by J. L. Wilson
“You little bitch,” Sylvia spat. “I’ll kill you for this.” I struggled to my feet, propelled by her painful grip. “What does he know?” Sylvia shook me and I swear I felt hair being pulled out by the roots. “What’s going on? What did he do?”
“It’s all recorded,” I gasped, grabbing for her hands. She pressed the gun against the side of my head, near my ear. “He went to the police.”
She drew in her breath in a long hiss. “What about the proof? Your mother had proof.”
“There is none.” Tears streamed down my face while I struggled weakly, trying to break free without getting shot. “There never was any. Bell lied.”
“That bastard.” She released me and I dropped like rock, crashing back into the chairs. My vision blurred and for an instant all I saw were exploding stars. I rolled onto my back and looked up, groggily.
Sylvia straddled my body, her gun arm straight out and pointed at Bell, who stood over Peter. I grabbed for her leg. She kicked out, hitting me in the stomach. I ignored the pain and tried to pull her off balance. I glimpsed men running toward us but they were far away. Bell was only a few feet away. Sylvia wouldn’t miss him.
I got to my knees, grabbed a wooden chair, and swung it with all my might upward. It caught Sylvia in the back. She twisted, falling sideways with her gun still in her hand. For one frozen moment, I stared into the barrel again. Then the gun went off and I ducked.
Men swarmed over us, two landing on Sylvia and one landing partially on me. I tried to get out of the melee but was caught up in the churning tangle of arms and legs. Sharp pain hit my face then I was free, staggering to my feet and wandering a couple of paces only to fall, landing hard on my butt.
I peered around blearily. One man had hold of Peter, his arms held behind his back while another man handcuffed him. Two other men held Sylvia face-down on the ground, one with his hand on her head and the other with a hand in the small of her back. Even with two big guys holding her, she still squirmed.
“Wendy. You’re hurt. Wendy.” Bell raced toward me and skidded to a stop, landing just as hard next to me as I’d landed a second before. He knelt in front of me and stared intently into my face. “Are you okay? Were you shot?”
I looked down at my clothing which appeared grass-stained but unbloodied. “I don’t think so. I think I’m okay.” Then a stunning pain lanced through my left cheekbone. “I think I got hit in the face.”
He gently touched my jaw, moving my head carefully to the right. “You’ll have a black eye tomorrow. Are you sure you’re okay otherwise?”
I blew out a shaky breath. “I think so. What the hell happened?”
“The police finally arrived. They had to wait to make their move until they had Sylvia on tape confessing to killing her husband. They had to stay out of sight until then so they had a long way to run to get here.”
“Was it true? Any of it?” I shook my head, wincing when pain exploded into my left eye socket. “My parents took hush money from Peter and Sylvia, who killed Peter’s father and two other people, all for a million dollars.”
Bell nodded. “That pretty much sums it up. Your mother loaned me money to get started in business, and when I tried to pay her back, she told me about it. That’s when I tracked down Peter and—”
“And the police got involved and now here we are.”
The voice was above me. “You?” I asked.
Billy Juko, the so-called reporter, grinned at me. “Yep. We needed a cover and T.K. Bell’s romance with his old high school sweetheart was a great cover.”
I switched my attention to Bell. “Really? Was any of that true?”
He gave me a wide-eyed look. “It was all true, Wendy. All of it.”
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him then winced when the action made my left eye water with pain. “I’m not sure I believe it.” I spied Dad’s gun on the ground and picked it up, flicking the safety back on.
“I’ll take that,” another voice said. I peered up groggily and found Murphy Black, the big reporter, smiling down at me.
“You’re a cop, too?” I asked, reaching out a hand.
“Yep.” He pulled me to my feet. “Thanks for the help. You did great.”
“All I did was be myself.” I ran a hand through my hair, coming up with a few snarled tangles that fell out.
“That’s all you had to do,” Bell said. “Just be yourself.” He stood and put an arm around my shoulders and I leaned against him, happy for the support. “Where did you get a gun?”
“Dad had one.” It was heavy in my hand but I expected that. Every time I picked up a gun, it surprised me how heavy it was. I handed it to Murphy, who inspected the safety then handed it to another man. “He taught us all how to shoot.”
“I didn’t know that.”
I smiled. “I guess there are some things about Wendy Darling that are still a secret, then, aren’t there?”
“I guess so.” He spoke the words slowly, reluctantly.
“Not all things can be programmed. You need to adjust your app for that. You need to plan for the unexpected. Not everyone is predictable, you know.”
He grinned. “I told you that I wanted you to help me design the next version. It looks like there’s a lot of work for us to do.”
“Don’t over-think,” I said. “Go with your gut.”
He put his arms around me. “Are you sure?”
I raised my face to his. “Quit asking questions, Bell.”
A word about the author…
J L Wilson writes romantic mysteries with a bit of a twist to keep you guessing. She also writes reincarnation love stories as well as dystopian futuristic stories. Yes, she does keep busy.
Catch up with her at www.jayellwilson.com.
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For a list of “who's who” in this book, see http://bit.ly/character_lists—some of them might surprise you!
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