Eye for Revenge, page 20
Quinn started to raise a hand in the hopes of waving Felicity back into the office. Mid hand raise, she stopped. Her stomach felt weird. Wet. She glanced down, finally realizing what she’d missed moments before. She wasn’t the only one who’d discharged her weapon. He had too, the bullet from his pistol puncturing her lower abdomen. It was a curious feeling at first, like being stabbed with a syringe filled with hot liquid. And then the blood came, bleeding an oozing stream through the bottom of her shirt.
She’d bent to the ground and lifted up a few inches of her shirt when Kyle’s sudden movement rattled her. He was alive. Trepidation seized her body. In the neon glow, she watched him army-crawl toward her, one leg pushing him forward, the other injured and limp, dragging along the floor.
Gun erect, he fired a second shot, the bullet narrowly missing her face. She ducked behind a desk. Felicity re-closed the office door.
“I’m sure you’re wonderin’ why I plugged our old classmate full of holes and watched her die,” he said.
He’s trying to get to you. Keep it together. Don’t speak.
“Not gonna respond, huh?” he continued. “Not even if I’m the only one who will ever be able to tell you the last words Evie uttered before she died? Come on, now. You wanna know, don’t you?”
Stay where you are. Say nothing.
“Guess you could call her the woman who knew too much,” he joked. “Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing.”
From the six-inch space between where the desk ended and the floor, Kyle’s head came into view. She smoothed her fingers over her neck. Touching her necklace now made her feel stronger somehow, like she wasn’t fighting him alone.
Just a little closer. Almost there.
When his head reached her desired target area, she released her coiled leg, thrusting it forward. The heel of her boot collided with his neck, snapping it back. The gun fell from his hands. In one, swift movement she rolled forward, her gun pressed firmly against his chest.
“You won’t shoot me,” he teased. “Wanna know why? You haven’t changed one bit. You’re the woman behind the woman. The polite, scared girl hiding beneath her mother’s skirt. You always were.”
While his fingers grappled to secure his gun, a single thought crossed Quinn’s mind: Not today I’m not.
Her final shot was a bulls-eye to the heart. Out of breath, and weak from a lack of blood, she rolled off of him, hands pressed against her throbbing wound. “What can I say? I guess I’m not the same girl you remember.”
CHAPTER 54
An audible drone of sirens vibrated throughout the city streets. Quinn remained still, in the same spot where she’d collapsed a minute before, depleted, the loss of blood producing a sensation like her life was ebbing away once more. Maybe it was. And maybe it would be for good this time.
Felicity was by her side now, applying pressure to the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Her non-stop chit-chat was annoying, but it was the only thing keeping Quinn from doing the one thing she longed to do—sleep.
Vehicles parked outside, one after the other after the other. So many of them. Doors slammed. Male voices yelled back and forth, filing into the room like a swarm of locusts.
Bo’s voice was the loudest, booming over all the others. “Quinn?! Where are you?”
Felicity cradled Quinn’s head in her lap and shouted, “Here! She’s here!”
Bo’s face came into view. It expressed a myriad of mixed emotions. “Oh, no … Quinn. No.” He looked at Felicity. “Where was she hit?”
Felicity lifted her hands, exposing the bullet’s entry point.
“I tried to keep pressure on it,” Felicity said. “But the blood … it wouldn’t stop coming.”
“You did great. Thank you.”
Bo slumped to the floor. “Talk to me, Quinn. Please. Say something.”
“I’m so tired, Bo,” she said. “So sleepy.”
“I need some help over here,” Bo shouted. “Now!”
“Kyle’s dead. I did it. He killed Evie, and I killed him.”
Bo leaned forward, kissed her lips. “We’re going to get you to a hospital, Quinn. You’re going to be okay.”
She felt her body being lifted onto a stretcher, wheeled outside, then guided with care into the back of a vehicle with flashing lights. A vehicle she’d seen a thousand times before, but at the moment, she couldn’t recall its name.
Bo hopped in the vehicle with her. “Let’s go! Let’s move this thing!”
Two uniformed men hovered over her, pushing buttons on machines, messing with her body.
She glanced around. “Bo?”
He reached out, caressed the back of her hand with his fingers. “I’m here, Quinn. I’m right here.”
“I need to tell—”
“It doesn’t matter what happened. We can talk about the details later.”
“No … I need to … tell you. I. Love. You. Too.”
CHAPTER 55
“I don’t think we can take another scare like this, sweetie,” a male voice said.
Quinn looked up. Saw her father. Her mother. Her sister. All of them standing next to her hospital bed.
“Hey,” Astrid said. “I can umm … leave if you want me to. You know, if me being here stresses you out or anything.”
Quinn shook her head. “Stay. It’s fine.”
“You sure?”
Quinn nodded. “No more fighting, okay?”
“Okay.”
Quinn surveyed the room, saw dozens of bright, floral bouquets resting on every shelf, in every corner. “Uhh … where did all of these flowers come from?”
Her mother grinned. “Everyone. They just keep coming.”
She glanced around. “Where’s—”
“Bo?” her father answered. “He’s here. He went to the waiting room to update Ruby. She wanted to see you for herself, but she didn’t want Jacob to know you’d been hurt.”
Quinn glanced at the clear fluid flowing through a PICC line that had been inserted into her arm. A thin, white blanket was tucked around her body. She tugged on it, glanced at the substantially-sized wrappings across her abdomen. “Am I … okay?”
A woman wearing a Daffy Duck scrub top, cream pants that looked several years old, and dingy tennis shoes entered the room. “You’re going to be fine. You’re a lucky girl. The bullet missed your spleen and your liver. Not by much, but enough to spare your life. How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know? Alive. When can I get out of here?”
The nurse winked, like she’d heard the question a thousand times, and walked out as Bo walked in.
“What’s the rush?” he asked.
Quinn’s father thumbed at the door, looked at his wife, then Astrid. “Let’s stop hogging her and give these two some time alone, shall we?”
The trio filed out and the door closed.
“Did you find Marissa?” Quinn asked. “Did you figure out why Evie died? Do you know how everything is connected to Kyle?”
Bo approached the bed, leaned down. They kissed. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I just wanted to look at you for a minute first. See you. Awake. Alive.”
He held her gaze for several seconds then revealed the missing pieces of the story. They’d found Marissa. Dead. Her body in the basement of an abandoned farmhouse owned by Kyle’s deceased grandparents. From what they’d been able to piece together, Kyle had been involved with Marissa for several months. It was assumed Evie found out about it. Knowing if the truth got out he’d face multiple charges, including the sexual abuse of a minor, he evaded years in prison by killing Evie first, then Marissa. Remove the threats, remove the blame.
“It makes sense,” Quinn said, when Bo finished talking. “Right before Kyle died, he mentioned Evie. He said she was the woman who knew too much. It almost hurts more now, knowing what really happened, how unnecessary it was for her to die over something so stupid.”
Bo took her hand. “Hey, you made things right, Quinn. You made sure Kyle could never harm anyone ever again.”
“I wish Evie was here to see me pick myself up, make amends.”
“Wherever she is, she knows, and she’s proud.”
She squeezed his hand. “It means a lot, you being here.”
“I kept thinking about how much harder it would have been to lose you a second time.”
“You heard what I said in the ambulance, right?”
“I … yeah. I just didn’t know if you remembered what you said to me or not.”
“Of course I do. Want to know what I was thinking? When I was on that stretcher, I thought, what if I die without ever telling him how I really feel? I love you, Bo. I’ve always loved you.”
CHAPTER 56
Nine Months Later
Quinn folded her hand inside Jacob’s and they strolled along the grassy path. “Have I ever told you this was where I met your mom when we were kids?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Quinn pointed. “It was on that swing right over there.”
The park had been maintained by the town over the years, but decades of consistent use had worn down almost all of the toys on the playground. Rusted slides. Eroded flecks of rubber on the swings. In an effort to preserve Evie’s memory, Quinn had created a fundraiser over the winter. The amount raised was substantial, enough to revitalize the park with an array of modernized toys, benches, and even a lighted gazebo.
She was proud of the achievement, proud of the way she’d turned her life around in less than a year’s time. Four months earlier, she’d purchased her own place. A two-story Victorian she was about a quarter of the way done remodeling. Her thumb was even greener these days, thanks to Rowdy, her new business partner.
Jacob seemed more like himself with each passing day. When he started talking about Evie and Roman again, Quinn placed photos around the house in an effort to keep the memory of his parents alive. And then there was Bo. A month before, he’d told her he wanted to get married. She wasn’t sure she was ready, but she knew she’d get there again. One day. And when she did, it would be with him.
“Want me to push you on the swing?” Quinn asked.
Jacob nodded. “Not too high, okay?”
Quinn knelt down until she was eye level and wound her hands around his waist, reciting a familiar line someone had told her a long time ago, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. When you’re with me, I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you.”
THE END
Enjoy Eye for Revenge?
Here’s a sneak peek of Hush Now Baby, book six in the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Sloane Monroe series.
HUSH NOW BABY
CHAPTER 1
Serena Westwood peeled back the quilt atop her four-poster bed and climbed in, reeling the covers over her shivering body until she’d cocooned herself inside. It was early September, and already the frigid fall air crept through the valley, misting it like a damp sheet struggling in the wind.
After a long, noise-filled day, all was still. There was a time when Serena loved the quiet, basked in the gentle, serene calm, but not now. Now she had more than herself to consider. At thirty-nine years old, Serena had almost convinced herself the role of “mother” was meant for everyone but her. She’d spent many restless nights in the same bed she relaxed in now, trying to accept the reality that she, and her husband, Jack, would remain childless forever. And yet, here she was, the proud new mother of a sweet baby boy.
Before Finn was born, Jack and Serena had run the gamut, trying everything from artificial insemination to in-vitro fertilization. Nothing took. Her womb, desolate and barren, had rejected it all. When conceiving a baby themselves was out of the question, they turned to surrogacy. Three potential candidates were interviewed. All were rejected. Another round of women were selected. None seemed like the right fit.
On the way home from the market one wintery afternoon, an SUV struck a patch of ice on the road. The vehicle careened into the oncoming lane, sideswiping Serena’s Subaru in the process. While waiting for police to arrive, Serena had taken refuge inside the Precious Gift Adoption Agency.
A firm believer in fate, Serena found herself explaining her unsuccessful plight to Teresa Foster, one of the case workers. Teresa was empathetic, her own life experience mirroring much of what Serena herself had endured, but Teresa’s attitude was different. In Teresa’s mind, infertility had led her to the greatest gift of all—adoption—and she prevailed upon Serena to think of adoption the same way.
One week and several conversations later, Jack and Serena filled out the necessary paperwork. And although Teresa cautioned them at the onset, saying the wait time for a newborn baby could be two years or more, a mere three months passed before a birth mother selected Serena and Jack as her adoptive parents. Four months later, Finn made his opening debut.
…
The faint hum of a stirring baby jolted Serena awake. She peered at the clock on the nightstand. Four a.m. It seemed like only minutes had elapsed since she rested her head on the pillow, and already, it was feeding time again.
“Mommy’s coming, Finn.” Her melodic voice drifted down the hall.
Serena coiled a tattered robe around her body, cinching it in front of her waist. She picked a few bobby pins out of the terry-cloth pocket and twisted her long, blond locks into a bun. She squeezed the lids over her hazel eyes open and shut a few times, forcing herself awake.
The frigid chill of the tiles beneath her feet as she made her way down the hall were a stern reminder to leave her slippers by her bedroom door next time. She entered the kitchen, her mind doing most of the work for her, having memorized her every move. After performing the same routine night after night, intelligent thought was no longer required. The bottles practically made themselves.
Cupping the bottle in her hand, Serena stirred the formula and water together and popped it into the microwave. She watched the hardened plastic revolve around and around on the circular glass tray like a carousel. For a moment, her eyes closed and she found sleep again until Finn’s desperate cries grew louder. She was used to the baby fussing, but he’d never been this agitated before.
“Almost there,” she called. “Mommy’s coming.”
Mommy.
She wasn’t used to the name. She wondered if she’d ever get used to it.
The microwave dinged. She removed the bottle and dipped her pinkie finger inside, ensuring the formula had heated just right. Perfect. She screwed the lid on and paused. The crying had stopped.
Had he fallen back to sleep?
All was quiet. Too quiet.
Tiptoeing to the other side of the house, she snuck up to the crib. A wave of panic gripped her. There was no baby.
A low, lucid chirp prompted Serena to whip around. She saw nothing at first, but there was something peculiar about the wall opposite her. A dark shadow in the shape of a person blackened its surface. Her eyes trailed the shadow to its source—the bedroom door. Was someone behind it?
“Who’s there?” Her voice trembled.
No response.
Her eyes tore across the lamp-lit room. Armed with nothing but the baby’s bottle, she saw no way to defend herself from the assumed attacker. Her mind raced back to a self-defense class she’d taken years earlier, remembering something the instructor had said about fingers being a person’s most viable weapon. “Jab them in the eyes,” he’d said, lecturing the room full of women on how to handle an intruder. “Fast and with all the force you can muster. Don’t think about it. Just do it.”
A knot wrenched her gut. “I asked who’s there. Show yourself.” She thought about adding the word “please,” but didn’t want to sound weak.
While there was no movement from behind the door, a second faint squeak emitted from Finn’s mouth.
“Who are you?” she cried. “Come out. I know you’re there.”
A man’s voice floated throughout the room. He spoke, but not to her. “Hush now.” His tone was rugged, yet soothing enough to quiet the child.
The man remained behind the door, toying with Serena. But why? It didn’t matter why. Not really. Whoever he was, he had her baby, and she was done playing his game. She shaped her fingers into a stiff V and surged forward. The man stepped out, anticipating her protective instinct to react. He had the height of a basketball player and the largest hands she’d ever seen. In one hand he held Finn. In the other, a Sig Sauer .45, aimed right at her head.
“Back…up,” he demanded. “Now.”
Staring down the barrel of a gun, Serena shied away, seeing no alternative than to comply with his demand.
“Why do you have my baby?” she whispered.
He bounced Finn up and down, his eyes never breaking contact with Serena’s terrified face. “My baby.”
He laughed, finding the comment amusing.
A defiant Serena refused to give in any more than necessary. “What do you mean your baby?”
A second nervous laugh escaped from the man’s lips.
Finn started to cry.
“He’s frightened,” Serena said. “Let me hold him. Please.”
“Can’t.”
“Please! You’re scaring him!”
She attempted to place the bottle on the nightstand.
“Don’t!”
“I was just going to—”
“Your hands,” he grunted. “Keep them where I can see them.”
She wasn’t sure whether to hoist them in the air, palms forward, like she was a hostage, or to let them fall to the side. He picked up on her uncertainty.
“Just … cross your arms or something.”
In his eyes she detected inner conflict, like he was wrestling with the decision of whether to keep Finn or give him back. Or maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe he was trying to decide whether she lived or died. His hands were steady, not sticky and pulsating like hers. Why was he there? What was his motivation? If only she could figure it out, maybe she could save them both.
