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Roxanne pocketed her phone and aimed her gun at Sam’s head. “You’re first. The bitch gets to watch you die before she gets hers.”
He wanted to tell Georgia to run, to get into the SUV and drive, but she’d never be able to run far or fast enough.
So he released Georgia’s hand, stepped in front of her, and studied the distance between him and Roxanne.
Five feet. He could leap five feet.
He could knock her down. Take the gun.
Or not. She might shoot you.
She’s going to do that anyway. So move.
He drew a breath and took a running leap, charging headfirst into Roxanne’s middle. He heard the soft pop of the silenced bullet and prayed that she hadn’t hit Georgia.
He slammed Roxanne to the ground, gripping her wrists and pinning them over her head. But she was like a wild animal, snarling and bucking. He lost his grip on her left wrist, but it wasn’t the one holding the gun.
Stay calm. Get the gun.
He could hear Georgia’s anguished cries of “Sam, Sam!” and Siggy’s muted barking from the SUV. He could feel Roxanne’s knee lifting and knew she’d be aiming for his crotch, so he swiveled, trying to simultaneously move his hips and grab her gun.
But Roxanne was faster—and had another weapon. Sam froze at the sound of metal sliding against metal. And the feel of the sharp point at his throat.
Drawing a breath through his nose, he looked down. Roxanne was holding a switchblade to his throat. A stiletto blade.
Just like the one that had actually killed Frankie.
But then, just when he thought he was dead, the barrel of a gun came into view, pressed to Roxanne’s temple. Followed by the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
“If you draw one drop of his blood,” Kit said with utter menace, “I will blow your brains out.”
Sam hadn’t heard Kit approach, the pounding of his heart filling his ears. He didn’t dare move, because Roxanne’s blade was still at his throat, but he could see the woman hesitate.
“You’ll never find your precious coins,” Roxanne whispered hoarsely.
“Already did, along with Jackie,” Kit said. “So drop the knife or die.”
Roxanne’s lips curved and Sam stopped breathing. She didn’t believe Kit was serious.
Panicked, he lurched out of Roxanne’s hold, gasping at the sudden burning at his throat. On reflex, he slapped his hand to the wound as he rolled to the side.
But no blood gushed from his throat. The wound was small. Just a nick. Running on pure adrenaline, he grabbed the gun from Roxanne’s hand and backed up, his ass dragging in the dirt.
Heart slamming against his ribs, he set the gun down, far away from the nurse who now closed her eyes in defeat.
Holy shit. I’m not dead.
Hysterical laughter filled his ears as a weight fell to the ground beside him. “No, boy, you’re not dead,” Georgia said. He must have said that part out loud. She pulled his hand from his throat. “Let me see.”
“How bad is it, Georgia?” Kit asked as she cuffed a silently scowling Roxanne.
“Just a scratch,” Georgia said faintly. “He rushed her. She was pointing a gun at his head and he rushed her. Goddammit, Sam. You nearly killed me with fright.”
“I saw him,” Kit said, breathing hard. “I was running toward you and I saw him jump at her. Nearly killed me, too.”
Sam felt a slow grin stretch his face. “But it worked.”
Georgia slumped beside him, leaning into him. “It did, you cheeky boy. Never do it again.”
