Chapter 89
Sam stares at the assembled group, dumbfounded. Behind him I see a pair of police officers.
Catherine turns around. A look of surprise flashes across her face, to be quickly replaced by one of innocence.
The gun is tucked behind her back, out of view.
Neither Sam nor the cops appear to have noticed it.
Her shoulders slump, as if from relief. “Samuel. Thank goodness you’re here.
Jordan has been having a hard time. Dr. Burgess believes she may have had a mental break.
She has caused quite a ruckus tonight. We’re trying to help her. ”
“Jordan?” Sam glances toward me, still being held by Burgess and Jamie, although they’ve loosened their grip now.
“Don’t believe her. She has a gun,” I say quickly. “They want to kill me.”
At the mention of a weapon, the two cops push past Sam and into the living room, drawing their weapons.
“Is that true, ma’am?” one of them asks. “Do you have a gun?”
“Why would I have a gun?” Catherine asks, her voice flat and calm.
“I appreciate your concern, Officers, but there really isn’t any need for you to be here.
We have everything under control, and no one got hurt.
Dr. Burgess was about to administer Jordan a sedative, and we were going to put her to bed. ”
“That’s right.” Burgess clears his throat. He glances toward the wine bottle. “She’s had quite a night.”
“She bit my goddamn ear off,” Jamie says, still clutching a hand to his head. “She’s insane.”
“They’re lying,” I say, frantic. “She has a gun behind her back.”
“Ma’am, show us your hands,” one of the police officers says. “Nice and slow.”
Catherine hesitates. Then her face changes. Something seems to snap inside her. Instead of showing her hands, she whips the gun up, aims it at Sam.
“No.” I’m overcome by a sudden terror. If she kills Sam, she will inflict a worse revenge than drugging and putting me in that bathtub to drown. I tear free of Burgess, twisting out of his arms with a strength I didn’t know I possessed, and lunge forward.
Catherine senses my assault and tries to step out of the way, her finger tightening on the trigger. But we’re so close that there’s nowhere to go. I slam into her. Grab at her arm.
The gun swings wildly. A loud boom erupts that leaves my ears ringing.
Two more quick blasts split the air.
Catherine staggers backward, her eyes wide with surprise. Her arms fall to her sides, the gun clattering to the floor. Then she crumples to the ground as a pair of crimson stains bloom on her blouse, turning it a dark red.
From somewhere off to my left, there’s a grunt.
I turn to see Kalina staring down at her abdomen in shocked disbelief as another seeping red stain soaks through the fabric of her sweater. She wobbles and stumbles forward, and then her legs give out. Of all the places Catherine’s errant bullet could have gone, it found Kalina.
I should feel something other than satisfaction at her plight, but I don’t.
Ron rushes forward and drops to his knees next to his wife. He cradles her limp body in his arms and screams in anguish. If Catherine’s spirit hasn’t already taken flight, it will probably be the last thing she ever hears.
Dawn runs from the bedroom and stares at her mother, frozen by shock.
Dr. Burgess bolts for the open door, but one of the cops barks an order for him to stop. He skids to a halt, hands in the air.
Sam rushes forward and scoops me into his arms. “What were you thinking, tackling Catherine like that? You could have gotten yourself shot.”
“Better than her shooting you,” I say, collapsing into his embrace. I’m trying not to cry but losing the battle. Any hint of inebriation is washed away by the adrenaline coursing through me. “I would be dead right now if you hadn’t shown up. How did you know I needed help?”
“I got your message, and I knew right away that you were in trouble. Especially after I tried to call you back several times and you didn’t answer. That’s when I called the police and rushed over here.”
“You saved my life. After the way I treated you, after what I accused you of—” I choke back a sob.
The last few hours are a blur, and not just because of the alcohol and drugs.
I’m clearly in shock. But I’m also more relieved than I’ve ever been in my life.
And right now, I don’t want to let go of Sam .
. . ever. He’s my anchor. My rock. “I’m sorry for—”
“Hey. It wasn’t your fault,” he says quickly, then holds me even tighter. “And I’m never leaving you alone like that again, even if you try to kick me out.”
Right now that sounds like the most wonderful thing in the world. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Sam kisses my forehead and strokes my hair, while behind him, out in the hallway, I hear hurried footsteps and raised voices. Then the room is full of cops.