The betrayal cut deeper than she’d imagined possible. While she’d been beaten, drugged, terrified for her life, Julius had been here—comforting Ava, helping with the search, playing the concerned cousin.
“Why not just kill me yourself?” she asked, testing the bindings at her wrists. Too tight. No give.
“Because I love you.” He said it simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re family. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just needed you gone, somewhere far away, where you couldn’t interfere.”
“That’s not love,” Ava said, her voice suddenly strong. “That’s possession. Control. The same sickness that made you hurt those girls.”
Julius turned to his grandmother, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. “Don’t analyze me, old woman. You don’t understand what I’ve become.”
“I understand perfectly,” Ava replied, lifting her chin. “You’re weak. Always have been. Hiding behind badges and smiles, pretending to be a man when you’re nothing but a coward who preys on women.”
Naomi tensed, silently begging her grandmother to stop provoking him. But Ava continued, her voice gathering strength.
“Mary Rose saw through you, didn’t she? That’s why you really killed her. Not because she fell. Because she knew what you were.”
Julius’ face contorted with rage. He crossed the room in three quick strides and pressed the gun to Ava’s forehead. “One more word,” he whispered, “and I’ll paint the wall with your brains.”
“Do it,” Ava challenged, her eyes burning with contempt. “Show us the coward you really are.”
Naomi’s heart hammered against her ribs as she watched Julius’ finger tighten on the trigger. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back, a humorless laugh escaping him.
“Nice try, Grandmother. But I’m not falling for it.” He tucked the gun back into his waistband. “Besides, I have plans for both of you. Tragic, really. The grief-stricken grandmother, unable to live with the loss of another grandchild, takes her own life—but not before killing the last one left.”
Cold understanding washed over Naomi. “You’re going to make it look like a murder-suicide.”
Julius smiled, pleased with her quick grasp of the situation. “Always the clever one. Yes. After I’m done here, I’ll go back to work. Help with the search for the dangerous ex-con who assaulted an officer and then disappeared with his girlfriend.” His expression softened into something almost genuine. “It’s better this way, Naomi. You’ll be remembered as a victim. A tragic cautionary tale. Not as the woman who couldn’t let go.”
Outside, a branch snapped—a sound so faint Naomi almost missed it beneath the roaring in her ears. But Julius heard it too. His head snapped toward the door, body tensing.
“Expecting company?” he asked softly, drawing the gun again.
Naomi thought of Owen, of the distress signal she’d sent. Had it worked? Was he out there, moving through the darkness toward them? Or was it just the wind, playing cruel tricks on her desperate hope?
“No one knows I’m here,” she lied, willing it to sound convincing. “Just Ava.”
Julius studied her face for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. That’ll make this easier.” He raised the gun, pointing it at her heart. “I really am sorry, Naomi. I wish there was another way.”
“There is,” she said desperately. “Turn yourself in. Confess. I’ll tell them you cooperated.”
His laugh was hollow. “Always the optimist. Always believing in the system.” He shook his head. “But we both know that’s not going to happen.”
The gun steadied in his hand, and Naomi closed her eyes, thinking of Owen—of his rare smile, of his hands gentle on her skin, of the promise in his gray eyes when he looked at her. She wished she’d told him she loved him when she had the chance.
“Goodbye, Little Rabbit.”
Something crashed against the front door—once, twice. On the third blow, it exploded inward in a shower of splinters and dust, and Ghost filled the doorway like vengeance given form, his face a mask of cold fury that made her breath catch in her throat.
For a heartbeat, the cabin froze in tableau—Ghost’s coiled violence, Julius’ stunned disbelief, Naomi’s desperate hope. Then Julius swung the gun toward the door, and the moment shattered.
“Owen!” she screamed as the first shot split the air with a crack.
forty-three
The bullet torethrough Ghost’s side like a brand of molten iron, but the pain registered only as data—location: right flank, depth: through-and-through, severity: survivable. His body noted the information even as his mind discarded it, irrelevant to the mission. Julius Charlo stood ten feet away, the gun still raised, eyes wide with shock that his first shot hadn’t stopped the freight train barreling toward him. Ghost didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. His focus had narrowed to a single point—the threat standing between him and Naomi.
Julius fired again, but Ghost was already moving laterally, the bullet whispering past his ear as he launched himself across the room. The collision drove both men to the floor with bone-jarring force, Ghost’s momentum carrying them into the coffee table. Wood splintered beneath them as Ghost pinned Julius beneath his weight, one hand locking around the wrist that held the gun, twisting until something popped and Julius screamed.
The gun clattered to the floor. Ghost kicked it away, his knee driving into Julius’s solar plexus hard enough to empty his lungs. In his peripheral vision, he registered Naomi and Ava—both bound to chairs, both alive. Naomi’s eyes were wide with fear, not for herself but for him. He could feel warmwetness spreading across his side, soaking his shirt, but the pain remained distant, held at bay by adrenaline and training.
