She stared at me for a long moment. Then she lowered the gun. Her arm dropped to her side. The weight of everythingthat had happened seemed to pull her down—her shoulders sagged, her head bowed, her whole body folding in on itself like a marionette with cut strings.
I took the gun from her fingers. Then I turned and kicked Caspian square in the stomach. He folded, gasping, collapsing onto his side and clutching his gut.
Shouting erupted from the hallway. "Let me in! That's my daughter—" It was Arthur.
“Move,” Ava demanded.
I heard Cartier's voice. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to step back."
"Get out of my way!" Ava yelled at him.
"Lady, I’ll shoot you in your fucking face if you don’t calm down.” Cartier did not have patience for them. I knew he would handle it.
I turned to Chloe. Her eyes were glassy. Her body swayed. "Chloe?" She didn't answer. Her breathing picked up until I recognized she was hyperventilating. Then she just crumpled.
I caught her before she hit the floor, one arm around her waist, pulling her against my chest. Her head lolled against my shoulder. Her eyes fluttered closed.
"Chloe. Chloe."
Nothing. I felt for a pulse. It was there. "She's breathing," I said to no one.
I lifted her into my arms and carried her out of the attic. I ran into chaos in the hallway. Ava was screaming, clawing at Cartier's arms. Arthur stood behind her, his face contorted, his fists clenched. Olivia hovered at the edge of the stairs, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
The guests were gone. The dining room was empty. Just the family and the staff, and the staff had the good sense to stay back.
"Put her down," Arthur demanded.
I didn't. I walked past them into the living room. I laid Chloe on the couch, pulled a throw blanket over her body, and turned to face them.
"What the fuck is going on in this house?"
Silence. Ava stopped screaming. Arthur's jaw worked. Olivia looked at the floor.
"Nobody?" I looked at each of them. "Nobody wants to tell me why I just found your daughter—your stepdaughter—your sister in the attic with a gun to her uncle's head? Nobody wants to explain the bruises on her face? The split lip?"
Still nothing. Cartier appeared beside me. He leaned in, his voice low, meant only for me.
"I know everything," he said. "About the power of attorney. Medical guardianship. The mother's will. All of it. I would bet my life that they’re planning something dark and dirty for her. We can’t leave her here.” He whispered for a long minute.
When he finished, I turned to Arthur. Just looking at him pissed me off. I wanted to torture the truth out of him, but my number one priority was getting Chloe out of there.
"I'm taking Chloe with me."
Arthur's face went purple. "Like hell you are! You have no right. This is my house, that is my daughter, and you are committing a felony kidnapping if you remove her!"
"Kidnapping?" I let out a dry laugh. "I’m taking my fiancée to see a real doctor. You can call the police and tell them I’m 'kidnapping' her, but I imagine they’ll be more interested in why she’s covered in bruises and why her uncle is curled in a ball on the floor in her room with a bullet above his head."
"She's mentally incompetent!" Arthur stepped forward, his voice cracking, desperation written all over his face. "I have the Power of Attorney! You can't just—"
"I either take her and we figure this out the legal way," I said, cutting him off, "or I call the cops right now and let them sort through it all. Everything past and present." I left out the fact that I’d heard him confess to killing Chloe’s mother. “I wonder how your Power of Attorney holds up then.”
Arthur froze.
"Especially after you invited me here. I have records of every conversation between us. My grandfather and his attorneys will say I came here for a Landry bride—and I found her. The only real Landry in this fucking house is the one you locked in the attic. You tried to play me, Arthur. But you got played."
Arthur took a step toward me, his face twisted with rage. I raised the gun, pointing it directly at his dark heart. He stopped dead. "You wouldn't shoot me," he stammered, but the tremor in his voice told a different story.
"Wouldn't I? And I’d get away with it."
