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It was Lacey. Her voice was distant. Cold.

“Wait what?” Oland said. “We need to get out of here before someone sees my car.”

“No,” she said. “You need to shoot him. We need to be sure.”

“Excuse me?”

Panic went up my spine. I needed to get up. I had to get my body working again.

“You need to shoot him. In the head. Make sure he’s dead.”

Oland made a disgusted sound and seemed to pace for a moment.

“Lacey, I can’t shoot him.”

“Why? Are you a coward? Don’t you love me?”

“Of course, I love you, dammit!” His voice echoed through the air as I struggled to move anything. A finger bent. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “I love you with my whole heart, Lacey. But I can’t shoot him. All I have is my service pistol. They could trace the bullet.”

“What kind of a cop are you that you only have one gun?” she growled. “Jesus. I’d shoot him if you had something.”

Someone was stomping toward me, and then yanked me over to lay flat on my back. Thick, meaty fingers pressed against my neck. It was close enough to my pulse that I held my breath in anticipation, but they moved away quickly and the footsteps began to move away.

“He’s dead, Lacey. Come on. Let’s get out of here. This will all be over tomorrow.”

I waited until I heard the car pull away, and well past the time that I’d last heard their engine.

Then I tried to open my eyes again.

And the world came into light, with a large red tint.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Charlotte

Graham sat across from me, his expression passive and difficult to read. One hand still clutched the stem of his wine glass, and the other was holding the box of jewelry that I’d brought him back. His eyes searched mine, and I tried to hold it together, not to show emotion and break down. I needed to stay strong.

“That’s it?” he asked.

I was taken aback, unsure of how to respond.

I had this all built up in my mind that he would be angry, or sad. He would be bitter and argue or cajole me. He would feel betrayed and let me know that, demanding that I find a way home myself and that I return the dress. I was expecting him to yell or at least be angry.

Instead, he just looked… disappointed. His kind eyes drooped a little, and a sad little smile curled up one side of his mouth. He shrugged and took a sip of his wine and set the glass down.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

He sighed and looked away for a moment, then back to me. There was no anger there. No viciousness.

“I mean, you being in love with this Jesse fellow. That’s all? That’s what you are upset about?”

“Yes?” I said, my eyes squinting as I tried to figure out where he was going with this. “That’s… that’s kind of a problem, isn’t it? To be in a relationship with someone and be in love with someone else?”

He laughed softly and shook his head.

“My dear, we are inFrance, are we not?”

“What?”