I just make it across my lawn when I’m clobbered from behind and knocked into the street. My hands shoot out, trying to brace my fall. Dozens of sharp pebbles dig into my palms as they rip across the asphalt. I begin to cry out in pain, but Todd quickly clamps a hand over my mouth and pulls me up to a standing position. He’s got an iron grip on me, and he’s not letting go, no matter how much I thrash around. He drags me across the lawn and through my back door, throwing me down onto my kitchen floor.
Panting, he growls, “The next time you try anything, bitch, I’m going to make that pretty face of yours real ugly.”
Lydia appears behind him, gun pointed steadily at me. She snaps, “Go get Blake. I’ll take care of her.”
Damn it! I failed. I have to choke back a sob at the thought that this is the end for me, and for Blake. Damn Lydia! How come she gets to decide who lives and who dies? My anger clears my head a little, and I realize I’m on my own turf. I know my house like the back of my hand. I can surely find something to use as a weapon, but I’ll have to be sly about it. There are tons of things in the kitchen that could maim someone.
Before I can formulate a plan, Lydia gestures to my living room. “Get up and go sit down in there.”
Well, hell. That puts a kink in things. There is not nearly as much weapon-y crap in my living room as there is in the kitchen. I very carefully get up off the floor, trying not to use my hands, still burning and bleeding from their road rash. Lydia has me sit in a side chair near my front door.
Todd is back with Blake in tow, unceremoniously dumping him on my couch. Blake looks around dazedly for a moment before collapsing onto the cushions. My heart aches for him. If he has any idea how bad this situation is, it has to be killing him to not be able to do a damn thing about it.
Lydia nods at Todd, and he disappears into my kitchen. Her eyes taking on a devilish glow, she says, “Well, now that we’re all settled, the fun can begin.”
“I think you and I have a different definition of fun, Lydia,” I say, decidedly unnerved by how she’s looking at me.
Todd emerges from the kitchen, now wearing surgical gloves and brandishing one of my sharp paring knives. “Let’s get this party started,” he says gleefully.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I draw in a shaky breath, concentrating mostly on making sure I don’t pee my pants. Todd is going to cut me. Or Blake. Or both of us. My eyes dart around the room, trying to find something I can grab to use to defend myself, but I can’t bring a table lamp to a gunfight, or even to a paring knife fight, for that matter.
Before I can make a move, Todd grabs my arm and asks Lydia, “Where should I make the incision, doctor? Can I slit her wrist?”
No, no, no, no, no. For one thing, that would probably hurt like a bastard, but even worse, I would lose a lot of blood. Like enough to kill me.
Lydia shakes her head, putting on her own pair of gloves. “No, she needs to stay alive and alert for a while. Slice the underside of her forearm. But make her do it. This has to look like her idea, you know.”
I look from Lydia to Todd. “I am not cutting myself.”
“Sure you are,” Todd replies. “How else are you going to get the ink for your confession note?”
“I have a zillion pens in the kitchen. Wait here. I’ll get one.” I try to hop up from my chair, only to have Todd grab me one-handed by the throat and slam me back down, his other hand still gripping my arm.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, nearly nose-to-nose with me. While he’s busy invading my personal space and I have one hand free, I sucker-punch him as hard as I possibly can in the nuts. He goes down like a house of cards, falling to the floor and screaming like a little girl. My scraped up palm is throbbing from my nails digging into it when I made a fist, but it was well worth it to see him suffer.
Lydia roars, “You bitch! Dale is very sensitive in that area!”
“I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong it is that you know that about your brother.” I shake my head, completely disgusted.
Her reply is to bitch-slap me upside the head with her gun.
I cry out in agony, my head now pounding from my very first pistol-whipping. Tears spring to my eyes from the overwhelming pain, and I feel dizzy even though I’m sitting down.
Blake rouses a bit and faintly asks, “Lizzie, you okay?” They must have given him a lot of drugs, because he is not snapping out of it. I need to figure out a way to get us out of here alive and get him to the hospital.
Trying for a calm voice, I reply, “Yeah…don’t worry. I’m fine.” Grimacing, I turn my attention to Lydia. “So, Lydia, how many murders are you planning to pin on me?” I start ticking them off on my fingers. “There will be Blake and Jed, but how do you expect to tie me to my friends Brad and Jason and that other guy, Mark? And by the way, I’m seriously pissed about you killing Brad. He was a good guy, in his own way.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “He was a good guy? He was an imbecile and a womanizer. He deserved to die.”
“For being an idiot? That’s a little harsh, in my opinion. Besides, why do you even care? He didn’t womanize you, did he?”
“No, but he stands for everything I hate.”
“So you hate men who use women. Join the club, sister. Why can’t you just burn old photos of them, get drunk, and eat ice cream like the rest of us? You don’t have to kill them. They’ll get their punishment sooner or later. Take Jed Stewart for example. He was a cheating bastard, and as a direct result, he got burned all over—badly. The universe had already taken care of him, and it would have taken care of the rest of your victims. It didn’t need your help.”
Seeming to be at her boiling point, Lydia spits, “No more talking.” She comes around in front of me and levels the gun at my face. “Get up.”
I obey, clutching my still-throbbing head and stepping around the heap of Todd on the floor. I guess he really is sensitive in that area, because he is making no move whatsoever to get up. Lydia backs me over toward my couch, right next to Blake. He reaches out to me, and I kneel down on the floor next to him, carefully putting one of my injured hands in his, grateful for the comfort. She produces a fifth of Everclear and a bottle of pills from the bag she’s carrying and sets them on the floor in front of me. Holy crap! Everclear is damn near lethal by itself, let alone mixed with drugs.
“Let’s go. Give it to him,” she orders.
I shake my head. Ooh, bad idea. Lots of pain. I reply, “No.”
“I’ll shoot you.”
I set my jaw. “You’ll have to.”
“What? You’d give your life for some man? I thought you had more respect for yourself as a woman.” She sneers at me with contempt.
“That has nothing to do with it.” I look down at Blake and brush his cheek, leaving my hand resting there. Not taking my eyes off him, I continue, “Being willing to risk my life for him doesn’t make me less of a woman. If anything, the bond between the two of us has made me a better woman. He makes me strong. He always has my back. I care about him…more than I care about anything right now…”
He opens his eyes and slurs, “Really?”
“Really.”
Blake smiles, but his eyes close again. He’s so out of it. He needs help.
I look up at Lydia with a defiant stare. “There’s literally nothing you could do to me to make me hurt him.”
“Nothing I can do?” she cackles. Grabbing one of my hands, she points her gun at it and says, “How about shooting your hand off?”
As I’m moaning in pain from the death grip she has on my shredded hand, Blake lifts his head and breathes, “No…don’t shoot her…please. I’ll take it…willingly…just don’t hurt her. I’ll…I’ll do anything.”
Lydia releases me, her expression triumphant. Behind her, I notice movement in my kitchen. I nearly jump for joy as I see Brody quietly coming toward us, his gun pointed right at Lydia. YES! We’re saved now. Getting a surge of courage, I start talking, intent on making sure L
ydia doesn’t turn around.
“Blake! No! That would be letting this crazy hag win!” Trying to buy Brody some time, I gesture at Lydia, “Look at her—she’s about to crack. She’s sweating, and I punched Douchebag Todd in the nuts so hard he’s out of commission.” Lydia starts to look back toward Todd, so I quickly grab her attention, “Lydia! Tell me about Jason Harris. I’ve known him since high school. He’s no womanizer. Why kill him?”
Looking a little confused at the sudden subject change (I honestly do think she’s starting to crack), she replies haltingly, “He cheated on his wife. He’s a cheater. All cheaters must die.”
I nod, asking sympathetically, “Like your husband, Tom? And your stepmom?”
Beginning to breathe heavily, Lydia says through gritted teeth, “They were supposed to love me and take care of me forever, but they both broke their promises! They both cheated! It wasn’t fair!”
“Sounds like as good a reason as any to commit murder. Let me guess—after killing your cheating husband, you decided it was your mission to rid the world of cheating husbands and womanizers, one bastard at a time.”
“Don’t mock me!” Lydia screams furiously.
“And I’m willing to bet that you used your chiropractor business to profile men and flush out the cheaters. I know firsthand that you’re freakishly good at getting your patients to talk during an office visit. These guys told you their dirty little secrets, and you killed them for it.”
“That’s… How did you… Shut UP!” She grabs me by the hair, yanking me up off the floor. Ow! My head was already feeling like it’s about to explode from the pistol-whipping, and now she’s trying to pull my hair out by the roots.
She shoves the gun under my chin and screeches, “KILL HIM OR I PUT A BULLET IN YOUR HEAD!”
“You won’t, because it doesn’t fit in with your plan,” I reply, trying not to struggle or move too much because my hair really hurts right now.
Suddenly, Todd, still sounding like he’s in pain, yells, “Catherine, behind you!”
Lydia whirls around, taking me with her. I utter several bad words on behalf of my abused scalp. Upon spying Brody, she makes a human shield out of me.
“Put the gun down,” Brody barks, his gun pointed at Lydia’s head and his cop face sterner than I’ve ever seen. His eyes, however, look…frightened. I didn’t expect that.
Lydia laughs, “You won’t shoot with your girlfriend in the way. You put your gun down.”
“Shoot her, Brody. I trust you completely,” I say sincerely, hoping he has perfect aim.
He hesitates, his eyes full of anguish.
Lydia says, “You blinked, detective.”
I feel the pressure of the gun being removed from my chin. In that split second, I realize in horror that she’s going to shoot Brody. I throw myself backward at her with all my might, but she still gets a shot off. It sounds like something has exploded inside my ear, and my hearing is completely muffled. Lydia and I tumble to the floor. As we both struggle to get up, I notice the bottle of Everclear next to my feet. I grab the bottle and swing it hard. It catches her on the side of her head and knocks her out.
Disoriented from the pain in my ear, I look over toward Brody to see if he noticed the ass-kicking I just delivered, but he’s on the floor, engrossed in the bloodstain quickly spreading across his shirt.
“Brody!” I cry, rushing over to kneel beside him.
“She…shot me,” he breathes in disbelief, his entire face contorted in pain.
“Shh, don’t try to talk, okay?” I say, trying to calm him, even though I’m freaking out inside. I have to get a grip and help him.
I grab the seat cushion off a nearby chair and prop Brody’s head and shoulders up on it. He grimaces but doesn’t say a word. I run into the kitchen and grab an armload of dishtowels and the phone. Racing back to him, I get to work on stopping the bleeding so I can call for an ambulance. I gently take his hand (which is bloody from clutching his wound), cover it with a towel, and place it at his side, figuring neither of us wants to look at any more blood than necessary. I quickly fold up my largest towel, place it over the wound on his shoulder, and press down hard, wincing at the pressure I’m putting on my torn-up hands.
“Ow,” he complains. “That hurts.”
You and me both, pal. I reply quietly, “I know. I’m sorry.”
Blake rouses up long enough to slur, “Watch out, man. Her first aid is hell.” The night Sanchez tried to kill me, he gave Blake a nasty knife slice across the stomach. I think my effort to “apply direct pressure to the wound” hurt Blake worse than the actual injury.
I scoff, “Hey, you didn’t bleed out, and he’s not going to, either.” I turn my attention back to Brody. Blood is starting to seep through the first towel, so I fold up another one and put it on top. Keeping one hand on the towels, I shakily dial nine-one-one.
The dispatcher answers, “Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“This is Lizzie Hart. I need an ambulance, wait, two ambulances at my house. And the police.” I hastily describe Brody’s injury and Blake’s physical state, willing the dispatcher to hurry the hell up and let me off the phone so I can tend to Brody’s wound. The blood flow isn’t stopping fast enough for my liking.
I finally hang up and place both hands back onto Brody’s wound. He flinches, but doesn’t complain. Todd is starting to stir again, which is not a good thing. I lean down and whisper to Brody, “Can you hold a gun? Todd’s getting up.”
Brody gets his gun from the floor next to him and points it at Todd. Brody doesn’t look too steady, probably because of the blood loss. His face is getting very pale and sweaty. I don’t know how much longer he’s going to be conscious.
I warn, “Todd, stay put or Detective Callahan will shoot you.”
Todd looks up at me, defeated, and lays his head back down on the floor. He looks pretty nauseated. When we were kids, I hit Ryan in the stones enough times to know that the next couple of hours are not going to be fun for Todd.
Brody pleads, “Could you let up on the pressure a little?”
“Quit being such a girl. A big bad cop like you should be able to handle—”
“Get down!” Brody cuts me off by shoving me down onto the floor, pointing his gun across the room, and firing. OW! My ears again! What in the hell is Brody shooting at, anyway? I turn my head in the direction of his shot and find myself staring straight into the dead eyes of Lydia. She’s slumped over, gun in hand, a small hole in her forehead.
Choking back a shriek, I turn away from her. Brody is sitting up, a horrified expression on his face as he stares at Lydia. I would be willing to bet he hasn’t killed anyone before. I reach out to him, gently laying him back onto the cushion and resuming my first aid on his wound.
Todd sits up suddenly, his gaze landing on Lydia. “NO! Catherine!” he screams, starting to crawl across the floor toward her.
Brody orders shakily, “Lizzie, get that gun.” Getting Lydia’s gun would entail me having to pry it out of her cold, dead fingers. I don’t know if I can bring myself to do that. Brody must have seen the look on my face, because he barks, “Now!”
I scurry over and grab the gun right before Todd gets to her. He’s so devastated that he doesn’t even notice what I’m doing. Sobbing, he takes Lydia’s lifeless body in his arms and cradles her. I can’t help but feel bad for the guy. Inappropriate or not, he really did love his sister.
Blake is trying desperately to keep his eyes open to watch Todd and Lydia, but he keeps nodding off. His color seems to be a little better, so maybe the drugs are finally beginning to wear off.
Poor Brody. This on-again, off-again first aid I’m giving him is not helping his wound any. Luckily, I can just make out the sound of sirens in the distance. My hearing is pretty screwed up, so I have no idea how close they are, but at least I know we’re all safe now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
When we get to the hospital, Brody is whisked away to surgery
to get the slug out of his chest, Blake is admitted to a room, and I get my hands cleaned and bandaged up in the ER. It isn’t exactly pleasant, because at the same time the ER doctor is busy picking about fifty tiny rocks out of my palms, the cops are also questioning me. However, out of the three of us, I’d say I got off the easiest. Brody’s going to be in surgery for a while, so after I’m all fixed, I decide to hang out in Blake’s room and keep him company.
Since Blake came in conscious (mostly), the doctor was able to give him a drink containing charcoal to absorb the drugs in his stomach, but threatened to pump his stomach if he didn’t show some quick improvement. It’s pretty obvious that Blake does not want his stomach pumped, because he’s pretending like he’s much better. However, if you know him like I do, you’d know it’s a total act.
“Why don’t you give up this macho bullshit and just agree to have your stomach pumped? You’ll probably feel a lot better,” I point out, lounging in a chair next to his bed.
Blake grimaces, “I’m fine.” He tries to sit up but can’t, and he flops angrily back down onto his pillow.
I roll my eyes. “Obviously. So what happened? You promised me you wouldn’t get blindsided by Lydia like those other guys did, because you are, and I quote, ‘awesomer’. Getting drugged and kidnapped by Lydia and Douchebag Todd is not awesomer. It’s sucky-er.”
He gripes, “I nearly died. Shouldn’t you be nicer-er to me?”
I laugh. He doesn’t feel too bad if he’s making jokes. That’s good. I was insanely worried about him. Witnessing him so lifeless and in danger got to me a lot more than I let on, but I’m not sure whether I want him to know that right now. This ordeal has confused the hell out of me as to my feelings for him.
“You’re right. I’m glad you’re not dead. Now, start with when you were telling Lydia about how much you hated Jed and go from there.”
“It’s all a little fuzzy, but we were talking about Stewart and the murders, then she excused herself to use the restroom. I guess she must have slipped something into my drink at some point, because I suddenly began feeling weird right when some guy came up to my table and helped me walk outside. I didn’t know who it was, but it ended up being your guy, Douchebag Todd. I vaguely remember going outside and getting in a car. Then you were fondling me…or did I dream that?”
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