"And Sophie," Becky continues, watching my face for a reaction. "Sweet, naive Sophie. So eager to please. So easily manipulated. 'Oh, Ms. Sinclair's mother wants to surprise her with family photos. How lovely! By all means, get in. Don’t mind if I do. I will just plant this tiny witty bitty camera right here.'"
So that's how she got in. Poor Sophie, always seeing the best in people. I make a silent promise to never blame her if I survive this.
"Get up," Becky orders suddenly, gesturing with the gun. "We're going for a walk."
I stand slowly, careful to make no sudden movements. "Where?"
Her smile returns, cold and sharp as a blade. "To finish what I started three months ago."
My stomach drops as understanding dawns. "The pool."
"The pool," she confirms. "You know, that's how my father died. Drowned in his own hot tub after taking enough pills to knock out a horse. The autopsy said it was an accident." Her laugh is hollow.
"You know, at first I was really angry that I didn't succeed in killing you at the hotel pool in New York. But then I thought, maybe it's better this way. A quick death would be too good for you. You needed to suffer first."
She gestures with the gun toward the back of the house. "Move."
I walk ahead of her through the kitchen, toward the French doors leading to the pool area. My mind races, searching for options, for weapons, for anything. But she keeps her distance, gun trained on my back, smart enough to stay out of reach.
"Finding the bodyguards' records was easier than I expected," she says as we step outside into the fading evening light. The pool glows an eerie blue, the water perfectly still. "Using it to make you send them away worked beautifully. You're so predictable, Jade. Always trying to protect Jade Sinclair's brand."
A twist of pain clenches my heart. The envelope. The criminal record. The threat to expose Declan and ruin Cross Security. It had all been her.
Her voice drops to a whisper. "No one's coming to save you this time."
The concrete is cool beneath my bare feet as she directs me toward the deep end. Wind rustles through the palm trees, carrying the distant sound of traffic. So normal. So ordinary. As if my life isn't about to end.
"Stop there," she commands when we reach the edge. "Turn around."
I face her, the water at my back, vertigo swirling through me as I sense the drop behind myheels.
"I always wondered what he saw in you," she says, studying me with a detached curiosity that makes my skin crawl. "What made you so special that he forgot about his own daughter."
"He was sick, Becky," I say quietly, jaw aching, blood still in my mouth. "What he did to me... it wasn't about me being special."
Her face hardens. "Shut up. You don't get to talk about him."
"My father didn't deserve what happened to him," Becky says, raising the gun to point at my heart. "But you deserve this."
Time slows. The world narrows to the black circle of the gun barrel. Behind it, Becky's face is a mask of hate, of pain, of something broken beyond repair. I think of Ethan, of Declan, of Mateo. Of what could have been. Of all the words left unsaid.
A movement catches my attention, something at the edge of my vision. I raise my eyes, past Becky, past the gun aimed at my heart, to the far side of the pool.
And there they are.
Three shadows moving silently across the lawn. Ethan in the center, weapon drawn. Declan flanking left, massive frame crouched low. Mateo to the right, sliding along the hedge line.
They understood. They came.
Hope blooms in my chest like wildfire, even as I keep my expression carefully blank. I need to keep Becky focused on me, just a few moments longer.
They came for me.
All three of them.
41
JADE
