Chapter Thirty-Nine
LOGAN
I did as he said, my mind a storm of curses directed at him and my own timing. A few seconds earlier, and I could have taken him by surprise.
“Throw that fucking poker on the ground,” he snarled.
I obeyed, letting it clatter to the floor, and raised my hands in surrender.
“Where’s that bitch, Evelyn?” he spat.
I fought to keep the hatred from my face. “I came alone. She’s still at the party.”
“She’s at a party while the brats she’s playing mommy to are in danger?” he mocked.
“She doesn’t know. I had her phone when you sent the message. We were separated.” The lie came easily.
“I didn’t want you alone. But my business with that bitch can wait. Now, show me where it is.”
“Where’s what?”
“The jewelry. The money. Whatever valuables you’ve got. All I found was this junk.” He gestured with the backpack slung over his shoulder, bulging with our tablets and Evelyn’s simple jewelry.
“That’s all there is.”
“A millionaire without a safe? Don’t insult me.”
“This isn’t the last century. I don’t keep cash. I can transfer money to you.”
“You think I’m an idiot? I don’t have a bank account. Nothing they can trace.” He rubbed his nose with his free hand, his eyes wide and glassy. Drugs. Of course. That made him even more volatile and unpredictable.
My gaze kept flicking to his other hand, the one still aiming the gun toward my daughters’ room. I had to disarm him, but first, I had to lure him away.
“I have some cash stashed in my closet,” I lied.
A greedy, twitchy smile spread across his face. “Then let’s go get it.”
Keeping my hands raised, I walked slowly past him into my bedroom. The room was a disaster, just like the living room. He’d torn it apart. I led him to the walk-in closet, which had also been ransacked. He followed close behind, the gun now trained squarely on my back.
There was a safe there, hidden behind a false panel in the shoe shelves. We never used it. The neighborhood was safe, and Evelyn had no interest in extravagant jewels.
“I looked everywhere in here,” he sneered. “There’s no safe. You’d better not be bluffing.”
“I’m not.”
I went to the right-side shelves, lifted one, and pressed on the wooden backing. It slid forward, and I dragged it aside, revealing the small, metal door.
“Ingenious,” Peter murmured, impressed despite himself. “Now open it.”
It was empty. But I needed to buy time. I pretended to struggle with the combination.
“It’s taking a moment to remember the code,” I said.
“Hurry up.”
“My memory for numbers isn’t great. And honestly, you came all the way from L.A. for this? There’s not much in here. You picked a bad target.”
“I needed a place to hide and a stake to get out of the country. And you know this isn’t just about robbery.”
“Right. Because after tormenting Evelyn, you still think she owes you some twisted form of revenge.”
“Shut your mouth!” he yelled, the gun in his hand trembling violently.
I was pushing him, gambling on his instability. Either he’d snap and shoot me, or he’d snap and give me an opening. Either way, I was keeping him away from the girls and stalling for the police.
“That ungrateful whore… She was my wife,” he ranted, sweat beading on his forehead. “I was sure she’d come crawling back. Then some millionaire bastard shows up… Enough talk! Open the damn safe!”
He wiped his face with his sleeve. It wasn't hot, but the drugs and rage were boiling him from the inside.
It was time.
I punched in the code—the default 1-2-3-4-5-6, as I’d never bothered to change it. The door swung open, directly toward Peter, blocking his view of the empty interior.
I took a quick step back. “It’s all yours. Take it.”
Eager, he lunged forward.
“What the f—” he started, realizing the safe was void.
But it was too late. In that split second, I pulled a knife from my jacket and drove it into his side, just below the ribs. I didn’t want to kill him—I wanted him to drop the gun.
It worked. A sharp cry tore from his throat, and the revolver clattered to the floor, skidding across the wood into the bedroom.
However, he reacted more from shock than agony. The drugs had numbed him. He turned with a snarl, trying to land a wild punch. In the cramped space, I dodged and drove my own fist into his face, forcing him to stagger back out of the closet.
I saw his eyes dart toward the gun. I lunged, kicking the revolver.
It skittered across the floor, sliding toward the bedroom door.
I grabbed Peter by his shirt, slamming my fist into his jaw, again and again, pouring all my fury for what he’d done to Evelyn and for threatening my daughters into every blow.
“Don’t you ever touch my family again!” I roared.
But I’d underestimated him. A searing, white-hot pain exploded in my shoulder as he twisted, driving a hidden pocketknife deep into the muscle. My grip faltered, and he shoved me back, scrambling toward the gun.
From that moment, everything accelerated into a horrifying, slow-motion blur.
I blinked against the pain, and when my eyes refocused, I didn't see Peter grabbing the revolver. My attention was ripped away by a small, sleepy figure in the hallway.
Aurora.
She was wandering toward the stairs, rubbing her eyes.
I looked back at Peter. He’d seen her too. The revolver was back in his hand, and he was moving toward the door.
“Rory!” I screamed with every ounce of air in my lungs, a futile, desperate sound she couldn't hear.
I charged. I burst through the door just as Evelyn reached the top of the stairs. Her terrified gaze locked onto Aurora, then lifted to Peter.
I tackled Peter at the same instant Evelyn threw herself in front of our daughter, wrapping her body around Aurora’s.
The gunshot was deafening.
Blind rage took over. I drove my second knife into his neck.
“Evy?” a small, confused voice called out.
I looked to the bedroom door. Anna stood there, woken by the chaos.
I followed her horrified stare to where Evelyn lay collapsed on the floor, her arms still shielding Aurora. The brilliant gold of her dress was being consumed by a dark, spreading stain.
“Anna, get in the room! Now!” I yelled, sprinting toward Evelyn and Rory.
I dropped to my knees, carefully lifting Evelyn’s torso. Aurora, terrified but unharmed, was released from her embrace. The bullet had only hit Evelyn.
“I’ve got you, love. I’m here,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Rory…” she whispered, her voice thin and strained.
Aurora clutched her hand. I glanced back; Peter was motionless on the floor. Anna remained frozen in the doorway.
I turned back to Aurora, cupping her face so she would look at me. “Go to your room with your sister and lock the door. Stay there until the nanny comes. Do you understand?”
She shook her head, crying, refusing to leave Evelyn.
“I will take care of her. I promise. Now, please, both of you, go!”
Aurora gave Evelyn’s hand one last, desperate squeeze before obeying. I watched until both my daughters were back in their room and the door clicked shut, shielding them from the nightmare.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered to Evy, quickly assessing the wound. It was a mess of fabric and blood. I couldn't tell how bad it was.
I kissed her forehead, then carefully gathered her into my arms. As I carried her down the stairs, police officers swarmed in. One tried to stop me, shouting about an ambulance.
“I’m a doctor!” I barked, not breaking stride. “I’m taking her myself.”
An officer fell in beside me, radioing ahead to the hospital as others rushed upstairs. On the front lawn, I saw the pale, shaken nanny.
“The girls are in their room! Go to them!” I commanded.
Then I was in the back of a patrol car, cradling Evelyn, using my suit jacket to staunch the bleeding as the siren wailed.
“Logan…” she breathed, her voice barely audible.
“I’m here, love. I’m right here. You’re going to be okay.”
“The… girls…”
“They’re safe. And you’re going to be fine so you can go back to them. Do you hear me? You have to be fine.”
She didn’t answer. Her body had gone limp in my arms.
The short drive to New York Center Hospital felt like an eternity.
*****