“Percy, that’s not true. I didn’t have any kind of pl—”
“Ofcourseyou did.” She’s snarling now, like a guard dog on high alert. “You were there to strut your stuff in front of Jamie. You wantedhim back, so you flirted with Vic and his other friends and made sure Jamie couldn’t take his eyes off you. Miss Smarty-Pants in her little black party dress.”
“No, I swear—”
“You wanted to fuck him that night, didn’t you? Why don’t you just admit it?”
She shakes her head in disgust and moves her hands, grabbing the edge of the table. And that’s when I see it—something silver or stainless steel glinting on the table where her left hand was resting before. It’s the blade of a butcher knife.
“Jamie and I were over,” I say. I’m trying to keep my panic under wraps, but my voice betrays my desperation. “I’m sureyouwere the one he cared for.”
Percy inches her chair back, scraping the legs across the wooden floor. Without further warning, she shoots up from the table, gripping the knife in her hand and pointing the blade in my direction. My knees go weak. Once again, I consider screaming for Sam, but what if that makes her lunge at me?
“You think any of thatmattersto me anymore?” she says. Now that she’s standing, I see that the muscles of her face are tight with anger and her eyes are flicking back and forth in her head. “Jamie and I had something once, something special, but in the end, he didn’t have the guts to go public with it, to let the world know about our love. And, besides, I got a glimpse of who he really was, and frankly, I didn’t like what I saw.”
“What do you mean who he was?” What the hell is she talking about?
“You think he was such a sweet, all-American boy, don’t you? But he wasn’t—and in the end he got what he deserved. Guys like him can’t just be forgiven. They need to pay for their sins.”
My stomach drops. Percykilledhim. Rage floods through every inch of me.
“And women like you should get what they deserve too,” she says next.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a movement in the living room. It’s Sam’s silhouette, shifting position in the barely lit space—but from what I can tell, he’s not in Percy’s line of sight.
“Percy, please put the knife down,” I say a little louder, trying to warn Sam. “I get what you’re saying, and I want to hear more.”
Despite my caution, Sam doesn’t freeze. There’s a blur of motion as he advances toward the kitchen. I shake my head no, but that doesn’t stop him, either. Noticing my gesture, Percy twists toward the entrance, and when she spots Sam, coming at her in just his boxers, she juts the knife in his direction.
I glance frantically around the room and spot the umbrella stand a few feet away, by the back door. I lunge toward it, grab one of the walking sticks stored there, and swing it at Percy.
There’s a dull thud as it connects with her left arm, then she lets out a growl, both stunned and in pain. As she starts to turn in my direction, I aim again, whacking her in the head this time, so hard I hear a cracking sound. The knife slips from her hand, clattering to the wood floor, and seconds later, Percy falls, too. She lands in a heap, face up.
“Are you okay?” Sam asks, rushing toward me and grasping my arm.
“Yeah, just scared.”
He chuckles grimly. “Damn, I had no idea you were that good with a light saber.”
“Me either.” I shake my head. “We need to call 911.”
“But first, we should make sure she can’t pull a fast one.” He steps toward the fallen knife, kicking it away until it lands against the backdoor. Then he looks back at Percy. She seems to be conscious, but her eyes are closed and she’s moaning in pain.
“Is there any rope in the house?”
“I think so.”
After setting down the walking stick in a corner, I dash toward the storage closet. Inside I discover that what I thought was rope is only twine, but I grab it along with some duct tape and pass them to Sam, who’s standing guard over Percy.
He works quickly, using the twine and the tape to bind her hands and feet. My eyes flick briefly to the kitchen counter and the wooden knife block. The largest slot is empty. It must have housed the knife she threatened me with.
As soon as Percy’s mostly secured, I tell Sam that I’m going upstairs for my phone.
“Can you grab my clothes when you’re there?” he asks. “I don’t think the cops will appreciate seeing me in my underwear.”
It suddenly occurs to me that I’m only half-dressed myself. After racing upstairs, I quickly wiggle into a pair of jeans and retrieve my phone. Then, pulling a breath, I tap the three digits.
“This is 911,” the operator says as I approach the steps. “What is your emergency?”
