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“Oh, baby,” she whispered, and sniffed, her emotions so suddenly raw again. She had to pull herself together. Maybe Bella had been right when she’d suggested a grief counselor. Maybe . . .
But now she knew that she had to move forward.
And that meant ending this reign of terror that had her in its grip. Whoever was behind Jay’s death had to pay.
Newly resolved, she dropped his tie over the back of his chair again and walked to the closet, where she pulled the gun case down from the top shelf, set it on the corner of the desk, and snapped it open.
The SIG Sauer was waiting.
She pulled the pistol from the case and felt its weight, remembering balking when Jay had brought it home. “No firearms,” she’d said. “We’re going to have kids someday and—”
“—and we’ll keep it locked and safe. Promise.” He’d flashed a little smile. “Look, Kris, we probably won’t ever use it, never take it out of the case. But just in case we have to, it’ll be here. I don’t like some of the letters you’ve been getting and there are just so many nuts around.”
“Nuts who can break in and steal it or use it on us.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
In that respect, he’d been right. So now she was here, in his office, gun in hand, ready for battle.
The irony of the situation didn’t elude her.
As she felt the heft of the gun and practiced aiming it, she planned her next move. First off, she planned to have a conversation with Hamilton Cooke. Of all the people who could be behind the attack, she couldn’t dismiss the skilled surgeon.
Cooke was precise.
He liked to play head games.
And he hated Kristi.
She located the extra clips for Jay’s pistol on the upper closet shelf.
But would Hamilton Cooke handle a snake? Where the hell would he get one? From an accomplice? But who? Was that even likely?
Her thoughts turned to Cooke’s wife. What about her? Was she involved? Reggie was a tall woman. Could she possibly have been the attacker that night? Her heart turned to stone as she remembered the fire in Reggie’s eyes as she’d confronted Kristi in the parking lot of the television station. And more precisely she recalled how only seconds before, Hamilton Cooke had pointed his finger at her like he was aiming a gun, before speeding out of the very same lot.
Could they be in it together?
Their hatred of her could be so intense that it was possible.
But anything was.
And she needed answers.
It was time to have a chat.
She snapped a clip into the handgun, then took two more clips from the shelf.
Pocketed both.
What are you doing? Expecting a shoot-out?her saner, more rational mind nagged.
She didn’t know, but she wanted some form of protection.
“Now or never,” she told herself, checking to make sure both dog and cat were safely inside and the security system was engaged. She went into the garage, hit the switch to open the door, and slid into her Subaru.
“Just be careful, Kris. Be damned careful.”Jay’s voice was faint, but she could hear it.
“I will,” she whispered to her dead husband, and touched her abdomen. “Promise.”
