“The police know everything.”
“Like I care? I’ll be so far gone they’ll never find me. Let’s make this fast.” Michelle popped out the cartridge of the 9mm and Julia recognized it as her own gun. Michelle pressed the gun into Julia’s hand, then put it on the floor next to her. Michelle put on gloves and picked up the knife Tristan had dropped.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s perfect. He stabs you and as you lay dying, you shoot him. The police will figure it out, but it’ll take them a couple days, and by that time I’ll be on some beach far, far away.”
There was no doubt in Julia’s mind that Michelle would go through with her plan without hesitation or remorse.
Julia reached for the gun. The cartridge was gone, but there was a round chambered. She had only one shot.
She put the gun behind her back and slowly stood, shaking off the nausea sweeping through her.
Michelle whipped around. “Sit down!” She strode over to Julia, knife in hand, irritated.
Julia swallowed nervously. “Michelle, let’s figure out a solution to this. No one else needs to die. I have-”
“Shut up.”
“-lots of friends in the-”
“I said shut up!” Michelle stomped her foot hard on Julia’s shin and Julia winced, biting her lip.
Michelle was listening. Something downstairs had caught her attention.
Julia didn’t hear anything unusual, just her rapidly beating heart vibrating in her ears.
“Someone’s downstairs,” Michelle said. “Change of plans.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
Michelle laughed. “You sound like a stupid television show. Get up.”
Julia sagged. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then you’ll die here.”
“So will you,” Julia said, pulling out the gun from behind her back.
Michelle’s face contorted in anger as she brought the knife up in her fist. Julia pulled the trigger. The one bullet hit Michelle in the upper abdomen. Reflexively, Julia pressed the trigger again, even though she knew there were no more bullets.
Michelle’s blue eyes reflected shock and disbelief. She raised her hand, the knife still clenched tight in her fist. Her body shook violently as blood seeped from the wound.
Michelle lunged forward, the sharp blade coming down fast toward Julia’s face.
Julia grabbed Michelle’s wrist. The momentum brought the knife to Julia’s cheek.
Julia winced at the sudden sharp pain, but didn’t loosen her hold on Michelle’s arm. She dropped the empty gun and used both hands to hold Michelle’s knife hand away from her. Michelle fought back, her mouth soundlessly opening and closing, her left hand reaching for Julia’s neck.
Julia squirmed from the woman’s grasp, but Michelle was above her, gravity aiding her momentum and fury.
They struggled for control of the knife. Julia lost her grip. She tried to roll away from the blade, but it cut deep into her shoulder. Pain shot down Julia’s arm and she screamed, clutching her bloody left shoulder.
Michelle used that moment to push Julia to the railing, pulling her up with unusual strength. She bent Julia backward, trying to throw her over the edge. Julia’s vision blurred with the strain of keeping Michelle from killing her. Pulse racing, Julia fought the dying girl. But Michelle had nothing left to lose and wanted to take Julia with her.
“Bitch,” Michelle spat in her face. “You bitch!”
Michelle still grasped the knife, now dripping with Julia’s blood. Julia blinked, fear and panic making her heart race and her head swirl. Michelle brought the knife down again, but Julia moved to the right, grabbed the woman’s wrist, and slammed it hard against the metal railing.
Michelle screamed, but didn’t relinquish the knife.
All Julia wanted now was to get away, but Michelle kept her pinned to the rail, trying to push her over.
Julia’s mind clouded; her vision faded. She swallowed and tasted blood.
“You’ll die with me,” Michelle spat in her ear, the knife inches from Julia’s neck.
“No. I. Won’t.”
Julia didn’t want to let go of Michelle’s wrist, but her instincts told her she had to.
She released Michelle. The killer’s momentum kept her falling forward and over the railing.
Julia reached for her, but missed. The body hit the cement floor a moment later.
“Julia!”
Connor had found her.
“Oh God, Julia.” Connor stripped off his T-shirt.
She reached for his face, but her hand fluttered back down. She had no strength.
Connor’s training took over. He immediately applied pressure to the wound. “Medics!” he shouted. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He examined her body, saw blood everywhere.
She shook her head, closing her eyes against the pain.
“Hold on, sweetheart, the ambulance is almost here.” He heard sirens approaching. “We’ll get you sewed up in no time.”
SWAT team leader Tom Blade came over. “Two dead. Male, twenties, over there.” He gestured against the back wall of the studio where Tristan Lord lay, his blood splattered on the wall behind him.
“Downstairs, female.”
Connor demanded, “I need the medics up here, ASAP.”
“Right here.” Another SWAT team member came in. SWAT had their own field medics.
Connor moved over to give him room, one hand on Julia’s wound and the other grasping her hand.
“What’s your name, darlin’?” the medic asked.
“Julia,” she whispered.
“Julia Chandler,” Connor said, swallowing his fear. There was so much blood.
“Looks like a nice clean wound. Kincaid here is just going to keep pressure on it while I clean up these little nicks, see if we have anything else we need to be worried about.”
“She’s going to be fine, right?” Connor asked.
“I am fine,” Julia said, but her voice was faint. And she was so pale.
Connor panicked, staring at the medic. “Tell me.”
“She’s lost a lot of blood. Keep that pressure on. I’m doing all I can.”
“Connor,” Julia said faintly.
“Shh, don’t talk.” His own chest burned with suppressed emotion.
“I love you.”
Connor’s breath caught. “Oh, Julia. I love you, too, babe. Stay here, okay? Just hold on.”
Her eyes closed. “Julia?” She’d lost consciousness.
There was commotion outside the door as two paramedics came up with a basket. “We can’t get the stretcher up here.”
“I typed her blood. A-positive. She needs plasma ASAP.”
The SWAT medic tied a tourniquet tight above the wound and the paramedics strapped her into the basket. Connor ran downstairs with one medic while the other two hoisted the basket over the railing. The art studio was full of crime scene techs and cops, but Connor barely registered the commotion. All he could think about was how pale Julia looked, how much blood she’d lost.
And how much he loved her.
“I’m with you,” Connor said as they strapped Julia onto the stretcher.
THIRTY-THREE
