Page 87 of Into These Eyes

Jamie

SIXTEEN HOURS EARLIER

S hattering glass brings me out of sleep like a sharp slap to the face. I sit up, trying to focus in the dark as I reach for Gavin.

My hand finds empty sheets containing only a trace of warmth.

That’s when I hear a male voice. “Merry fucking Christmas, arsehole.”

Every hair on my scalp rises to attention. I know that voice.

Jarrod.

As quietly as I can, I slip out of bed, my feet carrying me toward the open door.

“Jamie! He’s here! Don’t come out!” Gavin yells. I freeze. My stomach clenches. He sounds scared. Panicked. Totally unlike himself. Whatever’s happening out there, his voice sends chills down my spine. “Get Bennie and the Jets!”

What’s he—

A roar of anger fills the house, and something underneath. A pop . I hold my breath, heart skittering and stuttering in my chest.

A loud crash comes from the hallway. Next, I hear grunting and shuffling feet. They’re fighting. Then another pop .

If I go out there, Jarrod will see me. There’s no way I can make a dash for the backyard. And there’s no way I’m leaving Gavin.

“Benny!” Gavin’s voice quavers. “Get Bennie and the Jets! Get Benny!”

“I watched that worthless piece of shit leave hours ago, arsehole. Give it up,” Jarrod says, his voice strong, confident. The voice of a man in control.

Oh, God. Has he shot Gavin? Is that what those pops were?

Get Benny.

Get Bennie and the Jets.

Benny and the Gun.

The gun.

Get the gun.

Oh, fuck.

I turn on my heel, snatch my phone off the bedside table, and race into the ensuite. Shutting the door silently behind me, I turn on the light, flinching at the sudden brightness.

I can still hear Gavin telling me to get Benny, but he sounds so far away now, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve shut the bathroom door, or if he’s fading.

With no time to think, I call Pete instead of triple zero. He answers almost immediately.

“Jarrod’s here,” I whisper. “I think he shot Gavin. He’s coming for me, Pete.” I hang up immediately, change the phone to airplane mode, find the voice recorder, press record and shove it in the vanity drawer. I trust Pete will get the police and ambulance here faster than emergency services can.

Tears threaten and my throat closes. I want to curl into a ball, put my arms over my head and pretend none of this is happening. Except the man I love is out there, and after all the practice I’ve had at acting strong, now’s the time to draw it to the surface.

Legs shaking violently, I lower myself to the tiles and reach for the edge of the vanity’s loose kickboard. Pulling it aside, I flatten my body to the floor, my cheek to the cold tile, and stare into the dark space where I hid the gun.

I’m sure I hear Gavin’s faint voice, but I don’t want to think about why it sounds so weak.

I grab the gun and bullet, and sit up. Fumbling, I take my mind back to my second date with Jarrod. At the pistol club. He let me shoot a few different types of guns, the last being a six-shooter. Except the one I shot that day had a much longer barrel.

Remembering how to push the lever forward to free the cylinder, I shove the bullet in place and snap the barrel closed.

Silence. No more thuds or grunts. No more pleas to get Benny. I want to scream out to Gavin, but I keep quiet, listening.

My heart pounds in my ears as I rise to my feet. I only have one bullet, literally one shot to survive this and try to save Gavin’s life. And I’m up against a cop who knows exactly how to use a gun, how to bring a suspect down.

Backing up to the toilet so I’m not reflected in the mirror, I grab a towel off the rail and wrap up my naked body, securing the soft fabric beneath my right armpit.

That’s when I hear his footsteps.

And now I’m not sure if I positioned that bullet correctly. What if I’m one cylinder left or right of the hammer? What if I pull the trigger and nothing happens?

I have to take him by surprise, but there’s nowhere to hide in here. If he comes through that door and Benny’s gun doesn’t fire, I’m dead. And so is Gavin.

I slide my right arm into the gap where the towel overlaps itself, concealing the gun within.

The door flies open. Jarrod points his long-barrelled gun straight at me before he cautiously steps into the room. I understand the pops now. He’s using a silencer.

I welcome the full body tremor that rattles through me. I want him to see how terrified I am, to believe he has a scared, harmless little mouse cornered.

For a split second I wonder if I can convince him I’m confused, that I still trust him, that I don’t understand what’s happening.

But he’s staring at me with that same look he had when I refused to let him kiss me. My skin crawls. There might be a vile reason he didn’t pull the trigger the moment he had me in his sights.

“Jarrod, what’s—”

“Shut up, Jamie. This’s fucking hard enough. You and your stupid convict’s plans to fuck me over end here.”

I don’t miss the irony of his words, but I’m not about to point it out.

“I don’t understa—”

“The only thing you needed to understand,” he interrupts, “was to back the fuck off. But you didn’t, did you?

You kept digging. When you came up with the affidavit from that kid, well, that was easy enough to get rid of.

But that fucking video of your father’s …

It’s gone from your work’s server now, but I know you’re smart, Jamie.

After the affidavit disappeared, you’d have made sure you kept other copies.

I’ll be needing those, and the original. ”

My left hand trembles as I raise it to my throat. He watches every movement. The urge to tell him I’ve already sent it to the police bubbles behind my lips, but I hold back. If he thinks it’s too late to stop the evidence coming to light, he’ll end this right here and now.

“Did you kill him? Just tell me that.”

“He’s not doing so well, Jamie. He’s suffering. So hurry up and give me what I want, then this’ll all be over. No more fear, no more pain. Won’t that be nice?”

He’s still alive. Still alive, still alive, my mind beats in time with my heart. There’s hope. That’s all I need.

“You’re going to kill us? Over a botched investigation all those years ago? It doesn’t make any sense.”

He lets out an unamused chuckle. “Smart in some ways, dumb in others. It’s not about your mother’s murder. Such a one-track mind, Jamie. I simply can’t have anyone poking around in my business. But you’re right about where this is headed. Such a shame. It really is. You’re fucking beautiful.”

Hearing that from this monster’s lips peppers my skin with goosebumps.

“But you never got to see me, did you?” I whisper.

His eyes skate over the towel, down to my bare legs, then back to my face again.

“Drop it,” he commands.

I shake my head. “Not while you’re pointing that at me.”

The gun doesn’t waver. “Drop it,” he repeats.

I jut out my chin, my heart banging against my chest. “You can either shoot me now and perv at my corpse, or you can put that gun down and look at me while I’m alive. I suspect you’ve always wanted to see me naked.”

He licks his lips, the hesitation obvious. “Even when you were a teenager, I’d jerk off to fantasies of that body of yours.”

Fucking pervert.

I remain silent while I stare at him, waiting.

His answer comes when he lowers the gun, his grip still tight as it bumps against his thigh. Eyes ablaze, he gives me a sharp nod aimed at the top of the towel.

Trembling, I reach beneath my right armpit, and in one smooth motion, I yank the tucked corner free, fling it aside and raise the gun.

Aiming at his chest, I squeeze the trigger.

The explosion sends a shockwave through my arm and shoulder. Even with our close proximity, I’m unsure if I’ve hit him. He’s wearing black, so I can’t tell if he’s bleeding.

Then I see it. A small hole in the fabric over his chest.

But it doesn’t matter. He’s raising his gun.

Screaming, I launch myself at him, smashing my revolver into his nose as I arc my other arm down on the hand hold the gun.

He pulls the trigger. A pop , then a flare of heat sears my right hip, but I don’t have time to think, because as his legs buckle, he grabs my throat, and we both go down.

Sprawling on top of him, I try to twist out of his grasp, but it’s unrelenting, cutting off my airflow, crushing my trachea.

In my scramble to get my legs beneath me, my knee slams his forearm to the tiles.

The forearm connected to the hand holding his gun.

Frantic, I grab for it, astounded when it slides it free without resistance.

As I stare down at him, his grip on my throat loosens, then drops away.

And I see it. Just the way Gavin described my mother. Jarrod’s going. He’s still here, but blood’s pumping from his chest wound, his skin ashen.

His eyes fasted on my bare breasts.

And that’s the last thing he sees. He’s gone.

When I look at his chest again, there’s barely a trickle seeping from the wound.

His heart’s no longer pumping. It’s as dead as his eyes. Though, I suspect, it always has been.

Gavin .

Leaping off Jarrod, keeping his gun in one hand, I grab the towel and almost bolt from the room. But my feet freeze. If I don’t go out there, Gavin’s still alive. If I do, I might discover he’s not. And I don’t know if I’ll survive that.

Turning to the vanity, I take my phone from the drawer and stop the recording.

I stand there, too afraid to move and too afraid not to.

What if he’s dying? What if he needs me with him so he can look into my eyes as he goes? How can I deny him that when he gave that gift to my mother?

I don’t remember leaving the ensuite or my bedroom, but I’m suddenly in the hallway.

Gavin lies outside the kitchen. Naked. Motionless.

No!

Then I see it. The almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest.

I sprint to him, dropping to my knees in the dark pool of blood growing at his side. I crush the towel over the bullet wound in his torso, using my weight to keep the pressure steady.