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It didn’t matter who Trina was, or what she wanted, just that Hannah and Bruce got home to Gigi.
As Hannah made hard contact, bone on bone, flesh on flesh, the gun fired—her ears ringing, filling her senses with the smell of cordite. Hannah heard the gun clatter to the floor as they both hit the ground hard. Hannah landed on top of the taller woman, her weight pushing all the air from Trina in a great rush.
Then it was mayhem, with Bruce rushing Joshua as Hannah thought he would, and Cricket screaming. Mako was bent over Liza, holding her and looking on like he was helpless, eyes glassy.
“Mako,” she yelled. “Do something!”
But he didn’t seem to hear her.
The knife. The gun. Where were they?
Hannah could see them both—just out of reach in opposite directions.
The other woman struggled, and Hannah punched her hard in the face. The pain radiated up her arm, skin on her knuckles splitting, burning. She hit the other woman again. Then, Hannah, still on top of Trina, pinning the other woman with her weight, reached over her for the gun.
Just as she almost got it, the other woman grabbed for her, and then Trina was on top, pinning Hannah to the ground, the gun skittering away from Hannah’s grasp. Hannah writhed free to scramble for the knife, with Trina right on top of her, a hard knee in her back.
“Just stop,” Trina said through gritted teeth. “Let me end him.”
Hannah watched Bruce land a solid punch to Joshua’s jaw, just as Trina grabbed Hannah’s hair to keep her from getting closer to the knife.
“Cricket,” Hannah screamed, as Trina brought another painful knee into her ribs. “Get the gun.”
Bruce and Joshua were on the ground now, rolling and punching. Hannah felt herself losing strength. She reached, stretched painfully, for the gleaming knife.
Just one more inch.
Trina was on top of her again, grabbing at her arm.
Hannah felt herself weaken, air being pushed from her lungs. She realized then that she was bleeding, blood gushing from her arm. The pulse of adrenaline kept the pain at bay.
But the room was starting to fade.
No, she thought.Gigi.
Another lightning flash.
Another deafening crack of thunder.
Then two shots rang out. And the world seemed to come to a stuttering stop.
44
Bracken
The Elegant Overlook is empty. He’s been through all the rooms. Their belongings remain, but the guests are nowhere to be found. Some uneaten desserts line the bar; there are towels scattered around the deck, soaking wet in the rain. There are signs of a struggle inside, a lamp knocked over, furniture moved oddly. By the door is a satchel containing ropes, shovels, a hammer, a hunting knife. Some plastic tarps.
Bracken listens to the silence of the night.
But then he hears it, a deep rumble. Something else, a roar from the air.
Then the front foyer floods with light and the rumble is not from thunder but the arrival of five black SUVs.
As they pull to a stop in the circular drive, armed personnel clad in black with big FBI vests exit and fan out.
Bracken feels a drop of dread. Is this about him? His cameras?
He stands speechless, watching, waiting. Will they take him to jail? What about May? What will she think of him now?
