Her gazed shifted to his face. ?You?re hurt.?
?I?ll live.?
?Follow me into the kitchen,? Nikki said. ?I?ll clean you up.?
42
To Mike, Nikki Enders?s kitchen didn?t fit with the rest of the mansion. It was modern and chrome, space-age appliances gleaming in the candlelight. He leaned against the long island in the center of the kitchen. It was covered with pale wood, an enormous cutting board.
Nikki used the candle to light a large oil lamp. ?This is supposed to be decorative, but I don?t feel like looking for any of the flashlights.? The lamp brightened the room. She pulled open a drawer, came out with a bandage and hydrogen peroxide.
There was something stiff in the way Nikki moved, Mike thought. Awkward. Tense. Why not? Dead bodies all over the house. Maybe she was still worried about her mother. ?How is she??
Nikki cut the bandage into long strips with a pair of scissors. ?Mother?s room is on the third floor, so she was out of harm?s way.?
?That?s good.?
She looked down at the pistol in his hand. ?I don?t think you need that anymore.?
Mike hadn?t realized he was still holding the .38. ?Right. Sorry.? He stuck it back in his waistband.
There was a large bread box on the island counter. Nikki put her hand on the lid. ?There?s some good Jewish rye in here. I can make you a sandwich before you go. Are you hungry??
Mike shook his head. ?No thanks.? He was too exhausted to eat.
?If you don?t mind, I?m going to fix a sandwich for myself. I?m starving.? She opened the lid to the bread box.
Strange, Mike thought. It didn?t really seem like an appropriate time to?
He grabbed the .38 out of his waistband, pointed, squeezed the trigger. The shot caught Nikki Enders in the gut. She flew back against the refrigerator, slid down into a sitting position, her eyes wide. He face pinched with pain, both hands going to her belly.
Mike leaned across the counter and reached into the bread box. It was under the rye, a .25 caliber automatic. Mike put it in his jacket pocket. He kept the .38 trained on Nikki even though he realized it was out of bullets.
Nikki coughed, blood staining her teeth and bottom lip. ?How did you know I was going for a gun?? Her voice was small, far away.
Mike shook his head. Stupid. So fucking stupid and useless. But of course she?d had to try. Nikki had to be certain Mike wouldn?t cause her any more trouble, and the only thing certain is death. And he?d killed her sister. What he said was, ?It?s what I would have done.? He hated to admit it, but it was true, and he was ashamed. If their positions were reversed, Mike would have killed her.
She convulsed, coughed again. ?Goddamn you?son of a?son of a?? Her eyes rolled back, and her neck went limp, head tilting to the side.
Mike took the bandages and tied up his leg. Sloppy but good enough. He picked up the candle, backed out of the kitchen. Time to find his way out of this death house. In the hallway, he held the candle up, looked each way and tried to get his bearings. It was a big house. He started walking.
Nikki erupted from the kitchen, a hoarse, feral scream ripping from her throat. She held one arm across her midsection, the oil lamp held over her head with the other hand. She charged.
Mike drew the bread box .25 from his pocket, squeezed the trigger until the magazine was empty. Nikki was at the far end of the hall. The little automatic was made for close range, and Mike would be lucky if a single shot landed. Every bullet missed Nikki.
But the final shot shattered the lamp, sprayed Nikki with flaming oil. It spread over her entire body. Nikki Enders became a writhing, screaming thing of pure fire. She bounced between the walls of the hallway. A chair caught fire. A drapery went up in flame. Soon the entire hall burned. Nikki was now a small lump in the middle of the inferno.
Mike backed away, horrified.
