Page 25 of Ice Cold Christmas

A black gun waited inside the drawer.

“What is it?” Tension thickened Victor’s voice.

She reached for the gun and lifted it from the drawer.

“Fuck.” He rushed forward. “Put it down, Melody. The gun shouldn’t be there. Hatterson was supposed to remove all weapons.”

Had she held a gun before? She had no clue. The weight felt alien to her. Surely it wasn’t loaded, was it? “It’s not loaded.” Melody thought she sounded pretty confident.

“How the hell do you know? You just picked the damn thing up.”

He was right in front of her.

“Sebastian isn’t as…safe these days. That’s why I ordered Hatterson to secure all weapons. The gun shouldn’t have been in the drawer. Put it down.”

She stared at the weapon. “You think I’d shoot you?” Is that why he seemed so tense?

“You just told me an hour ago that you’re back for vengeance. You don’t know who the hell I really am. For all I know, you think I’m the bastard who hurt you.”

Her gaze rose. Caught his.

“I’m not.” Flat. “For the record, I’m not that person. I would never hurt you. So how about you don’t get twitchy with the trigger, and you just put the gun back in the drawer? Then you can tell me why the hell you’re doing your breaking-and-entering routine.”

She had told him. It wasn’t her fault if he hadn’t listened to her. “I have to get answers.”

He held her stare. “I will help you.”

She wanted to believe him. Was it because she’d been alone for so long? Was she just desperate for someone else to stand beside her? Or was it more?

She began to lower the gun. As she lowered the weapon, Melody stepped back so she could put it in the drawer once more.

Victor reached out for her. “I can take?—”

Glass shattered. The crack seemed so loud. Something wet flew toward her. Wet. Red.

It took a second too long for her to process what was happening. She still held the gun. Victor was reaching for her. But…his arm was bleeding. His blood had splattered onto the white shirt she wore.

She hadn’t fired at him. She had not fired the gun.

Her head whipped toward the windows. The shattering glass had come from the window?—

“Down!” Victor roared. But he didn’t give her a chance to actually get down. He hurtled right at her and threw his body onto hers. He tackled her with a strong, heaving impact that took her to the floor. She was sure she’d crash hard into the hardwood floor, but he twisted his body, cushioned her head with his hands, and when they landed, she was surrounded by him. Protected by him.

The gun flew out of her fingers and clattered across the floor.

Cold air blew into the room. And then?—

Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.

Shots. Fired in quick succession. More shattering glass. She screamed. Had she even heard the crack of gunfire the first time? She didn’t think she had. Or maybe?—

“You’re not hurt!” Victor’s snarl.

He was telling her? Or was that a question?

“You’re not hurt!” Victor snarled again. He heaved up. Glared at her. Began to pat her down.

She shoved at his hands. “I’m not hurt. You are.” He was the one bleeding all over the place. Oh, God. Blood meant— “You were shot!”