Heather winced. “I didn’t know you two were still together.”
“We are,” Chrissy snapped. “We just had a bump in the road, but as soon as I get pregnant, he’ll find a different job in town. Then everything will be all right.”
Now that was a plan. Heather shook her head. “How did you follow me without my knowing?”
Chrissy set her stance. “Oh, please. When Quint left his dog at your house, I knew you’d be bringing her to the fire. So I tagged your car. It’s easy to do. I’ve had a tracker on his for a year.”
Jack subtly moved closer to the edge of the bed. “How did you know I was in town to see Heather? And how did you know to key my car?”
“It’s Silverville and there are no secrets,” Chrissy said, turning the gun toward him. “Back on the bed, buddy.”
He scooted back.
Heather sucked in air as the last week ran through her mind. “Did you shoot at Quint the other night?”
“Of course not. He’s going to be the father of my children,” Chrissy said, her voice almost girly now. “I shot at that bitch Jolene. How dare she show up at his house. I was going to knock on his door after having had a fight with Trick, and then we would’ve gotten back together. Jolene deserved to get shot. So do you.”
Chills clattered down Heather’s back. For the first time since getting her cast, she actually felt vulnerable. Not strong. But she could still fight, and she still had her brain. “Quint won’t like it if you shoot us.”
Chrissy smiled. “He’s not going to know it was me, silly.”
Jack sucked in air. “You can’t just kill us.”
“Sure, I can.” Chrissy tilted her head, and her gaze ran over his body. “You’re a good looking guy, Jack-Jack. Why are you chasing this piece of fluff all over the state?”
Jack’s fingers curled into the tattered bedspread. “I thought we were in love.”
Chrissy snorted. “Obviously not. You should’ve worked harder at keeping her. Just think how much better off we all would be right now?”
Heather pressed her good foot to the floor. “You can’t shoot us and leave us here for Quint to find. You’d be an instant suspect.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Chrissy said, fluttering her eyelashes and then widening her eyes. “Either way, I’m just shooting Jack and taking you with me, so they’ll think you did it. They’ll never find your body.”
Jack tensed. “Then you’ll comfort Quint. It’s not a bad plan.”
“Thanks.” Chrissy preened. Then she sobered. “I’m really sorry you got caught up in this.”
“Me too.” Jack held his breath.
“Now!” Heather pulled the wooden spoon from the purse, ducked her head, and pushed off with her good foot, aiming for Chrissy’s midsection.
The firing of the gun was thunderous.
Quint had almost reachedhis motel room door when gunfire stopped him cold. “Heather?” He viciously twisted the knob and smashed into the door, bouncing back. It was locked?
Heather screamed inside.
Panic seized him. He threw his shoulder into the wood, and the door flew open, cracking down the middle. Charging inside, he jumped Heather’s crutches to see Heather and Chrissy grappling on the floor, a gun flashing around.
Jack Allen lay on the bed with blood on his face. His eyes were closed.
The gun fired and a bullet whizzed by Quint’s ear. “Shit.” He ducked low, trying to keep an eye on the gun.
Heather wildly smacked Chrissy with a wooden spoon, grunting as she moved to the side to avoid the gun. The clap of the spoon competed with the shrieking of the two women.
Chrissy screamed and fired again. The bullet smashed through the window, shattering glass in every direction as the curtains dropped to the antiquated heater.
Zena barked wildly from the doorway.
