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A step came from behind. Fear gripped her in its clutches. She fought it off. The man could shoot or jump on her any second, but she was not going down without a fight. Maybe she needed to get him talking. She turned around.
He stood on the other side of the desk chair, weapon still raised.
Ignoring the SIG Sauer pointed directly at her, she spat out, “Who sent you?”
“You don’t need to know.” His voice was deep. “My only job is to kill you.”
She saw his finger squeeze the trigger, and in that split second, she shoved Matthew’s chair into him.
The gun fired as it left his hand. Another flash filled the room. The bullet thunked into the wall beside her. She leaped to grab the weapon that had fallen on the blood-stained carpet. The killer seized her from behind. Holding her tight against his chest, he swung around.
The shelf hiding the handguns was only a few feet away. Thrusting her leg as hard as she could in back of her, she kicked her attacker in the crotch. He gasped and let go.
She charged toward the shelf and moved the clasp. It dropped open. The man dove for her. She grabbed the closest gun, Matthew’s Glock, and swung around, smacking the guy hard in the head.
He fell to the floor.
Seeing her chance to find out who he was, she yanked the ski mask off him.
Holding his head, he stared at her. His charcoal eyes held no emotion. His oval face and crooked nose weren’t familiar to her.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Why did you kill my husband?”
He didn’t answer.
Keeping Matthew’s gun aimed at him, she said, “The police will be here any minute. They’re parked out front. Who are you, and who sent you?”
“There’s no police.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve already taken care of him.”
Fear eclipsed her. Strangely, the silver wolf came to mind.
A lone wolf.
A warrior.
Dania had to be a warrior. Though scared beyond reason, she knew this could be her only chance to find the answers to all her questions. Shaking uncontrollably, she said again, “Who sent you? Answer me, or I swear I’ll kill you. I have nothing to lose.”
“If I tell you, I’m a dead man,” he said in a solemn, monotone voice.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew’s small statue of Lady Justice, blindfold over her eyes, sword in one hand and her scales in the other. Her husband deserved justice. All she had to do was squeeze the trigger and Matthew could finally rest.
Her father’s voice came to her, “I’m proud of you.”
If she killed this man, which she felt entirely justified in doing, would Dad still be proud? And what about Jacob, her son? He had no memory of her. If she killed this monster, Jacob would always think of her as a murderer. She teetered on the sharp blade of a double-edged sword.
The man lunged and grabbed her. He jerked her back, clawing at her hands to wrench the weapon from her grasp. Out of reflex, she squeezed the trigger.
Another flash and a deafening bang.
More smoke roiled the air.
As it settled, the man loosened his hold on her as they stared at each other as if expecting the other one to suddenly drop to the floor. When neither did, their gazes went down their bodies. No wounds. Neither one had been hit.
She yanked free from his hold, but he stood between her and the door. He could easily bolt and get away. She raised the gun. She had him dead to rights. “Tell me! Now!”
Before he could answer, a loud, mind-numbing blast rang through the house. The man’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. He staggered, took a few breaths, then slumped over and sank to the floor.
Shocked by the turn of events, Dania didn’t know what to do. She peered through the gauzy haze and found Vanessa Cromwell standing in the foyer, holding a smoking revolver.
