Wicked and Dangerous

It didn’t add up. He’d had a hundred opportunities to kill her. He could have done it in her sleep. He could have poisoned her when he brought her breakfast. And why would he have introduced her to his friends or let her go to lunch with London if he just wanted her six feet under? Granted, she didn’t really know everything about Decker, but she’d been sure that she had felt his heart. It had been big and kind and caring. It had called to her own.

The click, the connection, the depth of her feelings . . . She refused to believe it was all a lie. He’d shown her pleasure and consideration. Affection even. Why do that, only to kill her? Before Decker she would have never believed that she was sexy enough or special enough for him, but he’d made her see something different in herself, in her heart.

Rachel refused to doubt her feelings for another minute. Maybe this psycho had mistaken Decker’s identity. Maybe he’d been watching her and lied about Decker’s intentions to throw her off her game. Heck, maybe ol’ Chris was just insane. Whatever the problem, it was on him. Decker wouldn’t kill her.

But he also wasn’t here, so if she was going to make it through this encounter, it was up to her now. She had to talk this guy off the crazy train and fend for herself somehow, because she wasn’t ready to die.

“I-I’ll cut off all contact with Owen. I’ll change my number. I’ll move and not leave a forwarding address, if you want.”

But the gunman was already shaking his head. “You moved out once. That didn’t pry you from his mind. In fact, not being able to find you might only make him obsess more. But knowing that you’re totally beyond his reach . . . Then he’ll have to move on. And my sister will be there for him. They can finally get married and she can be fucking happy. But Carly and Owen are flying home tonight.” He glanced at the clock on the oven wall. “In fact, I’ve got to be back at my place to take them to the airport in less than an hour. By the time they land, I want her to know that she has Owen all to herself.”

And he intended to leave her lying lifeless in a pool of her own blood, staining the white tile of her kitchen floor. No way was she going to let that happen.

Rachel swallowed, gathering her courage. Then she jumped him with a growl, shoving him back toward the foyer with all her might.

He went careening back, flailing and trying to catch his balance. He reached out to brace for his inevitable fall. The pistol fell from his grip, clattering to the hardwood floor beneath him and sliding all the way to the front door as he landed on his butt with a thud.

She didn’t wait for him to get his bearings, but darted back into the kitchen and grabbed her biggest knife —a huge, serrated sucker. For insurance, she grabbed the paring knife, too, and held it down by her thigh.

When he jumped to his feet and charged toward her with murder narrowing his menacing eyes and his large hands outstretched like he meant to strangle her, she was ready. Rachel knew that once he got his hands around her neck, he was too strong, and she’d be done for. She’d never see her family or friends again. Mercy, her mother . . . She’d miss Thanksgiving, Christmas, Shonda’s wedding. She’d never know her future, her children, or see old age. She would never be able to tell Decker that she loved him.

Oh hell no!

As the criminal came closer, she raced toward him again, big knife stretched over her head. Rachel didn’t think she could kill him. She wasn’t sure she would be able to live with that, no matter how terrible he was. The idea of sinking this into his chest made her wince inwardly—but he didn’t need to know that.

She darted closer, and as she expected, her assailant grabbed her wrist and tried to wrest the knife from her grip. She only had seconds and one chance to surprise him. No way was she going to screw this up.

While he clamped down on her wrist, trying to make her release the wicked blade, Rachel drove the paring knife into his thigh, seriously close to his groin. She hoped she at least nicked something vital.

He screamed and dropped his grip from the wrist above her head, cupping his leg protectively. “Bitch! I won’t give you an opportunity to cut me again.”

Blood dripped from the little knife and onto her fingers, onto the floor. Rachel watched in horror as he managed to hobble away and went after his gun. She was either going to have to chase him and finish him off . . . or let him shoot her dead.

She swallowed. Her heart thrummed, and fear laced her veins with ice. Her skin felt tight. Her thoughts raced. Why couldn’t he just leave this alone? She could try to pick up her phone and call the police, but she’d barely finish giving the 911 operator her address before he’d be back with his gun to shoot her. Same if she tried to dart out the back door to freedom.

No choice. She was going to have to hunt him down and snuff him out before he did the same to her.

Steeling herself, she gripped both knives and rounded the corner from the kitchen, into the long walkway to the foyer.

The thug stood there, frozen and bleeding.

In front of him, Decker stood, legs akimbo, arms outstretched, a gun in each hand. “Don’t move a muscle, motherfucker. If you even twitch, it will give me a lot of pleasure to put a bullet in your miserable brain.”

•   •   •

WELL AFTER THE police had taken Christian Adams away in handcuffs for a trip to the hospital to get some stitches, Rachel sat, drinking a cup of coffee for warmth. She was fully covered, but she felt chilled to the bone. An EMT had wrapped a blanket around her after he’d checked her out and doctored a cut on her finger. He’d cautioned her about some bruising and given her something for her headache.

She had stabbed a man. In self-defense, yes. In her spinning thoughts, the moments slowed and replayed in an endless loop. More than once since, she’d tried to wash the blood from her hands, but she swore she could feel it seeping into her pores. Christian Adams hadn’t given her a choice. He would have killed her if she hadn’t fought back. That knowledge gave her peace of a sort. She’d finish reconciling it all later.

In the interim, the police had taken her statement. They’d taken Decker to the back of the house to get his separately, and she hadn’t seen him for hours. Carly and Owen had come. Who’d called them or why, she had no clue. But her ex-husband’s fiancee had been absolutely horrified at what her brother had attempted. The woman’s pleading apologies ran through Rachel’s brain. But nothing sank in. Vaguely, she recognized that Owen had stepped up for Carly and now seemed like the man she needed. He promised her they’d get through this together and have a big wedding whenever she was ready. The way Owen had looked at Carly, like she was his moon and stars, had made her really happy for the couple. She wished them well. It wasn’t Carly’s fault that Christian had taken it upon himself to think killing his sister’s man’s ex-wife was a good idea. Rachel hoped that Owen and his fiancee could live happily ever after now, despite the jail time Christian had coming. Someone should be happy.

The hope that it might be her looked increasingly dim.

The police told her that Christian had, in fact, hired Decker to kill her. They found the twenty-five thousand dollars and the number of a disposable phone Christian had purchased when they searched Decker’s belongings. In her head, she knew that must mean everything between them had been a lie. He had likely conned her, and she’d eaten up every morsel of the bait. She would just need time to recover, get over her anger, grieve. Maybe a decade or two would be long enough to forget him.

The problem was, her own stupid heart insisted that what they’d shared was real. Even if Decker hadn’t been completely honest, somewhere in the midst of his ruse, she’d seen his heart, how good and kind and genuine he could be.

“You all right?” a woman’s gentle voice asked behind her. Rachel turned to find London standing at her back, her pale hair loose over her slender shoulders. London draped an arm around her with a face full of soft empathy.

Rachel wanted to crawl into a corner and lick her wounds, even as the thought pissed her off. Where the hell was Decker so she could at least have a good scream at him? How dare he lie to her and hurt her?

“I’ll be fine,” Rachel murmured, hoping that her fibbing wasn’t too obvious. “You don’t need to be concerned about Decker’s sham. I’m sure you had nothing to do with it.”

“It’s not what you think,” Xander insisted a moment later, hovering protectively beside his wife. “He never had any intention of hurting you.”

Rachel ached to believe him. But her head kept telling her heart to stop being so damn naive. “With all the evidence to the contrary, that’s hard to buy.”