Our Time Is Now

by Chloe Douglas

  The put-down that prefaced his pronouncement made Jessica painfully recall how, for seven long years, Richard had turned her life into a dysfunctional hell. During the course of their marriage, he’d repeatedly demeaned her, always managing to find fault.

  But I don’t have to take it anymore, she told herself. Richard could only hurt her if she ceded him the power to do so.

  “You’re here because of the secret slush fund that I discovered in your desk drawer, aren’t you,” she stated without fanfare, summoning the courage to look him directly in the eye. “Granted, I didn’t take time to count, but I’m guestimating that you had a few million dollars stashed away.”

  “Who have you told about the money?” Richard demanded, a harsh cast to his features.

  “I’ve told no one. And just so you know, I don’t care how you acquired your ill-gotten gains,” she informed him. “My intention was never to expose you.”

  “Merely to steal from me, eh?”

  “I was about to say that my only intention was to escape from you,” she calmly replied, refusing to buckle under.

  Richard’s thin lips twisted into a nasty sneer. “But only after you helped yourself to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars of my money.”

  “If you’ve come looking for restitution, you’re knocking at the wrong door. I’ve already spent the money.” Pausing a moment, Jessica took a stabilizing breath, admittedly perplexed as to why he’d waited so long to make a stink about her divorce settlement. “After my parents died in the automobile accident, I gave you my entire $300,000 inheritance. The way I see it, I was entitled to half that amount.” Money that she knew Richard would never voluntarily return to her of his own free will.

  “While I came here for restitution, monetary recompense isn’t what I’m after,” he replied, punctuating the remark with an indifferent shrug.

  Jessica stared at him, uncomprehending. “So what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Tsk tsk. Such coarse language.” Peering over his shoulder, Richard cast a disparaging glance at the house. “I take it that you used my money to buy this ramshackle wreck.”

  “Highland House belongs to me,” Jessica retorted, pointing to her chest for emphasis. “The deed is in my name. And you can’t have it.”

  Richard chortled softly, as if her assertion greatly amused him. “Again, you’ve jumped to an erroneous assumption.”

  “Then what exactly did you mean when you said that you’ve come here to claim what’s yours?”

  “We are still married, are we not?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she conceded grudgingly. “But if you think for one instant that I would ever consider going back to you, then you’re barking—”

  “I will not let you sever our sacred marital bond.”

  Jessica felt her jaw slacken, bowled over by his arrogance. What a schmuck.

  Given that Richard Bragg was a man of average height and slender build, Jessica wondered that she’d ever been intimidated by him in the first place. As she took his measure, she noticed all the small details which she’d long since put out of her mind—the well-groomed strawberry-blond hair; the thin, lifeless lips; the pale hands and skeletal fingers. To her surprise, she saw that he still wore his wedding ring.

  “Our divorce is a done deal,” she told him point-blank, unnerved by the sight of that gold band on his left hand.

  “Word to the wise: while we don’t always get what we want, we usually get what we deserve,” Richard quietly intoned.

  Still holding the snow shovel, Jessica tightened her grip on the handle, starting to get a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, an uneasy premonition that something was terribly awry.

  Leaning the snow shovel against the wheelbarrow, she reached into her back pocket and removed her Smartphone. “I have the sheriff’s office on speed dial,” she announced as she held the mobile aloft. “If you don’t vacate my property this instant, I won’t hesitate to make the call.”

  No sooner had she issued the threat than the back of Richard’s hand came flying in her direction, making contact with the right side of her face.

  Momentarily stunned, Jessica staggered backward. Taking advantage of her disoriented state, Richard snatched the Smartphone out of her hand and hurled it across the yard, where the device disappeared from sight as it landed in several inches of soft snow.

  “I trust that, from here on out, you’ll be more cooperative.” Licking his lips, Richard clenched and unclenched his fists.

  Frightened by the sinister look in his eyes, Jessica wordlessly nodded.

  “Now that the preliminaries have been dealt with, I want you to tell me where I can find him.”

  “F-find who?” she nervously sputtered. “I live alone.”

  “I won’t tolerate your lies,” Richard hissed. “I saw the bastard with my own eyes four weeks ago.”

  “Oh my God! You’ve been stalking me,” she accused, the fear factor instantly spiking.

  “I’m your husband. You belong to me.” Richard paused a moment, treating her to a mirthless smile. “ ‘Until death do we part.’ ”

  In that instant, Jessica suddenly knew, with horrifying clarity, the true purpose of Richard’s unexpected visit—he had come to Highland House to kill her.

  “You’ll never get away with it,” she croaked on a serrated breath, brave words that belied her terror. As she backed away from him, she bumped into the side of the wheelbarrow and her hand landed in the plastic bag of rock salt. Without thinking about it she scooped up a handful.

  Intent on taking him by surprise, she tossed a hefty amount of rock salt directly at him.

  “Argh!” Richard screamed, his mouth agape as his hands spasmodically flailed at his face.

  Seizing her chance, Jessica ran toward the house and scrambled up the back steps. She made a wild grab for the rail, but not before stumbling near the top and painfully banging a knee against the wooden stoop.

  Her kneecap throbbing, she pushed the back door wide open and rushed inside the kitchen. She slammed the door closed and hooked the chain latch, then frantically scanned the kitchen. A weapon! She needed to get her hands on some kind of weapon.

  Suddenly, at the other end of the house, she heard a loud clamor. With a fearful gasp, she realized that the front door had been left unlocked.

  Choking back a sob, Jessica rushed toward the nearest kitchen drawer, nearly pulling it off the runner as she yanked it open. There was no time to be choosy—she grabbed the first knife her hand happened upon, never having been so terrified in all her life. As she heard Richard charge down the hall, her panic swelled to new heights. There would be no escape. This was where she’d have to make her last stand.

  Just then, Richard rushed into the kitchen, his eyes rimmed in red, his hair and face glittering with rock salt. She was stunned to see that he’d taken the time to don gloves.

  “It would appear that you’re cornered,” he snickered, managing to sound sinister despite his ridiculous appearance.

  “Not quite.” She raised the knife so that he could see it, the blade gleaming in the early morning light. “If you take another step, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

  Ignoring the warning, he took a step in her direction. “What happens if I take two steps? Will you kill me twice?”

  Rattled by his smug condescension, Jessica’s hands shook as though palsied, and her breathing became short and uneven. When he took yet another step in her direction, she gripped the knife in both hands and charged forward.

  She stopped instantly when Richard pulled out a gun.

  “I suggest you put down the knife; otherwise I’ll be forced to pull the trigger. And in case you’re wondering… I would dearly love to see a bullet rip through your body.”

  Having lost the bout before it even began, Jessica tossed the knife into the kitchen sink. Granted, she didn’t know much about weapons, but a loaded gun most definitely trumped a plastic-handled paring knife. Her only recourse now was to play al
ong with Richard and hope to God that she could find some means to disarm him.

  As he stepped toward her, Richard’s face suddenly contorted with a maniacal anger, a wrath unlike any Jessica had ever seen before. Following the direction of his narrowed gaze, she saw Gideon’s blue plaid shirt hanging off the back of a ladder-back chair.

  “You whore!” Richard exclaimed as he snatched hold of the shirt. Then, like an enraged bull, he charged toward her, thrusting the garment in her face. “Tell me his name.”

  With nowhere to run, Jessica cowered against the wall. “It’s not what you think,” she told him, desperately trying to think of an innocuous reason for why there would be a man’s shirt hanging off of the kitchen chair. “He’s my, um… my tenant. He pays me rent. That’s all it is.”

  Richard flung the shirt to the floor. “You’re nothing but a bitch in heat,” he snarled just before he smacked her again. The blow slammed Jessica’s head against the kitchen wall. “Now tell me his damned name!”

  Jessica stubbornly shook her head.

  This time when the back of Richard’s hand flew in her direction, Jessica feebly tried to parry the blow with her forearm.

  Brutally seizing her by the wrist, Richard jerked her arm away from her face and smacked her once more, his open palm smashing her lips against her teeth. Groaning in pain, Jessica spat out a mouthful of blood, splattering red droplets on the green-checked kitchen tablecloth. Without giving her time to catch her breath, Richard yanked her cap from her head, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and dragged her out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

  Now Jessica feared that Richard’s intention was to completely break her spirit before he killed her. He’d practically foamed at the mouth when he struck her, clearly taking sadistic delight in inflicting pain.

  I need to rile him into losing control of the situation, she thought desperately, not about to be led like a lamb to the slaughter. If she could force a fumble, she might then be able to finagle the gun from him.

  When they reached the library, Richard glanced around the room with disgust. “It appears that your housekeeping has gotten a bit slipshod.”

  After threatening to shoot me, you’re now trying to make me feel bad about a dust bunny? Get real, Richard. Jessica bit back the retort, not wanting to bait him just yet.

  Gesturing with the pistol, Richard motioned her over to the fireplace. “Build a fire,” he brusquely commanded.

  Jessica wordlessly complied, going down on bent knee to pile paper, wood, and kindling on the grate. Once she had a respectable blaze going, Richard motioned her to the sofa with exaggerated politeness. As she obediently seated herself, he hitched his hip against the edge of her desk.

  “Have you gotten around to telling your mystery man that you’re barren?” Richard inquired. He tucked his left arm against his waist and crossed his ankles in what she supposed he thought was a nonchalant pose.

  Because her plan was to goad him into losing control, Jessica shrugged her shoulders and said, “Why would I do that?” With slow deliberation, she cast a disparaging glance at his crotch. “As it turns out, you were the inadequate one in our marriage, not me. If you must know, I’m carrying his child.”

  Immediately a blue vein throbbed in Richard’s temple, a sure sign that he was thoroughly incensed.

  Before she could lob another insult at him, the break that Jessica had been praying for occurred. She heard a loud whoosh followed by a noisy bang and immediately surmised that the unlatched French doors had just been blown open.

  The instant that Richard turned his head, Jessica lurched from the sofa. Drawing back her right foot, she shifted into position, determined to kick his testicles to kingdom come.

  Maybe it was male instinct, but for whatever reason Richard pulled his legs together as he bent at the waist, effectively shielding himself.

  Her plan foiled, Jessica shrieked with frustration and darted past him, making a run for the French doors. She’d gotten no more than a few steps when he barreled into her from behind and tackled her to the floor.

  Attempting to cushion the fall, Jessica instinctively pulled her arms to her chest—big mistake. Not only did Richard land on top of her, but she hit the carpet face down and the impact knocked the wind out of her. With her arms now pinned beneath her own body, she was completely immobilized.

  Straddling her back, Richard raised himself to his knees before flipping her over. Petrified, Jessica lay beneath him unable to catch her breath. Against her cheek she felt the merciless prod of the gun barrel.

  “Please… please don’t k-kill me,” she begged, tears streaming down her face.

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before you shacked up with another man.” Digging his fingers into her shoulder, Richard yanked her up with him as he rose to his feet. “Now sit down and shut up,” he snarled as he roughly shoved Jessica toward the sofa.

  Once she’d retaken her seat, Richard removed a plastic baggie full of pink pills from his jacket pocket and tossed it toward her.

  “Start swallowing,” he ordered.

  Jessica glanced at the roaring fire, suddenly realizing the fate that awaited her. “Once I’m unconscious, you’re going to set fire to Highland House, aren’t you.”

  Gesturing to the ripped and faded floral wallpaper that covered the library walls, Richard said, “An old shack like this is a four-alarm fire waiting to happen. I’m guessing such fires happen all the time. Since you’ve already done me the favor of building a blaze, it should be relatively easy to set your ramshackle residence aflame. By the time someone notices the smoke, it’ll take the buffoons in the volunteer fire department a good thirty minutes to get here. You’re what, ten miles from town?”

  “Eleven and a half,” she murmured forlornly.

  Because there was nothing she could do to stop Richard’s diabolical plan, Jessica opened the Ziploc bag and reluctantly scooped up several pills. Slowly, she raised one of them toward her mouth. As she stared at the brightly colored capsule, she envisioned herself convulsing on the floor while Richard gleefully looked on. He had plotted her death so that it would look like a suicide. The perfect murder.

  “Swallow it,” he barked, angrily waving the gun at her. “I don’t have all day.”

  Jessica vehemently shook her head. “I won’t be a willing accomplice to my own murder. If you want me dead, you’ll have to man up and shoot me,” she said defiantly, refusing to cave in.

  Just then a shadow fell across the room. Out of the corner of her eye, Jessica detected somebody standing near the open French doors.

  “What in God’s name is going on?” a familiar voice bellowed.

  Chapter 29

  No sooner did Gideon step through the doorway than Jessica hurled a handful of capsules onto the Oriental carpet.

  Gideon quickly assessed the room’s ransacked state—a broken lamp, a smashed vase, a wooden chair upended on its side. Obviously, a physical altercation had taken place between Jessica and the stranger who stood at her side.

  Catching sight of the bright red welt that marred Jessica’s cheekbone, Gideon rushed forward, ready to kill the man who’d dared to strike his beloved.

  “Go back outside!” Jessica shrieked.

  He drew his saber from its scabbard. “I will do no such thing.”

  “Put down the fancy sword or I’ll put a bullet in her brain.”

  The dire threat caused Gideon to immediately come to a shuddering halt. In that instant, he noticed what he’d not seen before—the stranger aimed a gun at the back of Jessica’s skull.

  “You contemptible bastard,” Gideon snarled as he set the saber on the floor. His chest heaving with a barely repressed rage, he took the measure of the pale-complexioned intruder. At seeing the thatch of ginger-colored hair, his gut painfully tightened.

  The red man, Gideon realized, thunderstruck.

  “Well, well, well… your tenant has seen fit to grace us with his presence,” the red-headed bastard jeered. “Perhaps you’
d be kind enough to introduce yourself. Though I tried to wring it out of her, my wife refused to divulge your name.”

  “My name is Gideon MacAllister. And I take it that yours is Richard Bragg,” he grated between clenched teeth, trying his damnedest to keep a cool head. While he had no idea what had precipitated this dangerous encounter between Jessica and “the red man,” he would do all in his power to safeguard his beloved.

  Jessica, seated on the settee, wrung her hands together, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Oh, Gideon… why did you return to Highland House?”

  “I returned because I love you,” he stated, heedless of the fact that Richard Bragg was privy to the declaration. “When you told me about your estranged husband, I lost my head to jealousy.”

  “You were actually jealous of him?” Jessica raised a hand to her mouth as she tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a hysterical burst of laughter. “You’re twice, no, three times the man that he is.”

  “Shut up,” Bragg ordered. “One more word out of your whore’s mouth and your lover boy will end up a dead man.”

  “Even dead, Gideon would still take top prize for being the better man,” Jessica snickered as she scornfully swept her gaze up and down Bragg’s person.

  “I don’t want to hear another word from you,” Bragg hissed, so furious that his face was a deep shade of crimson.

  Gideon shot Jessica a quick glance, wordlessly entreating her to hold her tongue. She, in turn, pointedly looked in Bragg’s direction. From that brief, silent gesture, he deduced that she was deliberately attempting to provoke her estranged husband. No doubt in the hopes that he would then act injudiciously. During the war, Gideon had seen many men commit fatal errors when driven into a blind rage.

  Suspecting that was Jessica’s game, he said in a deprecating tone, “You were right to file for divorce from this man. It’s obvious that he is naught but a jackal.”

  Baited by the insult, Bragg stormed toward him. “I’m going to enjoy killing you, MacAllister!”

  Gideon made no reply. Instead, he carefully scrutinized the man standing opposite him. From the awkward way that he held his pistol, Gideon surmised that his foe had little experience in firing a weapon. He intended to exploit this inexperience if an opportune moment presented itself.