Page 173 of Protecting What's Mine

It was getting hotter and darker in the room. The layer of smoke on the ceiling was thickening.

Her phone screen glowed dimly, half under the pillow.

Please be listening.

It was eerily quiet except for the pops and bangs from the fire as it consumed the cottage beneath them.

Wendy coughed into her arm, the gun pointing at the floor for just a second.

“I didn’t kill Powell,” Mack said.

“Yes. You did. He was yelling. That night in the car. I couldn’t see. It was dark, foggy. Powell was singing or maybe yelling,” she murmured, coughing again.

If Mack could get to her and disarm her, there was a chance she and Sunshine could make it out.

Sunshine wiggled closer to the edge of the bed. The roof was steep, but maybe they could get down the stairs or out the window, onto the roof.

God. Once again, Wendy had her trapped in a second-floor bedroom. But Mack wasn’t six years old anymore. And she had a hell of a lot to live for.

It was so damn hot. And Linc did this for a living, walking into the flames.Linc.The smoke was so thick now. Someone would notice the flames. Someone would call. Someone would come.

Sweat ran freely down Mack’s back. Her hair hung limply in her face.

“Powell overdosed. He had too much heroin in his system,” Mack said.

“I had the methadone. We did it for fun. But I didn’t see the barrier.” Wendy sighed dreamily, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “But I saw his head hit the dashboard.”

Mack pulled Sunshine off the bed, pushed her to the floor out of the smoke. “Stay, girl.”

Understanding hit her. Sick recognition.

“You were driving that night. It wasn’t Powell. It was you.”

Her sister had killed Powell. Her sister and his bad decisions.

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Wendy shot back up off the mattress. Her hand trembled as she pulled the hammer back on the revolver.

It was so dark in the room. Like the smoke was extinguishing everything.

“Youknowit wasn’t my fault. You blame yourself. But it’s easier to blame me.”

There were sirens, Mack thought. She hoped it wasn’t a delusion, a hallucination.

They were getting louder and louder now. It wasn’t her imagination.

Help. Linc.

She needed to get out. Needed to get Sunshine out. They had a future. The three of them. There were kisses to be kissed. Vows to be made. Babies to have.

And she was going to fight for him, for their future.

She launched herself at her sister.

The sound of a gunshot rang in her ears.

59

“Iliterally can’t taste the difference,” Linc announced, dragging the blindfold off to stare at the two bowls of chili in front of him.