out.
He shut the door before some change in scent or temperature or draft alerted her.
Unlike Cait, he was careful to turn the bolt.
Moving slowly, soundlessly, he walked close to the walls, assuming that the floorboards were less likely to creak that way. He went past her and kept going, making a fat circle so that he could come up directly from behind her.
He didn’t kneel or anything. He needed to be free to jump when it came to that—
Cait lifted a hand and rubbed her nose; then sighed as she resettled her arm on the chair. “Damn it,” she whispered.
Reaching forward with his gloved hand, G.B. touched her blond hair, stroking the ends. Great hair. It had been what he’d first noticed about her back at the cafe.
Wasn’t it weird that that chance meeting had brought them to this?
“Wake up, Cait,” he said loud and clearly. “Time to play.”
With that, he turned off the lamp next to her.
Chapter
Fifty-six
The sound of a man’s voice directly in her ear jerked Cait to attention, a surge of terror throwing her upright as the room went dark—
Rough hands locked on her hair, digging in, latching on, yanking her so violently to the side that her body flipped off her feet and she slammed face-first into the hard wooden planks of the floor.
Momentarily stunned, she watched in the dimness as a pair of nice black shoes came into her wonky vision.
G.B.’s voice was even. Almost bored. “I can’t believe you fell for his sob story, I mean, really—I thought you were smarter than that.”
He grabbed her head with both hands and dragged her back up, holding her with such vicious strength, she was convinced he was going to snap her neck.
As she struggled, he kissed the exposed column of her throat, running his tongue up to her ear. “But I guess you’re a typical dumb blond. Kind of a shame, I actually liked you.”
With that, he threw her into the wall headfirst, the impact enough to knock her framed diploma off its mounting. The glass shattered, and she stepped in it, pieces cutting through the socks she was wearing.
“I even killed for you.” He banged her again into the Sheetrock. “I mean, I wouldn’t have wasted time on that Jennifer thing—but she almost got you hurt. She ditched that ticket and you were terrorized in that garage. Remember?”
He grabbed on again and cranked her head back to meet her in the eye—and that was when she knew true terror: He was totally placid, his face almost pleasant.
“Remember?” he repeated, retightening his grip on her hair. “Sort of ironic, isn’t it—given how this is going to play out.”
She braced herself for another vertical impact, but he had other ideas. He ripped her back to the floor and pinned her facedown. As he mounted her from behind, his weight settling on her lower body, she cried out—
The knife was about six inches long, and had a blade that was cared for so well, it gleamed white in the distant light of her office.
“No more of that yelling. Don’t want to wake the neighbors.”
“You’re not going …” She couldn’t breathe.
“To get away with this? Of course I am. You’d be surprised what I’ve gotten away with in the past.”
“You’re…”
“Just stop, I know what I’m doing, okay?” At that, one hand locked on the back of her neck to keep her in place, and the other started working on her clothes.
Tears speared into her eyes, terror making her tremble all over. Not like this, oh, dear God … but she couldn’t move, and wasn’t going to try screaming again in fear of—
A thunderous noise broke through the pounding horror in her blood, and she wasn’t the only one who heard it; she could feel G.B. freeze above her. A moment later, it was repeated … and a third time, and a—
The explosion that came next was something she knew, if she lived through this, that she would never, ever forget. It was unholy, a roar that was loud and deadly as a wild animal’s attack call.
An instant later, the weight on top of her was gone, and even as close to fainting as she was, she took advantage of it, wrenching herself up and shoving herself backward.
“Duke!” she screamed.
Duke’s much larger body had taken G.B. down, the pair of them rolling around.
“He has a knife!” she yelled.
Like either one of them was listening? Scrambling to her feet, she wanted to help, needed to—
Fuck the phone and 911. What she required was upstairs, in her bedroom.
As the pair of them struggled for control of the weapon, she ran for the staircase, skidding in her now-bloody socks, ricocheting off the walls, scampering to the second floor. And even though it was totally dark up there, she found her bedside table in a second.
Her handgun was one she was licensed to carry and had been trained to use. But all of that had been on a hypothetical. It had never occurred to her that she might have to use the nine-millimeter autoloader.
She all but fell down the stairs.
Pulling herself around the base of the balustrade, she entered her living room with the weapon up at shoulder height and the safety off.
All hell had broken loose, her furniture busted up, more pictures down from the walls, the lamp knocked over.
They were up on their feet again, a hideous waltz happening as they circled around and around. Duke had control of G.B.’s arm, his superior strength on the verge of winning out, but he’d been stabbed, blood dripping off his elbow and from a wound in his side.
For a split second, she thought … yes, they truly did look like brothers. Nearly twins, as a matter of fact.
Then she leveled the gun at the two of them. “Drop the knife,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.
Both of the brothers looked toward her, identical pairs of blue eyes locking on the barrel of her gun.
Later, she would realize that Duke really did love her. Because for a split second, his concern for her distracted him and his focus was lost … and that was all it took.
G.B. pulled a second knife out from God only knew where and plunged it right into his gut.
“No!” she screamed.
Everything went into slow motion at that point. Duke dropped to his knees, clutching his abdomen, curling over. Above him, G.B. threw the knife up over his head, his eyes rapt, his body strung in an arc—
Cait started knocking off rounds, the bullets firing cleanly out of her well-oiled gun, one after another after another … driving G.B. back, the impacts jerking him like a puppet. And as he went, so she followed, discharging the entire clip as she walked with him.
Just as she had done in that dream she’d had early in the morning.
When she was finally finished, he was falling backward, his feet tripping over themselves, his expression one of utter and complete shock, as if this was not at all what he’d had in mind.
He hit one of the glass windows of her office in the center of its large pane, and his weight and trajectory were too much for the fragile barrier to hold: he broke it as he finally fell back completely, his limp body shattering the expanse in a spectacular display of light and sound.
But she didn’t give a shit about him.
Whirling around, she all but fell on Duke. “Oh, God, please don’t die, please don’t…”
