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By Root 522 0

“Scott adored me. Thought I was God’s gift. Until he met your sister.” She was in the full light of the kitchen now and she seemed older than her years, world-weary, as she aimed the gun at Marquise. She leaned one hip against the counter and glanced at Maggie. “The worst part of it was, the affair didn’t mean anything to you. Scott was just someone to play with, someone to steal. I should have quit then, told you to go take a hike, but I couldn’t. You were the only client I had—the celebrity draw. Do you know how long I’ve hated myself for my weakness, for still being at your beck and call while you stole my husband from me, then tossed him over?”

Maggie felt sick inside. Mary Theresa’s eyes were round, her skin white. “Don’t listen to her, Mag,” she insisted.

“Forming that company afterwards, MER, was just to salve your guilty conscience,” Eve said. “You know, I think I’ve got an idea how to end all this.”

“What?” Mary Theresa asked nervously.

“A way to clean up the mess that you and Renee made.”

“No—” Maggie, we’ve got to do something. She’s gonna kill us both. Grab the knives! “Eve, this is foolish. We’ve got to work something out. Come on—” As Marquise tried to reason with her, Eve glanced her way. The rack of knives was only a short distance away. Heart drumming, Maggie edged closer to the counter.

But the wheels were turning in Eve’s mind. “It’s gonna work out, all right. My way.”

She raised the pistol.

Stop her! Now!

Maggie lunged forward.

Eve twisted the gun, pointing it at her own left arm. Crack! The little gun went off. Eve screamed in agony.

“You stay here,” Thane commanded Becca as he stood on the brakes in front of Marquise’s house.

“No way.” Becca wasn’t going to be pushed around.

“Don’t argue; it could be dangerous.”

“So?” She didn’t seem the least bit intimidated but he understood her reasoning. This was a kid who had lied, stolen, and hitchhiked to get to her mother from California. Thane’s paranoia wasn’t going to hold her back.

“I don’t know what’s in the house. Stay put. I’ll be back for you.”

“Liar.”

“Do it, Becca,” he ordered as he climbed out of the truck, wishing there was a way to lock her safely inside. Obviously his lecture about being mature, responsible and doing what your elders say had had no effect on her whatsoever.

He started up the walk, turned on his heel and pointed at the truck with one authoritative finger.

A pistol cracked.

A woman screamed in agony.

Maggie!

He burst through the door and ran blindly through the hall. His head pounded with fear. He’d lost her. Come all this way only to lose her. Dread and rage thundered in his heart. “Maggie! For the love of Christ! Maggie!” His voice was raw, his heart pumping, hell-raising fury and blind-ass fear driving him on.

“Thane—stay back!” Maggie’s terrified voice.

She was alive.

“Get the hell out.” Another voice, one he didn’t recognize. He kept running.

He heard footsteps behind him. Sirens screaming outside.

“Mom?” A small voice.

“Becca? Oh, God, no!” Maggie yelled. “Stay back! For the love of God—Thane, get her out of here! NOW!”

“Shut up!” The woman’s voice again. Boots thundering, he rounded the corner and saw a woman with blood running down her arm and a gun in her hand. She turned, her face ashen, and leveled the weapon at him.

“No!”

“Mom!” Becca ran into the room and started to push Thane, but he grabbed her.

“Becca, get away!” Maggie screamed, vaulting toward the bloody woman, who rounded, her hand wobbling. As Maggie reached her, the barrel was pointed at Becca and Thane.

“Oh, God, no!” Mary Theresa threw herself between Thane and Eve, just as the gun spat fire.

Bam!

With an agonizing scream, Mary Theresa hit the floor. Thane pushed Becca into a chair.

The shooter took aim again.

Thane sprang through the air.

Crack! The pistol exploded with a burst of fire.

Pain, white hot, burned through his gut. He wrestled the woman to the ground, fighting a blackness pressing against his brain.

“Thane! No! No!” Maggie cried.

The world swam before his eyes but he held onto the woman who was clawing