The world clicked into surreal mode after that. She knew Jacob flew through the white curtain-she saw the blur of black leather and denim, spied the gun in his hand.
“He’s got three guns,” she managed to shout. “And a knife.”
Dylan’s foot narrowly missed her head as he flailed. Using the heel of her boot, she spiked his calf.
In spite of everything, he got a hand inside his Santa suit and drew a gun. The same gun Critch had held on Jacob seven years ago?
Jacob tackled him before he could take aim. The gun discharged. Dylan grunted like an animal. With one hand clutching his crotch, he grabbed a second gun from his waistband.
“Jacob!”
The only target Romana had was Dylan’s butt. She used the toe of her boot to spear him, then ducked as the weapon flew out of his hand.
“It’s over, Hoag.” In an anchored crouch, Jacob held him at gunpoint. “Don’t be stupid.”
Desperate, Dylan scrambled back and grabbed Romana’s ankle. Although she tried to kick free, he held fast.
“You won’t do it, Knight.” A third gun appeared and pointed at Romana’s head. “But I will.”
Romana squirmed and fought. Driving snow blinded her. She heard a shot. Then another. Dylan emitted one of his barking laughs. Her heart stuttered, almost stopped.
But she wasn’t dead. So…
“Jacob!’”
Dylan’s laugh became a gurgle. The hand on her ankle relaxed its grip. She kicked free and bumped herself upright. “Jacob?”
“Right here.” He sounded winded as he dropped to his knees beside her.
“Are you…?” Without her hands, she couldn’t check him for bullet holes. “Did he shoot you?”
“Shot at me. Missed.” Still breathing hard, he pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced the ropes on her wrists.
She started to throw her arms around his neck, but dug her fingers into his shoulders instead. “Where is he?”
Jacob moved his head. Romana moved her eyes. The crumpled heap that was Dylan didn’t move at all.
There was no need to ask. She saw the blood and knew. “Oh, God.” Dropping her head onto his shoulder, she let reaction set in. While Dylan’s blood turned the snow and two protruding sprigs of mistletoe beneath him red.
Chapter Nineteen
“You are so, so lucky, Romana.”
By Tuesday morning, Fitz was sitting cross-legged in her hospital room, pigging out on Christmas candy and eager to hear every gory detail Romana could relate. Could remember. Because most of the rest of Sunday and a great deal of Monday were jumbled together in a wind-whipped haze.
“So Dylan’s dead, right?” Fitz asked.
“As the proverbial doornail.” Romana sighed. “I don’t mean to sound cold, but he did everything in his power to kill Jacob and me, and he didn’t seem to care who else might get hurt along the way.”
“He had a mission,” Fitz translated. “Avenge Belinda’s death. Just like Warren Critch.”
“Except that Critch’s conviction wavered and Dylan’s didn’t.” Leaning over her cousin’s folded legs, Romana selected a chocolate cherry from the box. “Critch regained consciousness last night and gave a brief statement. He did follow Dylan when Dylan slipped me the sixth card, so he knew what was going on. I guess he couldn’t live with it, because he tried to intervene. He left a note in the lobby of my building warning us about Dylan. It was too cryptic to make a whole lot of sense at the time, but in retrospect, I can see it.”
“So Critch gave you that even though he didn’t know who’d killed his wife. He only knew he didn’t think it was Jacob Knight anymore.”
“I think he also understood by then that grief had driven Dylan insane.”
“That’s sad, isn’t it?”
“Once you get past the horror, it really is.”
“What about Belinda being pregnant? Do you think Dylan knew?”
“I don’t think anyone knew-except Dr. Gorman, and Belinda didn’t mean to tell him. On a less somber note, I heard some gossip about your dad’s employer.”
“I’m all ears, Ro.”
“You remember I told you that James was supposed to be in Cleveland about the time you went missing? Well, he did in fact go there-via Columbus. He was checking out rehab facilities for your father. He figures your dad deserves the best, and that’s what he’s going to get.”
“No affair?”
“Not on that trip. Possibly not at all. But that’s for James and Shera to hash out. Your job is to get better.”
“I’ll work on it, after I hear more gory details. All I have so far is that Dylan’s dead. What’s Critch’s prognosis?”
“He’s improving. The doctors are optimistic.”
“Did he know about everything Dylan was doing?”
“Possibly-on some level.” Romana summoned a halfhearted smile. “When worlds collide…”
“No kidding. So Dylan figured he could kill you and Jacob, send Critch off to South America with fake ID, and just carry on with his life as before. Everyone would think Critch had fulfilled his promise, and no one would ever see or hear from him again. Story over.”
“That was the plan. Not sure how he thought he’d get out of that alley Sunday night, but, hey, insanity makes its own rules, right?”
“And Patrick?”
Romana’s expression softened. “I’m really sorry about him, Fitz. He’s, well-not well.”
“Man, can I pick ’em or what?”
“Huh, I married Connor. No one can top that blunder.”
Fitz snickered. “Ain’t we a pair, cous’?”
“Mmm.”
The snicker transformed into a sly smile. “So, have you and Jacob had sex yet? Was it great? Where’s it going for you two?”
Laughing, Romana leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “None of your business.” Then she smiled and added a teasing, “Yes, yes, and I don’t know. However,” she tapped Fitz’s leg, “now that the dust’s more or less settled, I think it’s time I found out.”
NIGHT FELL AS IT ALWAYS DID. The blizzard moved on. Only the cold remained-and a legion of last-minute Christmas shoppers.
O’Keefe had been badgering him for information nonstop since Sunday. Harris hadn’t been much better. He’d seen Romana exactly twice since Dylan’s death, and for no more than thirty minutes at a time.
Dropping his head onto the back of his chair, Jacob listened to the elevator door swish open and waited for O’Keefe’s voice. He had one hour before Harris wanted him at headquarters, no doubt for another round of questioning.
He caught the scent of her skin first but didn’t have time to react before her hair fell over his cheek.
“I believe, Detective, that the last words you spoke to me came in the form of a promise-one, to call me and, two, to hunt me down and make love to me until we were both unconscious.” Her lips brushed his ear from behind. “My phone hasn’t rung once today.”
“Uh-huh, well, you might want to check your battery.”
The tease in her voice strengthened. “Oh, good, you’re in a funk. I love it when you go all dark and broody.”
Something cinched inside him. He drank a mouthful of coffee, kept his eyes on the city lights. “You have no
