Chapter 41 Talbot
TALBOT
The organ music blares slightly off-key as I sneak into the side entry to the chapel. I watch through a crack in the door as confused-looking guests wander into the wedding.
I’ve been staking out the place since yesterday, getting all my equipment in place and planning my exit route.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised there are so many people here.
They’re going to need some safe topic to gossip about with their disliked family members over the holidays, and Misty’s second wedding to Austen—after he dumped her stepsister, whom he was cheating on her with—is good holiday dinner table fodder.
I ignore all the NHL celebrities.
I’m here for one person.
Austen isn’t making it down the aisle. Misty is mine.
The groomsmen gather near the entry of the chapel, in tuxedos with socks and pocket squares in Harbor Hawks blue. Misty’s brother Mason shifts on his feet like he’s about to go on the ice for a playoff game, not watch his older sister get married.
There’s the man of the hour.
I just need to lure him away from the group, push him down a flight of stairs, bash his head in for good measure, and it’s over. Then I’m taking Misty.
I search around.
Cocoa is wearing a brand-new crocheted white costume with a little pillow on the back to hold the wedding rings.
I whistle low for the dog.
Her ears perk up. Austen doesn’t seem to care that the wedding rings are wandering off.
He keeps checking his phone, not paying attention at all as his groomsmen try to joke with him.
Sienna sees Cocoa trundling to the door where I’m hidden and grabs her, scolding the dog.
The organ music switches to the wedding march, and the groomsmen and bridesmaids head down the aisle.
This isn’t happening.
The cold certainty of it.
There is a maintenance hatch to get you up into the attic space over the chapel to service the organ.
At the back, there’s an air vent that has the perfect angle to target anyone standing at the altar.
Austen cannot marry Misty.
He will not marry Misty.
I have a Plan B.
This is my Hail Mary gun. It was used in the murder of a prominent CEO—not by me—and the FBI never found the weapon.
Because I have it.
Shooting Austen with this gun will throw the trail off me completely.
Austen’s mother gives him the perfunctory kiss on the cheek then sits down on the nearby pew.
Cocoa wanders down the aisle after Misty’s little sister, who throws clumps of wilted red rose petals on the ground.
It should have been me there.
I’m distantly aware that I’ve become obsessive, but I don’t like to lose. Especially not to someone like Austen, who’s nothing more than chopped meat.
Misty, all alone in white, appears below me, slowly approaching Austen and her future.
Ryan West and Rachel are already seated, and they turn to look at their daughter.
Misty gazes up at Austen like he’s the light of her life.
Shame all the blood is going to stain that white dress.
Ryan squeezes Brielle’s hand. Misty’s stepsister is dressed all in black with a big black hat and a black veil.
The priest begins the ceremony.
I’m going to have to wait for the vows, when the priest is out of the way of my shot.
He moves to try to wrestle the rings off the dog, who is shocked that she is being touched.
“Cocoa,” Misty scolds, untying the little pillow.
The priest clears his throat. “If anyone present should know of a reason why these two may not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
The entire crowd shifts to look at Brielle.
She makes a big show of dabbing her eyes.
The priest hands Misty Austen’s ring.
Misty pulls out a little piece of paper.
“Austen,” she begins, “you were the last thing I expected. A literal golden boy who saw me even when I was invisible to everyone else. When you asked me to coffee, I thought it was a dare. When you asked me to move in, I thought I was dreaming. But you were serious. As serious as you’ve been about your career. ”
She pauses, searching for his gaze.
“And now you’re serious about us. Or I thought—” Her voice catches.
“You’ve shown me what it means to commit, to dream bigger, to want things for myself.
I promise to stand beside you even when it’s hard.
I promise to never let anyone—including myself—make you feel like you’re not enough.
And I promise that whatever comes next..
. I’ll face it with you.” She’s even crying a little at the end.
I’ve never wanted to kill a man more than I want to kill Austen at this moment.
Then the priest turns to him. “Austen?”
And that’s when he moves.
Not forward.
Back.
Out of my line of fire.
He clears his throat. “I... can’t.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence.
“What?” Misty whispers.
He looks around—at the guests, the altar decorated in green garland with red ribbons for the holiday.
“I thought I could do this,” he says, voice low and tight. “But I can’t.”
A ripple runs through the crowd. Someone gasps. Brielle looks triumphant.
Misty takes a step toward him. “Austen—”
“I’m sorry,” he says. Then he turns and walks down the aisle alone, his footsteps loud in the silence.
I’m already abandoning my perch.
Back to Plan A. Push him down the stairs.
I slide out of an oversized air return, light on my feet, just in time to see him standing in the middle of the white-and-black-marble tile in the oversized foyer of the church.
I creep along the floor outside of Austen’s peripheral vision and hide behind a Christmas tree.
He’s on his phone, probably calling an Uber or something.
I have a set of garnett wire on weights. I’ve already disabled the security cameras.
As soon as Austen heads down the narrow steps of the historic church, I’m going to throw my weapon at his legs, tripping him.
I’ll pretend to be the concerned bystander, check on him, break his neck, and unwind the wire from his feet.
It’s winter and cold, and I have my hat and hood and scarf up over my face. No one will know it was me there.
The ancient wooden church doors creak open as Austen steps outside into the snowy, cold afternoon.
Walking quickly—not running—across the marble in long strides, I catch the heavy wood door before it slams shut and slip out behind him.
Austen’s alone at the top of the stairs.
I crouch, aim...
Fuck.
A man in black is racing up the steps towards us.
I see him before he sees me.
Austen watches the third man look between us and turns to me, his face falling in horror.
“I knew it! I knew it!” he screeches as he sees the gun slung over my shoulder. “Who sent you? Who sent you after me?” I can make out someone running on the other side of the door—commotion.
I’m losing my window.
The man in black is up on the landing now.
“Tell me who’s trying to kill me!” Austen screams at me, fists balled. He takes a step towards me.
The third man pulls a pistol out of his coat.
Austen never even sees the shot coming.
The firing of the gun blasts through the snowy afternoon.
Austen collapses to the ground, blood rapidly pooling around him and staining the clean marble.
The door opens.
“Austen!” Misty screams. Grabbing handfuls of her white dress, she runs through the cold.
She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face. “Austen, no! You killed him!” she sobs. “Monster! You murdered him!” She kneels down as the blood stains her white wedding dress.
Blood bubbles out of Austen’s mouth.
His eyes are glassy to the sky.
“I hate you!” Misty screams at me.
“Misty, you have to believe me. I didn’t kill Austen. I swear, it wasn’t me.”