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Mary Elise stepped deeper into the yard, prayed, inched another step, Kent subtly moving toward her every time she did. Closer to the buried bucket trap.
If only she could keep him talking. Good Lord, why had she never realized how much this man liked the sound of his own voice?
“You still haven’t unwrapped my gift, Mary Elise. How rude.”
Her fingers convulsed around the crystal paperweight clenched in her fist, the paper crackling around it. No, she hadn’t dared do anything after scooping it from the porch.
Was he trying to distract her so he could launch forward? She locked her gaze with Kent’s when she desperately wanted to look down for affirmation on the placement of the submerged spike trap.
God, she hoped her peripheral vision and memory were on target. She needed him disabled, couldn’t risk him overpowering her, because heaven help her, she wasn’t sure she could actually shoot him. “How about I check it out after you’re in jail?”
“That’s no fun.” He tugged his tie back over his shoulder, tiny pelicans traipsing their pattern across blue silk. “Remember how much you enjoyed seeing me open this for my birthday? The bearer of gifts enjoys watching the receiver unwrap the present almost as much as selecting it.” A slow smile crept across his face. “I enjoyed watching you find my other gift, the plant. You knew it was from me, didn’t you?”
“You really are twisted.” She willed her feet to adjust closer to the nearest bucket.
“And you’re illogical. Old territory. Move on. Did you like the other gifts? The syringe? The fertility clinic flyer in Baker’s mail?”
Flyer? Her mind winged back to the stack of junk mail in Daniel’s condo on the coffee table, how he’d fidgeted with it after she’d told him about Kent.
Oh, Daniel. Always trying to flipping protect her.
She absolutely refused to let Kent anywhere near him. Hatred spiked sarcasm. “As always, Kent, you’re too generous.”
His smile widened without reaching his eyes. “I do miss your wit. Now, open your present and I’ll tell you whether your lover is alive or dead.”
A frigid fist closed around her heart. She knew Kent was playing with her like a cat tormenting a mouse. And she wouldn’t be a mouse. She would play his game and win.
Keeping one hand steady on the gun, and her eyes glued to him, she worked the paper free of the band around the weight. Thicker paper than she’d originally thought. She raised it and glanced at the last thing she would have expected.
Her fingers clenched around the funeral mass card for her stillborn child. Cold hatred iced through her, although she wouldn’t give Kent the satisfaction of seeing he’d stabbed her clean through. She thought perhaps she could shoot Kent after all. Fighting back for herself wasn’t near as easy as fighting for her child.
Maternal instincts swelled further, encompassing Trey and Austin, demanding retribution for the fear this man had brought down uponherboys by working with their uncle. How dare he force Trey and Austin into hiding? Fury clogged her throat.
“It seems only right that you have one, too, since you left everything behind when you ran from me.”
She cleared the haze of emotions and adjusted another inch to the left.Move, Kent. Move.“I didn’t run from you. I rantolife. Something you couldnever understand.”
Her finger itched on the trigger until logic teased, reminding her if she gunned him down in cold blood, she would be no better than him.
That argument almost swayed her. Almost. Then logic pushed further that she owed it to Trey, Austin, Danny to be a stronger person. As much as she wanted vengeance, her life was inexplicably woven with theirs. And that surrender made her all the stronger.
She took a bold step forward toward the trap, placing her within touching distance of pure evil.
Kent lunged.
An explosion of motion from the trees behind him yanked her vision up. Danny?
Kent grabbed her wrist, twisted, squeezed. Her gun went flying. She screamed. Jerked, yet was unable to take her eyes off Danny locked in hand-to-hand battle with a knife-wielding foreigner. Blood stained both of them. From which one?
Bodies shifted, revealing a face she’d hoped never again to see outside of Rubistan.
Ammar.
Daniel gripped both of the man’s arms, brought his knee up, Ammar twisting to dodge. The man’s heavily accented curse floated on the air. “That McRae woman should have died in the car, not my sister.”
Mary Elise shuddered. “Danny,” she whispered.
Daniel appeared to have the upper hand, but—
