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When the barrel touched her skin, Erica felt its heat. She expected it to be cold. Cold metal. Instead, it was hot. Probably because it had just been fired. The singe, the pressure of it against her flesh was just a reminder that she was out of time, out of ways to stall. There were no more tricks up her sleeve. No more lies or fast-talking that might buy her more time or get her out of this. Her fingers scrabbled against her chest, searching for her necklace, but it wasn’t there.

Maybe it was foolish to believe that it would protect her. It hadn’t so far. Her brilliant plan had gone horribly wrong. Every time she thought things couldn’t get worse, some fresh new hell was unleashed, and she realized that her worst mistake was a failure of imagination. Never did she think that things could get so bad. She wasn’t as savvy as she liked to believe. Wasn’t as cunning or calculating as her mother.

An irritated voice broke through the ringing in Erica’s ears. It was faint, as if it came from another room, but she knew it was the other man, standing near the door. “Come on, man. I’m tired of this shit. Shut her up, once and for all.”

Erica closed her eyes and touched the little frog foot tattoo under her ear, conjuring an image of her dad. Even though she’d let him down time and again and ruined his life, he still loved her. He’d told her as much at the hotel, after she came clean about her part in the blackmail scheme. She wanted her last thoughts to be of him.