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The can hit Aldo in the chest and he swayed for a second. “Shit! You bitch!”
She fumbled for another weapon, a smaller jar. She threw it.
It bounced off him to smash against a row of bottles that clattered and fell onto the bodies on the floor with soft, sickening thuds.
Before she could grab another jar, he closed in, swiping with his knife as if he were brandishing a machete in the jungle. Kristi backed up on the bit of floor by Hamilton’s head.
“Nowhere to run,” he taunted, swiping again and lunging. The knife glanced off the arm of Kristi’s jacket, fabric rending.
She spun on one foot. Aimed high with the other. Tried to kick him in the face.
He was too quick.
He grabbed Kristi’s arm as she spun and tried to kick high again.
Quick as a cat he grabbed her ankle and she spun onto the floor again, landing this time on Reggie, the woman’s body giving a bit, the tiniest of cries passing through her lips.
She was still alive?
The gun. Jay’s pistol. Where had it landed?Where?
Frantically she searched the small, crowded space as she lay atop the dying woman’s body.
“There’s no escape,” he warned her, and as she glanced up, she saw the evil gleam in his eye, the bright light of satisfaction as he moved his deadly weapon from one hand to the other. Waiting to strike, his eyes holding hers.
He’s enjoying this. The sick prick is actually enjoying this.
She tried to scramble to her feet, but something warm touched her hand. A finger? Reggie’s hand? Oh, dear God. Near her ear, she felt warmth. Reggie’s shallow, slowing breath. In that second she felt something press into her hand—not Reggie’s fingers, but something cold and hard and sharp. Oh, Jesus, was the near-dead woman sliding a knife to her, a long, slim blade that sliced Kristi’s skin as she fumbled for the hilt?
“Kkkiiiillll him,” Reggie whispered almost silently, just as Aldo, his own bloody weapon hoisted high, leaned down to finish her off.
Kristi twirled the fillet knife so that the blade was upright. He slashed down and she feinted with her body. Slid away from Reggie while she still held the fillet knife with its long cruel blade erect.
“Ah!” He saw his doom in that split second, but landed on the blade, it cutting through flesh—muscle and skin, scraping against a bone in his rib cage.
“Aaaarrrggh,” he roared, the knife in his fingers swinging in a wide arc. Kristi, trying to stand upright, dodged to one side. She felt the sting of his short blade scrape through her hair to the back of her neck.
But Aldo wasn’t finished; he was trying to find his feet while blood oozed from his gut and his own legs were tangled with those of his ex-wife. “You—you—you die tonight!” he vowed. He raised up, a wounded animal.
“No!” another male voice thundered, and with a resounding crack, a gun fired. Aldo twitched, dropping his weapon, blood spraying from his mouth as he fell with a thud onto Reggie. Her eyes blinked and, beneath him, she stared at Kristi.
Oh. No. No. No!
Kristi’s head whipped around as she clambered to her feet.
Cruz Montoya stood in the doorway, a gun in his hand, still pointed at Aldo, who was lying unmoving. There was blood, so much blood. And bodies. Oh, God! Everywhere Kristi, shaking, felt the urge to heave.
“Are you all right?” Cruz asked, lowering his weapon and helping her into the kitchen.
“No,” she admitted, and managed not to throw up. “No.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“It’llnever be okay!” she said, in a voice she didn’t recognize.
“Kristi,” he whispered, and she thought he might fold her into his arms.
“Freeze!” another sharp, male voice commanded. “Drop your weapon and put your hands over your head.”
