Page 74 of Beautiful Revenge

The clank of the gate and footsteps running toward me.

I jerk when I sense the ball coming at me from the side and move just enough to dodge it.

But what really confuses me is the succession of cracks from the distance. The distinct noise echoes off the water and mountains simultaneously, breaking through the serene landscape.

“Fuck,” Roman hisses.

That’s when pain shoots through the side of my head.

I go down.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WHAT THE FUCK

Devon

Ibarely saw it.

The glint far across the lake on the side of the mountain. It was buried deep in the evergreens almost to the peak.

Metal reflecting off the sun.

Trained directly where Harlow was standing.

Two lone sirens sound in the distance. This isn’t London, D.C., or even a mid-size American town.

It’s Winslet. There’s a volunteer fire department, and the last I heard when Carl was talking about it at The Combover, only two of them are trained EMTs since one moved a state over to live near his grandkids.

What Winslet is not prepared for is a shooting, let alone a sharpshooter planted deep in the woods aiming at my property.

Three shots, but only one connected.

“What happened? What happened? Oh my God, did I do that with the tennis ball? I didn’t mean to. I swear! How could that have happened with a tennis ball?” Rob’s panicked chants won’t stop. He’s bent over with his hands on his knees in a fit of desperation where Roman Malloy and Harlow are lying at the baseline.

I’ve already called 9-1-1. It’s all I can do to fight myinstincts and not pick up Harlow and race her back to my suite, or better yet, my office with no windows, and lock her up.

I drag my hand away from Harlow’s neck where I was checking her pulse and reach up and grab Rob by the sleeve of his tennis polo to get his attention. I give him a shake to drag him out of his dramatic panic. “Listen to me. Call Felicity and tell her we’re in a code red. All guests need to be moved inside. She’ll know what to do. Hell, you should know what to do. I need you to focus, Rob.”

Rob is no tennis pro. His CV was the best I had to choose from at the time we opened. He played tennis all four years at Winslet High School and two years at the local junior college. Golf and sailing were hobbies, but like most other positions here other than the chef, my pool of candidates was slim. But the locals have risen to the challenge.

Other than losing it in the face of an emergency.

Note taken for a much, much more boring time—Rob is shit when it comes to crises. I need to add extensive training to my list of shit to do for the general manager that I’ve yet to hire.

I give Rob’s shoulder one more shake. “Call Felicity and then get to the beach and clear the area. But get it together and try not to freak the guests out too much. Do you understand?”

Harlow starts to stir. She pulls her hand to her temple and mutters, “What happened?”

“She’s alive! I didn’t kill her.” Rob stands straight and drags his fingers through his hair. Rob’s wide eyes move from Harlow to Roman. “But what about him? I only shot one ball. How did this happen? Two birds with one stone is not possible with a tennis ball!”

Rob is right. This didn’t happen with one tennis ball.

Sirens ring louder and get closer by the moment. I put my hand to Harlow’s chest to keep her low to the ground. I’m hovering over her with my back to the lake and mountain. I look back to Rob. “You know what to do.”

Rob’s anguished eyes shift from Roman to me. He nods in quick succession, pulls his cell from his pocket, and finally races from the courts toward the shore.

Harlow drags her eyes open far enough to squint up at me through the bright sun. “Devon?”