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“You picked the lock?” Jonathon looked both impressed and amused.
“Naomi will be thrilled she taught me. I didn’t think I'd remember what to do, but I did.” She offered a weak smile as she reached into her bra and retrieved the pins.
“You are amazing.” He gave her a quick kiss, slid her off his lap, took the pins and hurried to the door. He had it unlocked in less than a minute. “Wait down here until I come back for you. Try to find someplace to hide.”
Jumping to her feet, she exclaimed, “I'm not staying here on my own! I'm coming with you.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he said, “Stay behind me.”
Dropping the blanket, Clara kept as close to Jonathon as she could without actually climbing onto his back.
“They must have taken my gun,” he muttered as they started up the steps.
Clara couldn’t remember seeing Ruth take Jonathon’s gun, but she had been preoccupied with thinking that he was dead.
At the kitchen door, Jonathon held a finger to his lips to make sure she knew to keep quiet; then he pressed his ear to the door. Waving at her to tell her to stay where she was, he inched the door open. Jonathon’s broad shoulders blocked her view of the room, but he crept through the door then partially closed it again.
Peeking through the gap, she saw Job in his wheelchair over by an open fireplace. The flames were dancing about, a bright mix of oranges, reds, and yellows, and Job was either mesmerized by the fire or else asleep. Jonathon crept over to him, arming himself with a knife from the counter on the way.
Clara knew that Jonathon wouldn’t hurt Job unless he had no choice, and once the old man was restrained, they could find Ruth and get her restrained, too. Then it was time to go home. She wasn't expecting any trouble from Job; she didn’t think the man was violent. Jonathon was almost upon him when he suddenly sprang from his wheelchair, wielding a knife and lunging for Jonathon.
Terrified, she screamed and barged through the door.
At the same time, another scream echoed through the house.
Ruth appeared in the kitchen doorway, a gun in her hand.
Jonathon reacted quickly, grabbing Job just as Ruth fired the gun. The bullet plowed through Job. Blood blossomed on his cream sweater, right over his heart.
Ruth’s howl of pain was worse than Job’s.
The old man dropped to the floor when Jonathon released him and didn’t move.
Face contorted in anger, Ruth howled in rage and flung herself at Jonathon.
Jonathon moved forward at the same time, and the bullet Ruth fired missed him, slamming into a wall.
Wrapping his arms around Ruth, she squirmed frantically, desperate to get free, but thankfully, with her arms pinned to her sides, she couldn’t get aim at Jonathon.
Clara couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. She grabbed another of the knives from the counter and ran to Jonathon and Ruth.
“Clara, go—get out of here. Wait for Allina outside,” Jonathon ordered.
Using Jonathon’s momentary distraction to her advantage, Ruth stomped on Jonathon’s foot and managed to get free of his grasp.
A shot went off.
Pain burned through her left shoulder.
It took Clara’s foggy brain a moment to connect the two.
Jonathon screamed her name.
She wobbled, sank to the floor, and pressed her hand to her shoulder to try and stem the flow of blood.
“You're both going to die,” Ruth raged as she held her gun pointed at Jonathon’s head. “You killed him. Now we’ll never be together again.”
“Ruth,” Jonathon began, his voice was intended to be soothing, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on her.
