I sighed and pushed back until I could see his face. “I need at least eight hours of sleep before I can even think straight.” I gave him a peck on the lips and reached for the door handle. “Thanks for saving my life. Call me later.”

“Hang on. I’ll walk you in.” He scrambled to catch up with me.

I slowed and we walked up the porch steps together. He reached for the knob first and held the door open for me.

“How about a cup of coffee?” I stepped inside.

“Nah. I’m going to get back to the lake house. I’m hoping to catch up to your grandfather and figure out the missing pieces of the puzzle. Joel and Gerard are here.” He nodded toward their cars parked in the driveway. “You should be safe for now.”

“Okeydoke, then. I guess I’ll see you this afternoon. You are still planning to take me to town later, right?” With my eyelids dragging on the floor, even the thought of choosing an engagement ring barely perked me up.

He took me by the shoulders. “You know I am. What’s the date? May twenty-fifth? This is the day I’ll ask the most important question of my life.” He gave me a puppy-dog look that made me laugh. “You are going to say yes, aren’t you?”

I wagged a finger at him. “Uh, uh, uh. That’s cheating. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

He smiled and gave me a sleepy, lingering kiss. “Get some rest, Tish. I’ll call you later.”

“Night.” I hugged myself and watched him walk back to his car. He turned and winked at me. I gave him an air kiss, then closed the door.

The house was quiet, though not for long with six a.m. quickly approaching. I wondered how Melissa and her kids would hold up later today, with Drake’s funeral scheduled to take up the better part of it. Hoping to avoid a drug dealer convention, Melissa had arranged for the service and burial to be limited to close family members. I made no plans to attend, at Missy’s suggestion.

The light over the stove lit the room with a faint glow. Someone had left a lamp on in the great room as well. Obviously they weren’t the ones paying the electric bill around here.

I downed a glass of water, flicked off the stove light, then headed toward bed.

I stopped under the arch to the great room, rooted to the floor at the sight in front of me. It took me a few seconds of dumbfounded, heart-racing silence to figure out what I was looking at. Samantha and Melissa sat next to each other on the sofa against the far wall. Joel and Gerard lay prone on the floor, with their hands behind their necks. And holding pistols pointed at the women were Drake’s buddy Stick and some skuzzball associate.

“’Bout time you joined us,” Stick said, waving his gun my way.

41

The stout Stick gestured with his pistol toward Sam and Missy on the sofa.

“Go visit your girlfriends.” His cue-ball head and goatee gave him the look of an Asian monk. All that was missing was the long robe to cover his holey jeans.

His sidekick was even scruffier.

“Welcome home, Patricia Russo,” Stick’s scrawny companion said in a voice that slithered down my spine. Black hair jolted from his head in random tufts. The short sleeves of his black T-shirt covered most of the tattoo on his left arm. He wore low-slung pants that showed the top of his underwear. I prayed his belt would spare us from an even more horrifying glimpse of his Hanes.

“Hey,” I said with false bravado, “if you’re going to break into somebody’s house, you ought to get her name straight.” I sat on one end of the couch and clasped Samantha’s clammy hand. “The name is Patricia Amble.”

A smile curled across Stick’s chubby cheeks. “Let’s give Jacob Russo some credit. He might have screwed up royally in his life, but at least he provided a daughter for collateral.”

“What’s my dad got to do with this, anyway? He hasn’t been around in thirty-three years.”

Stick leaned close to my face. A smell beyond morning breath gagged me. “Ever heard of a grudge? We take them seriously around here.”

“What, did my dad steal your lollipop from you when you were a baby? You don’t look old enough to hold a grudge for more than thirty years.” The guy couldn’t be a day over thirty-five himself.

“It ain’t my grudge. I just get the honor of ending it. And, it will be pure justice to snuff out the woman that snuffed out Drake.”

“You’re going to kill five people to make up for one death?”

Upstairs, baby Andrew chose that moment to cry, flinging wails of desperation down the stairs and to his mother, at the other end of the couch.

Missy wrung her hands. “I’ve got to go to him. I’m sure he needs a diaper. And he’ll be hungry.”

Stick glanced down at Joel and Gerard cooperating peacefully on the floor. Gerard lifted his head a couple of inches from the floor and peered over his shoulder at Missy. His brow scrunched in concern. Stick gave the sign for his partner to go upstairs with Missy.

After the two disappeared along the second-floor hallway, the podgier man settled into the rickety upholstery opposite us. His weapon never pointed far from the general vicinity of our heads.

I crossed my arms, hoping to look tough. “So how long are we going to sit like this? What are you waiting for?” I asked my captor as I nudged closer to Samantha. Our shoulders touched and I felt a boost of courage.

“Couple things.” Stick adjusted in his seat. The stubby ’50s chair legs twisted under his weight. “First, I want to hear you apologize for killing my good friend.” He rubbed a hand on his scalp and down over his eyes. “Drake was like a brother to me.” He practically wept the words.

For a split second I felt sorry for him. But I got over it. Back in Rawlings, I had taken on a lunatic and won. There was no reason I couldn’t outwit Stick. His intelligence quotient had to be far below that of the last villain I’d dealt with. And that person was now behind bars for life.

I scooted off the edge of the sofa and dropped to my knees on the floor.

Stick jerked his head up. “What are you doing?”

I started crawling toward him, contrite. “I’m so sorry for what I did to Drake. I wish I could undo it. I would never have told him to meet me there in the woods. I would never have taken that, um”—I quickly thought of a gun name—“that Colt forty-five and shot him. He was a good friend to you and I’m so sorry.”

I’d crawled halfway to him. He simply stared at me. A few more feet and maybe I could wrestle that gun out of his hands . . .

“Wait a minute.” He looked at me with squinty eyes. “You’re telling me you shot him with a Colt forty-five? Drake would have never let you get close enough to him to shoot him between the eyes like that. You’re lying to me. You must have used a rifle. He never even had a chance. He couldn’t have seen you coming.”

I paused and tried to think. “I’m a really fast draw.”

He jutted out his chin, skeptical.

“Here,” I held out my hand toward the gun. “I’ll show you.”

It may have been my imagination, but his gun hand nudged, as if he were actually going to pass me his weapon.

Instead, he stood up and reached the gun down to my temple. I jerked back, but he stayed with me. The tip of the pistol felt black and hot against my skull, as if its mere touch could shatter my bones. My body broke into a quiver. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” I dropped into a curled-up crouch.

Stick made the sound of a quiet gun report. “I ought to kill you right now.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Joel threatened from his place on the floor.

“What are you going to do, Jimbob?” Stick asked with derision.

I watched his feet move Joel’s way, passing close to Gerard. As quick as a cat on a mouse, Gerard grabbed Stick’s ankle, tipping him off balance. I gasped and scuttled back to the couch. Sam and I huddled together, little screams coming out of our mouths, as Joel jumped up and tackled the gunman to the ground. Joel grabbed the arm with the gun and aimed the barrel away from us. Gerard stepped on Stick’s hand, forcing him to release the weapon.

Just as Gerard’s fingers touched the pistol, Skuzzball’s slithery voice came from the balcony.

“Back off, lamewad, or I’ll kill your girlfriend.”

Gerard froze and looked up. I followed his gaze.

Skuzzball had Melissa around the neck, his gun pointed at her head.

From the bedroom door came Hannah’s cries. “Don’t hurt my mom! Don’t hurt my mom!”

My stomach curdled with the child’s plea.

In the great room, Gerard put his hands in the air and stepped back. Joel gave Stick a final rough thrust, then stood, hands raised. Still cowering together on the couch, Sam and I lifted our hands on level with our ears.

Stick grunted as he stood and brushed himself off. He retrieved the gun. A few vigorous gestures of his weapon, and Joel and Gerard were back on the floor.

With order restored, Skuzzbag dropped his hold on Melissa. She ran back to the bedroom. I could hear her comforting Hannah.

“Okay, guys,” my lip quivered almost uncontrollably, “if it’s me you’re after, then let them go.”

Stick had a new look in his eye. A hard, cold look that sent fear coursing through me. “Nobody’s going anywhere. And lucky for you, I don’t feel like killing you yet.” He looked at his wristwatch. “At least not right away.”

I swallowed. “Great. What are you waiting for?”

“The only one who can save you, Mr. Jacob Russo.”

“My dad?” I almost snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“I guess we’ll see how much he loves his own blood. Or maybe he doesn’t care. And then it’s bang, bang, bang, bang.” He swung his gun to point at each of us, as if we were ducks at an amusement park sideshow.