I feel a rush of adrenaline. She hasn’t found me yet, which means she’s probably gone back to the house. If I’m fast, I might be able to surprise her. She’s smaller than me, and I’m sure she’s never set foot in a gym in her life.
I have to do it. I can’t just let Bradley die.
I stand up, then immediately freeze. What was that? I hold my breath, then I hear it again.
The sound I’ve been dreading.
Footsteps on the stairs. The creak of old timber as she approaches the door.
She turns the handle once, and when it doesn’t open, she pauses. I can hear the wind in the trees. She’s not leaving. I kneel and see the shadows of her feet against the orange light outside.
And then, I hear a dull rattle, and I realize what an idiot I’ve been.
Because of course, she also has a key. And it’s already in the lock.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
It takes a half-second for the door to swing open and for me to cross the room in a sprint. Before she can react, I’m on her. I’m expecting my momentum to send us both to the ground, but it’s like hitting a brick wall.
While I fall to the ground, she takes half a step backwards, and it’s only when I look up and see the outline of the body above me that I realize it isn’t Grace.
It’s Bradley.
“You’re alive!” I say, as he helps me up. I’m soon wrapped in his arms, crying. “Did you see her?”
“What the hell was that?” he asks. “Why did you leave? Why are you crying?”
He tries to lead me down the steps, but I refuse to move. “You didn’t see her?”
“Grace? She’s in the house. I saw you running away, and so I came after you.”
“Jesus Christ!” I pull him towards me, back into the cottage, and slam the door behind him. “She threatened me with a gun.”
“What are you talking about? I can’t see a thing.” I hear him fumble in his pocket, and soon the room is lit with a small torch. He reaches out to touch me on the hip. “I’ve missed you.”
I slap him away. “You’re not listening to me.” I reach into my shorts and fish out the photo. “What do you call that?”
He looks at the bullet-torn photo as though it were a disappointing report card. I wait for the gaslighting to follow, but when he looks up, he’s serious.
“I call it a problem.”
“Understatement of the goddamn century.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Talk to her? Listen to yourself. She wants me dead!” I’m torn between hitting him and collapsing in a puddle on the floor. Why doesn’t he get it? I feel like I’m in a horror movie, while he’s stuck in a romantic comedy. “We need to run! Call the police!”
“Brie, let me handle it. She was never going to hurt you, but there’s a reasonable chance she’s going to hurt herself. She must be off her medications. I’m going to get the gun off her and then tell her about the divorce. I’ve spent the week working with my lawyer, and we’ve gathered evidence about her infidelity with Jesse. There’s a good chance I’ll get half of everything. Including the trust fund that she refuses to touch.”
“The oil money?”
“It’s millions of dollars. But I’ve needed to be careful. If Grace knew about us, or even knew I wanted the divorce, she might have moved the money around. Hidden it somehow. She can be spiteful.”
“No shit.”
He takes my hand and pulls me close. “But it’s over now. I’m going to tell her.”
“Don’t go back! Please! It’s too risky.”
