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The problem was she’d probably miss and then he would shoot Faith. She couldn’t risk Faith.
Roger was on the phone. The way he was simpering and pacing, he had to be talking to Naomi Rindlesbacher. Ramone watched her and Faith without looking away, diligent in his assignment. His dark eyes were filled with an ugly lust that made her stomach churn almost as bad as the gun in his hand. He seemed to be partial to ogling Faith, which terrified Hope even more.
He looked at Hope time and again and smirked. His eyes trailed over the Lady Fit tank top and running shorts she wore and any bare skin that was exposed. She wanted to puke.
His gaze flickered to her hand, probably making sure the knife wouldn’t come his way. Hope felt somehow reassured holding the sharp paring knife, though a small knife was no match for a gun, and she wasn’t some expert knife thrower.
Did Roger have a gun? She kept glancing over at him, trying to tell. There was a bulge in the pocket of his pants that looked like a gun. Terror pricked at her spine.
Where was Chad? He’d come for them. She knew he would. But how would he rescue them? Faith could easily get shot in the crossfire.
Please protect Faith and Chad.
She needed hope and faith, not fear. It was a tall order. No one had let her or Faith see pictures of Grace’s body, but she knew her sister had been tortured. She knew how monstrous some people could be.
Please don’t let them rape or hurt Faith, she pleaded.
She clung to the knife in her hand, slicing strawberries, and Faith was at the induction cooktop, sautéing veggies in her favorite Caraway frying pan. Hope had bought her those pans, and she had gushed and gushed about them.
It was surreal to be cooking breakfast with a gun pointed at her sister and a demented murderer across the room chatting on his cell phone about her drugging the royal family of Augustine.
Glancing out at the gorgeous fall day, she saw movement down low on the patio. She was startled, and Ramone perked up.
“What?” He narrowed his eyes at her.
She could see just the top of Chad’s head and back as he army crawled across the patio. The windows were all floor to ceiling, so it would be easy for either of the men to spot him if they looked.
“What?” Ramone repeated, turning on his barstool to follow her gaze.
“Spider!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, pointing at the opposite wall and the cabinets next to the garage entry with the knife in her hand. “Spider!”
“Seriously?” Ramone swung to where she was pointing.
Roger glared at her from across the living area, his phone still to his ear. “Quiet, girl,” he commanded.
“Spider!” she shrieked, louder than ever. “Spider!”
Faith stared at her in confusion.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chad reach the patio door and spring to his feet. He’d have to type in the code next to the handle. Would they see him?
“I hate spiders. Ah! Can you kill it?” She was screaming as loud as she could, gesturing around with her knife and making a crazy show, hopefully the right distraction. She never freaked out, but now was the moment to act out of control. “Spider! Faith, get down!”
Faith gave her a determined look, as if she knew exactly what Hope was trying to do by distracting the men and trying to protect her. She grabbed the handle of the pot filled with sizzling vegetables.
Please, please, bless us with a miracle, Hope begged heaven above.
The door beeped as Chad entered the code. Roger and Ramone both spun to look. Hope threw her knife as hard as she could at Ramone. It stuck in his arm. He cried out in surprise and whirled back to them. Faith slung the steaming vegetables into Ramone’s face. He screamed louder, scraping burning hot and greasy vegetables off his face, the knife still protruding from his arm.
Chad was in the doorway, larger than life. He was the answer to prayer and hope and faith. He was her miracle.
His pistol was aimed straight at Ramone. He fired, and a sonic boom shook the entire room. Ramone’s head slammed into the countertop, blood from a head wound covering the counter. He crashed off his bar stool and to the hardwood floor. A pathetic heap of wasted evil.
Faith cried out but held her frying pan up like a weapon. Hope stared at her sister, pride swelling in her heart. Gratitude to heaven was there as well. Faith hadn’t been shot by Ramone.
But still, there was?—
Chad turned his gun on Roger.
