AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Well, I have to admit that it was a good plan," I said. "Rob everyone who's been thumbing their noses at you, tie up Mab's estate for as long as possible so you could steal even more from it before you finally skipped town, murder me on the side. I'll give you credit, Jonah. You always give it your all. Why, in your own way, you're even more devious than Mab was. "
"I would have gotten away with it too," he muttered again. "If not for that damn dress. Who the hell in Northtown sells two dresses exactly alike? Don't they know how gauche that is?"
Well, I guessed Finn wasn't the only man in Ashland who had a strange interest in women's fashion. My lips twitched, but I held back my laughter. At least I wasn't the only one who saw the irony of the situation. This time, it had actually worked in my favor.
McAllister pushed away his brandy glass and dropped his right hand down behind the bar. He straightened up to his full height and gave me a cold, sinister glare. "Very well done, Gin. Really. Quite impressive, how you put everything together. And all this time, I thought that you were just a coldhearted bitch. I didn't realize that you actually had a brain in that ruthless little head of yours. "
I grinned. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises. "
He gave me a thin smile. "And so am I. "
McAllister raised his hand out from behind the bar, a gun glint
ing in his fingers.
Chapter 32
Click.
Click-click-click.
Click.
McAllister pulled and pulled the trigger, cursing louder and louder when the gun didn't fire.
I reached into another pocket on my vest, pulled out the clip that went into the weapon, and waggled it at him. "Looking for this? I took the liberty of removing it from your gun, along with the round in the chamber. In fact, I went through the whole house and took all the ammunition out of every single one of your guns. You have quite the collection, Jonah. Revolvers, handguns, even a good ole-fashioned shotgun under your bed. Why, you've got enough firepower in here to start a small war, even by Ashland standards. Consider me impressed. "
He looked at me a moment before his gaze dropped to the useless gun in his hand. "Dammit!"
He reared back and threw the weapon at me as hard as he could. His aim was lousy, and I didn't even have to duck as the weapon sailed on by me, hit one of the glass doors to my left, bounced off, and clattered to the floor. The fact that he'd missed me so badly only fueled his rage. McAllister slapped his snifter off the bar, not caring which direction it went or where it landed. A second later, the bottle of brandy shattered against the wall closest to him. One by one, he grabbed and threw and smashed everything he could get his hands on. Another bottle of booze from underneath the bar. A crystal paperweight on an end table. Even the photo of his son.
I grinned, laced my hands behind my head, and watched the show.
As suddenly as it had come, all of the rage went out of him, like a balloon that had popped under pressure. His entire body deflated, and he sagged against the bar, breathing hard, tiny drops of blood oozing out of the shallow cuts that dotted his knuckles. He looked at me again, his brown eyes dull and tired.
"All right," he mumbled. "Go ahead. Get it over with. Do your worst. I know you want to, and honestly, I just don't care anymore. "
I removed my boots from the top of his desk, set them on the floor, and got to my feet. McAllister tensed as I walked toward him, and his gaze flicked to the doorway, like he was still thinking about making a break for it. No matter what he said, he wasn't ready to die. No one ever really was in the end. We all thought we had all the time in the world, and when we realized that wasn't the case, we did whatever we could to prolong the inevitable, if only for a few more precious seconds.
I reached the bar and stopped. I was directly in front of McAllister, with him on one side and me on the other, just like it had always been. I stared at him for a moment, then palmed one of my knives. He sucked in a breath at the flash of silverstone in my hand, and his body swayed from side to side like his legs were about to go out from under him. But I had to hand it to the lawyer. He bucked up, lifted his chin, and stared me straight in the eye.
The seconds passed. Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . . forty-five . . .
McAllister's breaths grew shorter and raspier, his left eye twitching in time to the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His body trembled, and his lips quivered, as he prepared himself to let out one final scream.
I stood there and let him sweat for a good three minutes. Then I tucked my knife back up my sleeve, crossed my arms over my chest, and leaned one hip against the bar.
"Relax, Jonah. I'm not going to kill you. "
He blinked. "You're not?"
I shook my head. "Nope. "
His whole body crumpled, and he barely managed to grab the edge of the bar to keep himself from doing a header onto the floor. For once, even his tight, smooth face had a bit of emotion in it: relief. Pure, sweet, unadulterated relief that he was going to get to keep on breathing.
His relief was going to be short-lived, though. I'd seen to that.
It took him a few moments, but McAllister pulled himself together. He straightened back up and regarded me with cold eyes once more.
