EIGHT
AT THE FIRST STOPLIGHT AWAY FROM HER PLACE, RACHEL reached over for her phone to text London that she was on her way. As she dug through her purse, she remembered leaving it on the kitchen counter to charge. With a sigh, she made a U-turn as soon as the light changed to green, then headed back to her house to grab it—just in case Decker called. Yes, he’d said he’d be back after lunch. She hoped he meant it because she wasn’t ready to be without him.
Gosh, she sounded awfully attached . . . and maybe a bit in love.
Wrestling with the realization, Rachel let herself in absently and headed to the kitchen, pulling her phone from the power cord.
Suddenly, Val hissed low and loud, then let loose a cantankerous meow, snagging her attention. When she turned to find out what was troubling her high-strung feline, Rachel discovered a man of average height and build standing in her foyer with grease under his fingernails, a determined look in his eyes . . .
And a gun pointed at her head.
She froze with terror. Her brain told her to scream, but the moment was like a bad dream. She felt pinned, immobile. Useless.
Her assailant trekked closer, keeping both hands on the pistol and the barrel trained right between her eyes.
“No. Please.” She hated whining pitifully, but it was instinct. “Don’t.”
Who was he? What did he want? How could she get out of this mess? A thousand thoughts flew through her brain.
“Shut up,” he snarled, his dark, unkempt hair falling limply into his face. He wore mechanics’ coveralls that proclaimed his name was Chris and an icy expression full of murder.
“M-my wallet is out in my car. You can have—”
“I don’t want your money, bitch. I want you dead.” He spotted the phone in her hand, then nodded at it. “Put that down and step away.”
She shook so hard that as she reached toward the counter, the phone rattled out of her hand and skittered across the slick tile, plopping into the sink with a thunk that jolted her nerves. Though he wanted her to, Rachel couldn’t bring herself to actually come closer to the violent stranger in her house. He stood between her and the front door. He’d get multiple unobstructed shots off if she tried to dart down the hall or toward the patio. He blocked her path to the front. The only place to step was deeper into the kitchen.
Rachel trembled as she veered two deep lunges into the narrow galley, near the sink and cutting boards.
And the knives.
Mercy, could she be brave enough to grab one and defend herself?
If it means the difference between life and death . . .
Good point.
“W-what do you want with me? Why kill me?”
He crept closer, still aiming that gun at her. “You’re in the way of my sister’s future, slut. She and her fiancé can’t be happy because of you.”
“I don’t know who you mean.” She shook her head. “You have me confused with someone else. I’m not involved with anyone—” Except Decker. Was he secretly engaged?
The man rubbed a greasy hand across his cheek. “Maybe you’re not involved with him anymore, but Carly called off the wedding because she was sure that the professor was still hung up on you. My sister has been through a hell of a lot, losing our parents in the last year. If your sniveling ex-husband makes her happy, I’m going to make sure she gets him. That means you’re going to die.”
Understanding dawned with terrible clarity. Rachel’s heart stuttered, and she shook her head frantically. “You’re wrong. Owen isn’t hung up on me. He loves your sister. He came to see me yesterday and told me how much he wants to make Carly happy. I don’t want him back, and he doesn’t want me either, I swear! You don’t have to shoot me.”
“My sister was worried enough a few weeks ago to call off their wedding. If you’re not around . . . problem solved.”
“Owen wants to marry Carly,” she insisted. “And I’m in love with someone else.”
Her attacker sent her a snide grin. “That slick guy with the sunglasses and the leather jacket? The one who’s been in your bed since Saturday night?” He snorted. “You really are a dumb bitch. I hired him to kill you.”
This time, Rachel’s heart stopped altogether. “What?”
No way could she have heard that right.
Chris nodded. “I gave him twenty-five grand on Saturday to have you dead quick. But I’ve been watching. I guess he wanted to fuck you before he killed you. I can’t wait on him anymore. If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.”
Rachel almost couldn’t process his words. Patient, passionate Decker was a contract killer? His rough-around-the-edges demeanor didn’t hide a tender heart, but a brutal one? He’d intended all along to watch her gasp her last breath?
Her first instinct was to refuse to believe it. No way. Decker wasn’t violent. He was protective and would never hurt her. He had feelings for her, didn’t he? She would have sworn that he did.
Why was he so persistent about picking you up in the bar Saturday night? Other women were looking at him. Younger, prettier ones. More experienced ones. You wondered at the time why he focused on you. This would explain it . . .
But she’d believed that whatever he felt was real. She would have bet her life on it.
Apparently she had . . . and she’d lost.
Betrayal gashed open her chest. She felt so damn alone and frightened. Decker had seduced her, intending all along to off her? For a brief second, she closed her eyes, but when she tried to imagine him hurting her in any way, she only saw his face, his understanding, his encouragement, his blue eyes filled with caring.
It didn’t add up. He’d had a hundred opportunities to kill her. He could have done it in her sleep. He could have poisoned her when he brought her breakfast. And why would he have introduced her to his friends or let her go to lunch with London if he just wanted her six feet under? Granted, she didn’t really know everything about Decker, but she’d been sure that she had felt his heart. It had been big and kind and caring. It had called to her own.
The click, the connection, the depth of her feelings . . . She refused to believe it was all a lie. He’d shown her pleasure and consideration. Affection even. Why do that, only to kill her? Before Decker she would have never believed that she was sexy enough or special enough for him, but he’d made her see something different in herself, in her heart.
Rachel refused to doubt her feelings for another minute. Maybe this psycho had mistaken Decker’s identity. Maybe he’d been watching her and lied about Decker’s intentions to throw her off her game. Heck, maybe ol’ Chris was just insane. Whatever the problem, it was on him. Decker wouldn’t kill her.
But he also wasn’t here, so if she was going to make it through this encounter, it was up to her now. She had to talk this guy off the crazy train and fend for herself somehow, because she wasn’t ready to die.
“I-I’ll cut off all contact with Owen. I’ll change my number. I’ll move and not leave a forwarding address, if you want.”
But the gunman was already shaking his head. “You moved out once. That didn’t pry you from his mind. In fact, not being able to find you might only make him obsess more. But knowing that you’re totally beyond his reach . . . Then he’ll have to move on. And my sister will be there for him. They can finally get married and she can be fucking happy. But Carly and Owen are flying home tonight.” He glanced at the clock on the oven wall. “In fact, I’ve got to be back at my place to take them to the airport in less than an hour. By the time they land, I want her to know that she has Owen all to herself.”
And he intended to leave her lying lifeless in a pool of her own blood, staining the white tile of her kitchen floor. No way was she going to let that happen.
Rachel swallowed, gathering her courage. Then she jumped him with a growl, shoving him back toward the foyer with all her might.
He went careening back, flailing and trying to catch his balance. He reached out to brace for his inevitable fall. The pistol fell from his grip, clattering to the hardwood floor beneath him and sliding all the way to the front door as he landed on his butt with a thud.
She didn’t wait for him to get his bearings, but darted back into the kitchen and grabbed her biggest knife—a huge, serrated sucker. For insurance, she grabbed the paring knife, too, and held it down by her thigh.
When he jumped to his feet and charged toward her with murder narrowing his menacing eyes and his large hands outstretched like he meant to strangle her, she was ready. Rachel knew that once he got his hands around her neck, he was too strong, and she’d be done for. She’d never see her family or friends again. Mercy, her mother . . . She’d miss Thanksgiving, Christmas, Shonda’s wedding. She’d never know her future, her children, or see old age. She would never be able to tell Decker that she loved him.
Oh hell no!
As the criminal came closer, she raced toward him again, big knife stretched over her head. Rachel didn’t think she could kill him. She wasn’t sure she would be able to live with that, no matter how terrible he was. The idea of sinking this into his chest made her wince inwardly—but he didn’t need to know that.
She darted closer, and as she expected, her assailant grabbed her wrist and tried to wrest the knife from her grip. She only had seconds and one chance to surprise him. No way was she going to screw this up.
While he clamped down on her wrist, trying to make her release the wicked blade, Rachel drove the paring knife into his thigh, seriously close to his groin. She hoped she at least nicked something vital.
He screamed and dropped his grip from the wrist above her head, cupping his leg protectively. “Bitch! I won’t give you an opportunity to cut me again.”
Blood dripped from the little knife and onto her fingers, onto the floor. Rachel watched in horror as he managed to hobble away and went after his gun. She was either going to have to chase him and finish him off . . . or let him shoot her dead.
She swallowed. Her heart thrummed, and fear laced her veins with ice. Her skin felt tight. Her thoughts raced. Why couldn’t he just leave this alone? She could try to pick up her phone and call the police, but she’d barely finish giving the 911 operator her address before he’d be back with his gun to shoot her. Same if she tried to dart out the back door to freedom.
No choice. She was going to have to hunt him down and snuff him out before he did the same to her.
Steeling herself, she gripped both knives and rounded the corner from the kitchen, into the long walkway to the foyer.
The thug stood there, frozen and bleeding.
In front of him, Decker stood, legs akimbo, arms outstretched, a gun in each hand. “Don’t move a muscle, motherfucker. If you even twitch, it will give me a lot of pleasure to put a bullet in your miserable brain.”
• • •
WELL AFTER THE police had taken Christian Adams away in handcuffs for a trip to the hospital to get some stitches, Rachel sat, drinking a cup of coffee for warmth. She was fully covered, but she felt chilled to the bone. An EMT had wrapped a blanket around her after he’d checked her out and doctored a cut on her finger. He’d cautioned her about some bruising and given her something for her headache.
She had stabbed a man. In self-defense, yes. In her spinning thoughts, the moments slowed and replayed in an endless loop. More than once since, she’d tried to wash the blood from her hands, but she swore she could feel it seeping into her pores. Christian Adams hadn’t given her a choice. He would have killed her if she hadn’t fought back. That knowledge gave her peace of a sort. She’d finish reconciling it all later.
In the interim, the police had taken her statement. They’d taken Decker to the back of the house to get his separately, and she hadn’t seen him for hours. Carly and Owen had come. Who’d called them or why, she had no clue. But her ex-husband’s fiancée had been absolutely horrified at what her brother had attempted. The woman’s pleading apologies ran through Rachel’s brain. But nothing sank in. Vaguely, she recognized that Owen had stepped up for Carly and now seemed like the man she needed. He promised her they’d get through this together and have a big wedding whenever she was ready. The way Owen had looked at Carly, like she was his moon and stars, had made her really happy for the couple. She wished them well. It wasn’t Carly’s fault that Christian had taken it upon himself to think killing his sister’s man’s ex-wife was a good idea. Rachel hoped that Owen and his fiancée could live happily ever after now, despite the jail time Christian had coming. Someone should be happy.
The hope that it might be her looked increasingly dim.
The police told her that Christian had, in fact, hired Decker to kill her. They found the twenty-five thousand dollars and the number of a disposable phone Christian had purchased when they searched Decker’s belongings. In her head, she knew that must mean everything between them had been a lie. He had likely conned her, and she’d eaten up every morsel of the bait. She would just need time to recover, get over her anger, grieve. Maybe a decade or two would be long enough to forget him.
