by CJ Daly
shut me up . . . is by murdering me.
Hysteria bubbled up inside of me. Made sense—he obviously didn’t want
to do it. That made sense, too—Pete was a nice guy. But that didn’t necessarily make him a good guy.
A hand grab, and he wordlessly led me through the gloomy living room
and out the front door, slipping on his coat. I followed him like a little lamb
being led to slaughter. Stark night air washed over me, waking me from my
reverie. The crunching of our feet over frozen pasture and the howling wind
were the only sounds.
“Pete, where are you takin’ me?” My voice seemed loud, sharply bouncing
into nothingness as he took us off trail. I tripped along, looking at his grim
face in the moonlight, puffing out steam as he pulled me along. He still looked
absurdly hot, but somewhere close to the edge of madness. Panic started to
creep in. My feet stalled.
“Not here.” He tugged on my arm. “A little farther.” His tone was cold
now, detached almost. I dug my heels in, and he countered with a yank.
“Come on, Kate . . . now that I’ve decided to go through with it, I really just
wanna get it over with as fast as possible.”
Surely not. Right? Surely I was just letting my imagination run rampant.
Pete stopped plowing me behind him to reach into his coat for a flask. Come
to think of it, he hadn’t offered me his coat, or even asked me to get mine.
Almost as if he knew—I wouldn’t need it. My blood ran cold.
He took a serious swig from the flask then offered me some. But I declined,
wanting to keep my wits about me. As I watched him take another fortifying
swallow, a siren went off in my head. He was obviously drinking away his
dread. Numbing himself. Bolstering his courage for what he was about to do.
He stared me down in the dark, and I felt the intent manifest itself.
There would be bloodshed tonight.
I whimpered a little. Wanted to run, but my legs felt like two limp noodles
attached to a wood block.
“Come on, Kate,” he coaxed.
“Daddy will be back any minute,” I threw out.
He snorted out more steam. “No he won’t. He’s at Cannon with some
old military buddies, bragging about his son’s bright future with the ‘world’s
• 422 •
most elite military academy.’ And, unfortunately, he has a flat tire to see about tonight.”
Of course—car-rigging, his specialty. My heart studded to a halt along with my feet, suddenly stubborn as a mule’s.
“Pete! You don’t have to do this!” I tried wrenching my hand away, but
he used his other hand to redouble his grip on me.
He sighed heavily, shook back his golden head. The combo of steamy air
and steely eyes made him seem almost possessed. “I do, Kate. They’ve left
me no choice.”
I gulped, panic stealing the breath from me. This was it. He was losing his
patience. Abruptly, my legs gave way. He swore, clamped the knife between
his teeth, and bent down to scoop me up, carrying me like a child a few more
yards to the old elm tree I had leaned against this summer to read romance
novels. I wondered what different steps I could’ve taken to prevent the path I
was on . . . the one leading to bloodshed.
Pete set me down. I immediately dropped to my knees, a beggar. “You
ready?” he asked. Words wouldn’t come, so I shook my head vehemently.
“Here,” he handed me the flask, “it’ll help take the edge off.”
Very sporting of him I thought, accepting the flask with palsied hands.
I took a tentative sip, choking as the fiery liquid burned its way down my
throat. I thought of my two little brothers, sleeping innocently in their beds.
Tears streamed down my face. Now I was only grateful we were away, so they
wouldn’t hear or see anything.
He regarded me, and his face softened. Must be hard to kill someone who
just proclaimed her love for you. He spoke encouragingly, “Trust me—this’ll be a lot harder on me than you.”
Trust me: the two words that had brought me down in the first place.
Instantly, I was more mad than scared. Maybe it was that, coupled with the
alcohol fumes, but a fire just ignited inside my belly. Easy mark my ass! I knew Pete was a highly trained fighter, but I would try one last time to beat him at
his own game. Even if I failed, at least I went down fighting. Mama would be
proud. My brothers were safe. . . . That’s all that mattered.
Nodding my head, I acted resigned to my fate. He took another glug
from his flask, and after drawing in a deep breath, he poured most of the
remaining liquid over the knife, presumably to sanitize it. For what purpose?
Surely he couldn’t be worried about a little bit of bacteria? That would be
inconsequential to a corpse. My whole body shivered like someone just
stepped over my grave.
• 423 •
“Did you never care for me at all?” The same question niggled me to the very end.
His face came undone. Warm palms cupped my tear-stained cheeks. He
stared into my eyes like he could see all the way into my soul. “Of course I
did! That’s what makes this so hard—the thought that I won’t see you again
after tonight.”
I stared into the black of his eyes and saw the truth: He did care for me.
Fear slithered around my heart like a cold snake. What kind of organization
had such power over its underlings that they’d be wil ing to kil —even someone
innocent, someone they cared for—just because they got in the way?
I couldn’t allow them to get their claws into Andrew. I would have to do
the thing Pete was dreading. The unthinkable. Murder. Someone I had just
professed my love to. Someone I’d almost just made love to. Someone standing
in my way of saving my brother. Then I would run. Living off grid, hiding
from the world, suddenly . . . it made a whole lot of sense to me.
Pete closed one eye to peer down at me. I was pretty sure he was drunk as
a skunk, which was the only advantage I had tonight. “It’s time, Katie-Kat,”
he said softly, eyes hard.
The near-empty flask was beside me. Sloppy of him. He must be even
more out of it than I thought, which made me think I really had a shot now.
Eyes trained on his, I felt around on the ground for the flask. “Are you sure
this is the only way, Pete?”
He nodded. “Believe me . . . I’ve tried to find another way.”
My heart sank—I did believe him.
“Now no more talking,” he said. “Let’s just get this over with.” Gripping
the knife in his right hand, he pulled me up with his left. Gal ant to the very end. I offered him my own left hand, keeping my right one—with the fisted-flask—behind my back. As soon as he helped me up, he let me go to start
unbuckling his belt.
What the?!
I didn’t dwell on it. Instead, I used the opportunity to crack him over the
head with the flask. Pete must’ve felt my violent intent, because at the very
last second, his forearm instinctively deflected some of the blow so that only
a portion of metal hit. But it was enough to send him reeling.
He roared, falling onto one knee, a shocked hand feeling for the wound.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
I wasn’t gonna tell him; I was
gonna show him—my foot swung back to
finish him off. But I was too slow, or untrained, because Pete dropped the
knife to catch my obvious foot then threw me back in the dirt. I went down
• 424 •
hard, my tailbone splintering pain, air exploding from my lungs. I barely felt it before scrambling back up with a handful of icy dirt.
“Kate! Goshdammit! What the hell’s wrong with you? I’m—”
I hurled it in his face. He quickly spun, so that the majority of it rained
on his back.
“Alright, you little hellcat! You asked for . . .”
I whipped around, running for the house like my back was on fire. But
instead of a cold shower, I was running for the shotgun. I fervently prayed it
was loaded. And that I could beat him to the house. I had a pretty good head
start on him, and his head had to be ringing pretty good. And, inexplicably,
I’d completely caught him off guard.
Did he not know me at al ?
Crushing steps and heaving breaths were coming after me now, a freight
train of anger-fueled adrenaline and superior strength propelling him faster
than my legs could go. Pete didn’t bother calling my name—he knew I
wouldn’t stop. Smart. He shifted into high gear now, right on my tail. Then stumbled. Over something—a clump of grass, a frozen chicken, it didn’t
matter.
All that mattered was . . . I was home free now.
• 425 •
38
RECKONING
I don’t remember going up the steps, opening the door, reaching for the
gun. Next thing I knew, I was pointing the barrel of Daddy’s prized
Winchester. At the one I was in love with. How could I have been so
wrong? I’d never been more wrong about anything in my life. I could never
love someone who was willing to commit murder for a sinister cause. And just
like that—BAM!—my heart crusted over like frozen tundra. I knew I could
do the unthinkable. To save my family.
Pete must’ve seen the stone cold look on my face, because he froze
immediately. Not another step forward. Hands up, face pleading. “Kate!” he
cried, “Youdon’twannadothis! I can explain—you’re making a big mistake!”
I saw his head oozing red, his sun-kissed hair gingered by the blood. He
staggered slightly, whether from blood loss, or loss of coordination caused
by alcohol consumption (or acting), I couldn’t be sure. Nor did I care I told
myself, even as a stab of remorse pierced my gut. My gut!—that betrayer. It had led me wrong this whole time.
Mama was wrong—I didn’t have special intuition. My gut flip-flopped on
me all the time. Even now, as I stood pointing a gun at my hot hitman, even
after the obvious botched attempt at my murder, it was telling me: he wouldn’t
hurt me. I’d blamed everything on his academy, wanting so badly to believe
in him because I was falling in love. My heart must’ve been sending stronger
signals than my gut this whole time. It had led me down this wayward path.
I’d been a colossal fool— a fool for love. But no more. I wouldn’t listen to his mouth, dripping honeyed lies.
I firmed up my resolve, and my hands on the shotgun. . . . Trying to help
me, my rear. One eye closed, I cocked the hammer and aimed right over his
heart.
• 426 •
Pete bent over. “God almighty! How many friggin’ times am I gonna be hit on the head because of you?” The porch’s naked lightbulb spotlighted his
face. Now he looked murderous. I’d never seen this level of fury coming at me before, not even right before he was going to stab me. It was disconcerting
to the core.
He rounded on me with an incredulous look upon his face, like your
favorite pet had suddenly turned rabid on you. “You aiming to give me the
next concussion?”
“I was thinkin’ of doin’ somethin’ a little more permanent than a knot
on your head,” I replied.
Pete’s face was a Greek tragedy mask, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to
laugh or cry. He settled on laughing. Hysterically. “You’re the only girl I know
who could go from professing her love one minute to pointing the barrel of a
shotgun at you the next.”
“You provoked me.”
“Put the damn gun down, Kate. You know you’re not going to shoot me.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Cadet Davenport.”
After focusing on my determined face for a moment, his mouth relaxed
into something dangerously resembling a smile. “I know you wouldn’t shoot
me in the back.” That said, he turned his back on me and marched down
the steps.
Well okay then, I’d take the bait. I didn’t want the boys waking up from
a sound sleep by a gun going off. And then walk out to find their favorite
cadet lying in a pool of his own blood. With me holding the smoking gun.
I marched after him, my feet stumbling only after he whirled around
with the paring knife in his hand. What? Is he gonna fling it at me tomahawk
style? I flashed back to when he’d used it to slice lemons for our lemonade and how much fun we’d had that afternoon, doing chores of all things. My hands
started shaking now, my trigger finger turning numb. This was serious. In the
leg. I could get him in the leg.
“I’m sure it goes without sayin’, but a gun trumps a knife in a duel.” I
trembled my way through the bizarre live enactment of this old maxim.
“Kate, Kate . . .” He said it so wearily, like a particularly disappointed
parent does, after a wayward child has finally gone too far. “When are you
ever going to learn to trust me?”
“Says the elite cadet wielding a knife.”
Pete took in a monster breath, blew it out in a hiss of steam. “I guess I
should’ve explained myself first, but to tell you the truth . . . I’m a little out
of sorts tonight. And couldn’t say anything in the house anyway.”
• 427 •
“The boys are sound asleep and Daddy’s not home. But you already knew that—which is why you chose now to come do your dirty deed.”
Another sigh fogged the air. Then he said, “There are bugs in the house.”
Huh? At first I was insulted, my mind conjuring up images of black-
winged creatures and spindly green things with antennae. All sorts of creepy
crawlies I loathed and successfully kept at bay with rigorous housekeeping.
What’s he talking about? Why can’t we go in the house because—oh.
I lowered my gun an inch. “Bugs?”
He nodded his head. “I was taking you out of the house so I could finally
tell you everything. You see, you might not trust me, but I do trust you. You may be the only person in the world I do trust . . . and you whack me upside
the head the first chance you get! . . . When I came back to warn you.” He
shook his head then winced, holding it in his hand. “I’m beginning to regret
my decision to come here tonight—first you almost knock me out then you
point a gun at my heart. Think part one of our reunion went a whole lot
better,” he finished wryly.
In no mood for his flirtatious humor, I narrowed my eyes. “Then explain
to me why it is you felt the need for a knife before our little chat?”
Pete looked me dead-on. “Because I need you to cut out the microchip I
have
imbedded in the back of my neck.”
My jaw dropped. The gun drooped a little more. Out of all the words in
the world, that particular combination did not once cross my mind. “Now
those aren’t words you hear every day,” I said.
He snuffled out a humorless laugh. “Neither is ‘I love you’ from a girl
you’re about to make hate you.”
“You-you weren’t gonna kill me?” I edged around his other statement
for now.
“Do I strike you as the type of guy who would use a kitchen knife to stab
an innocent girl to death? One whom I was just considering making love to
two minutes before? Real y?” He hit me between the eyes.
I stared at him, unblinking, afraid I might be falling for another trick.
Tears blurred my vision.
“Would I really be so careless as to leave my fingerprints all over the
place?” he continued. “Not to mention the amount of blood a stab wound
produces, and the amount of time it would take to cover up such a vicious
crime. And my DNA is all over you from our brief . . . interlude.” He looked
at me like he was mortally wounded. “Think back, Kate, to all the times we’ve
spent together. Use your God-given intuition.” His serene voice went up a
• 428 •
pitchy octave. “Do I really appear to hate you or be capable of such malicious violence?”
Pete was either really hurt, or else he was the best actor in the world. It did
scare me, because he was so good at everything. My arms were shaking, being both cold and tired. The gun dropped to the point of about his kneecap now.
I didn’t want to kill him—even if he was here to murder me.
“If I were really going to kill you, I would’ve shot you up with an overdose
of codeine, left the empty bottle of Vicodin on your bedside table, then typed
up a suicide note. Everyone knows how crazy you’ve been over losing your
brother to The Academy . . . how depressed you’ve been over me leaving.
That’s the route I would’ve taken, had I really come here with the intent of killing you.” Pete leveled me with a look. “And you never would’ve seen me
coming, nor would you have felt a thing.”
I sank the gun all the way to the ground, crying. My gut was telling me
he was telling the truth. My gut better be right.
He swore and tore the hem from his shirt, holding it to the gash in his