WhatI was.
No hitman comes to a job with only one plan.
“You want to watch me crack your boy’s neck, Johnny?” Dizzy glanced over to where he’d thrown me down. “Or—”
I rolled onto my back, grabbed the spare gun from my ankle holster, and put two bullets through his head.
The hand on Miller’s throat dropped instantly. Miller leaned forward, coughing, heaving oxygen into his lungs.
Dizzy was moving too as I leaped up—he was leaning sideways—crashing to the floor.
I reached Miller, who was still coughing, and pulled him into my arms, pressing his face into my neck. “Don’t look.” I put two more shots through Dizzy’s heart to make certain, like my old man had always insisted—head and heart, Johnny, head and heart—and Miller jerked in surprise. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
“Are you sure?” he choked out, muffled in my shirt.
But before I could reply, we both heard it—footsteps, running toward our location. I swung Miller around behind me, aiming steady and true as the newcomer arrived.
Freddy stopped in the doorway, disheveled, covered in blood, and sagged against the doorframe as he took in the scene. One bloody hand was clasped against his side, and in the other, he held his gun.
“Oh,” he said, gun barrel dropping toward the floor. “Looks like you didn’t need my help after all.”
“Appreciate the thought,” I said. “How’s that gunshot wound doing?”
“Well, I’m about ready to pass out.”
“We’ll get you to the doc. This is Miller, by the way.” I stepped to the side to move Miller forward, my arm around him. “This guy bleeding all over your carpet is Freddy. He’s on the side of the angels.”
“Tonight, at least,” Freddy said, grinning, and then winced. “Might be joining them soon, actually. Apologies in advance if I die on you,” he said faintly.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I told him. Miller seemed to be standing on his own two feet, so I went over to Freddy and helped him lean up against the wall so I could take a look at the wound. It was a clean through-and-through, which made things easier.
Miller came over to help me support Freddy. “What do we do now?”
“We get out of here, Trouble. Where’s your sister?”
“I guess she ran,” he said. There was something odd about the way that he said it, and after a second it became clear that he had no plans to go after her. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen,” he said. “We should head down there.”
What, I wondered, had gone down between the Beaumont twins while I’d been otherwise occupied?
Freddy seemed like he’d be with it enough to shoot any stragglers they might come across, so I chanced taking a few seconds to fetch Anaïs. “You start heading down with Freddy. I’ll get your sister.” Miller immediately led Freddy out of the room, not even glancing behind him.
But when I went back through the art room and into the hallway, calling for her, there was no reply.
Anaïs Beaumont had fled the house, deciding to take her chances.
* * *
I caught up with Miller and Freddy, and got them into the kitchen, where Miller pulled out a substantial first aid kit from one of Mrs. K’s cupboards. “You start patching him up, and I’ll call 911,” Miller said.
“I’m fine,” Freddy said between clenched teeth.
I held Miller’s gaze. “You sure you want official involvement? Your sister—”
“Can go fuck herself. My father, too. I want everyone to get the help they need. Some of the security guards need medical attention too, right?” he asked Freddy.
“At least three of them,” he admitted, “assuming they’re still alive.”
“So we’re calling the paramedics,” Miller said firmly, and then stopped and stared at me. “Unless…will that make things difficult for you?”
