Chapter 47
DONNA
Donna hopped into Bella’s old-school whip and drove toward the expressway. She had every intention of seeing what it could do. Since she knew Bella hadn’t, Donna planned to push her sister’s ride to the limit of its MPH.
It had been an exceptionally long day. Not only had she filled out endless reports about Bella’s serial murders, but she’d also had to do paperwork on the open narcotics case that she’d been neglecting.
When they were younger, impersonating her sister was much easier.
Other than their personalities, they weren’t very different.
Because of their parents, they’d had the same hobbies and had participated in the same activities.
And even though they were both cops, she and Bella couldn’t be more different.
They had the same face, but very contrasting personalities, which led to completely dissimilar styles.
Donna merged onto the expressway and looked in the rearview mirror.
The black sedan, driven by the man Lincoln had charged with her protection.
“I hope he can keep up,” she muttered to herself before gunning it.
Empty expressways were one of the luxuries of getting off work in the middle of the night.
After an invigorating fifteen minutes of speeding down I-94, Donna took the exit leading to Bella’s house.
She’d been living there for a little over two weeks with the hope of drawing out whoever shot Lucas and had tried to kill her sister.
Every day, she went to work as Bella, driving Bella’s car, and living in Bella’s house.
And, so far, nothing. She hadn’t even gotten so much as a prank call.
Soon, Donna pulled into the driveway. She shifted into park, switched off the engine, and grabbed her bag from the front seat. No sooner had she stepped out of the car and closed the door did she hear footsteps hurrying toward her.
In the dark, Donna couldn’t see who was approaching.
None the less, she snatched her gun from its holster and searched for a target.
Almost as soon as she spotted the dark figure coming out of the bushes, the sound of gunshots disrupted the night’s silence.
The force of a bullet, slamming into her chest, sent her crashing violently against her sister’s car.
A second projectile hitting her chest, took her breath away and sent her to the ground.
Without the benefit of air in her lungs, Donna grabbed the handle of the door and struggled to stand.
She had made it to one knee by the time the shooter came to stand before her.
Just before another shot echoed in the darkness, she managed to look into the eyes of the man who wanted her dead.