn’t part of any role he might be playing.

His hands shook as he scrabbled down to her, as he hit his knees and held her by the shoulders. “Thank You, God. Oh, thank You. . . . I thought you were dead.” He had real tears in his eyes and closed them as if trying to hide his emotions. “Did you really throw yourself out of that truck?” He took out a handkerchief, pressing it to her bleeding chin.

Her adrenaline was piling up, making her giddy. “What did you call it? The Dex something—”

“The Ditch and Roll. But please, I never want to go through watching that again.” He pulled her to himself and held tight. “I thought I lost you. I was so scared. I just kept praying that God would give me the right words to say to Karen, something to buy time. I kept thinking that if He just gave me one more chance . . .”

“‘It’s a redemption story. Critics will love it.’”

Lincoln leaned back and put his hand on her cheek. “Listen, okay. I gotta tell you something. Probably I should have told you before, a long time ago, but I only just figured it out, and you can’t interrupt, because this is for real and it’s not easy—”

“You love me.”

His mouth opened. “You interrupted.”

“Well, I know how wordy you actors are, and I wanted to get to the point. You love me.”

He nodded.

“Okay, say it.” She raised an eyebrow.

“What about you? Do you . . . love . . . me?”

“Oh my, you are insecure, aren’t you? Have to have adoring fans everywhere?”

“Pretty much.”

“Yes, fine. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m the president of your fan—”