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Truthfully, Bethenny wasn’t in the mood for a muffin. What she needed to do was to call Mitch, but she didn’t want to ask to borrow Louise White’s phone, or the entire town would know the details of the conversation before the sun rose tomorrow. This was a phone call that needed to be made discreetly.
She reached for a muffin and brought it to her mouth as the doorbell rang. Bethenny paused—who could it possibly be now? This was more visitors than she’d had in the last three months combined.
Bethenny put the muffin down. “Excuse me a moment,” she said, not particularly wanting to leave Louise alone in her house—even for a few seconds.
“Wait!” Louise yelled behind her, causing Bethenny to turn back, almost bumping into Louise.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
“What is going on?” she asked Louise, whose eyes darted nervously between the front door and Bethenny.
Louise’s breaths were short, labored. Her eyes went from sad to panicked in a split second.
“Are you expecting someone?” Louise asked urgently.
The doorbell rang again.
Louise shot out an arm. “Don’t answer it,” she said with a trembling voice. “This has... It’s gotten so out of control. It was never meant to end up like this.”
Bethenny took a step back, sensing that something big was about to happen. “What has gotten out of control, Mrs. White?”
“The girls. I never meant to hurt Jessica. It was an accident and I—” She spoke so quickly her words bled into each other but it still wasn’t quick enough. Louise’s voice was silenced by the sound of the glass breaking and her eyes went wide. Bethenny’s head snapped in the direction of the guest bedroom.
Accident? Louise hurt Jessica?
Bethenny’s mind reeled and she felt torn in two: she needed Louise to keep talking, but if she didn’t deal with whoever was breaking into her house first, chances were neither of them would survive.
She stepped in front of Louise, pulling her weapon from the holster on her hip.
“Go to the kitchen, stay down low behind the counter,” Bethenny ordered, her eyes on the closed bedroom door.
When she didn’t hear any movement behind her, she said in a hushed whisper: “Go!”
Bethenny heard footsteps behind her retreat to the kitchen but she didn’t look back. Her eyes were focused on the door. She took a step forward, her ears straining to hear, but the house was now eerily silent.
She weighed her options: open the door, or go out the laundry door and around the side of the house to see in through the window. But she was afraid in the time it would take her to do that, the intruder might come out of the room, which would leave Louise unprotected—and she had information Bethenny needed.
That was a risk she couldn’t take, so she stepped forward. She moved silently, as fast as she could, light on her toes. When her back was against the wall, she crouched down to see the light underneath the door. It was a solid beam, so no one was standing at the door. She paused again, but the only labored breath she heard was her own.
She looked at the doorknob. She would need to move fast. Adrenaline raced through her veins.
She took a steadying breath, then reached for the door, turning the knob and flinging it open. Gunshots sounded and Bethenny pulled back, pressing her back against the wall.
Her side felt like it was on fire and she gritted her teeth, sucking in as much air as she could wheeze. She knew she’d been hit without looking at her abdomen, but she was still standing, so it was likely nothing more than a flesh wound. She refused to look at it. She needed to stay strong, to stay fighting—stay standing.
She took another breath as movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She saw Louise peer around the corner.
Bethenny shook her head vehemently.“No. Stay in the kitchen,”she mouthed. Louise’s eyes dropped to Bethenny’s stomach and she went a shade paler. When her gaze returned to Bethenny’s pleading eyes, Louise hesitated, then retreated.
With Louise back in the kitchen, Bethenny could focus again.
Her eyes landed on a silver flower vase on the console table in the hallway. It didn’t give a clear reflection, but it was good enough to tell Bethenny that no one was standing directly in front of the door; given that there was little space between the wall and the door, Bethenny knew the intruder must be on the other side of the room. She mentally formulated a plan, knowing she would have only a second to execute it—if she was lucky.
She quickly assessed her options again, but she knew she didn’t have many. And she was going to get weaker with every second she stood in the hallway bleeding.
She drew a deep breath then stepped into the doorway, firing. She looked into the mirror and saw a man lunge for her. She moved, but she couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. He knocked her to the floor, taking her by surprise, but she recovered quickly. His hands went for her neck, but she brought her knee to his groin. She missed, hitting his thigh instead.
He hissed in a breath, his eyes dropping to hers. She saw him properly for the first time, then, and she knew without a doubt who her intruder was: Jim O’Connor.
