Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Gemma just looked at me.
“I guess you could set up a low dog gate to keep people corralled.”
Her face lit up. “Disco has a gate.”
“You have a dog named Disco?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“We’ll have to talk to your mother about that,” I informed her.
“Okay,” she agreed because she was a very easygoing child, and then she tilted her head as though confused about something.
“What’s with you?” I asked.
“Who’s that?” she asked me.
I looked around. “Who is who, love?”
“That lady.”
Benji had told me once that both children and animals were able to see ghosts. I really didn’t want that to be true.
“Where are you looking?”
But the woman she pointed at wasn’t a ghost, and I knew that for certain because she had a gun.
TWELVE
My brain ran through a hundred different scenarios at once, but really, nothing made sense that had anything to do with me. Whatever this was, it was about Ash. I just had to figure out why. Somehow, Ash was this woman’s target, and because he was, so was I, since I was in his orbit. And now, so was Gemma. If anything happened to her, it would be my fault because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I had to get Gemma out of the room. That was paramount.
“Who’re you?” I asked, and I could hear the ice in my tone. At the same time, I pivoted to the left, not facing her, angled away so that if she fired the gun, the bullet would have to pass through me to hit Gemma. The .38 revolver she was holding would be loud if she discharged it, and God willing, the little girl could get away. “What do you want?”
She was shaking, and that was horrible. “I just need to talk to you.”
“I’ll talk to you. Just let me put her down so she can run back to her mom.”
Her brows furrowed. “I can’t do that. I have no control over you without the child.”
Which was true, but… “If you let me put her down, I will let you put the gun to my back and walk me out of here.”
“This is just—this is all such a big mistake. Everything got so out of control.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Of course. I want to help you, but this little girl, I can’t even focus past her being accidentally shot.”
She bit her bottom lip, and I read the anxiety and fear and worry all over her. In that moment, a whole new set of scenarios flooded my mind.
As close as she was standing, if she fired the gun, she couldn’t miss me. On the other hand, I was too far away to rush her, or drop Gemma and lunge at her, and again, with the way she was trembling, flying bullets were a real concern.
“Please,” I begged her, coaxing, taking a breath, trying not to sound frantic or angry, trying to infuse some warmth into my tone.
“If I do this, you’re walking out of here with me. We’re going arm in arm, and I am shoving the muzzle of this gun into your ribs.”
I nodded fast. “Great. Perfect,” I commended her, feeling the relief wash over me as I turned my back to her and put Gemma down.
Or tried to put her down.
She lifted her legs and held them straight out.
“Gemma, honey, I need to put you down, and then you run to your mommy.”
“No,” she said petulantly, as would any overly tired two-year-old. She wanted to be held. She wanted to be held because she wanted to put her head down on my shoulder. Anything else wasn’t happening.
“Love,” I crooned softly. “Please run to Mommy.”
She shrieked her no the second time, and the woman jolted, startled.
“I think we should just take her with—”
“Oh,” I said quickly, my brain coming out of the fog of fear. “My friend, you saw him, Gemma, he has candy in his pocket. Run and get some for me.”
Her smile was huge, and I sent up a silent thanks to Cora, the firstborn, my queen bee of a sister who always said that toddlers wanted to help more than anything. They wanted to do things for the people they loved. You could always get them moving if you asked for a favor.
I set her down, watching as she scampered away.
As promised, instantly there was a gun muzzle shoved into my ribs. But that was fine. It was just her and me now, and I was betting I had more training. If Preeya Shah got the drop on me, or my colleague, Ella Guzman, my chances weren’t great. But honestly, this woman seemed like she played tennis and golf at a country club, and as I really looked at her, she was absolutely dripping in diamonds. And no, I shouldn’t have judged solely on her brown hair with gold and red highlights, her overly tanned skin, or her French manicure, but it was hard not to.