Lily, apparently unharmed, slid from beneath the crib and snagged Wheelan’s gun. While Mikado finally staggered to his feet, she leveled the pistol at Wheelan with one hand, and dialed 911 with the other. “Phee, take Mikado downstairs,” she ordered, but her daughter stood rooted to the hallway just outside the bedroom door. “Now!”Lily ordered, and Phee, blinking, complied, holding on to the old dog’s collar and starting to drag him down the hall.
Lily didn’t waver, just kept the gun aimed directly at Wheelan, the psycho who Nikki was starting to believe was the Savannah Slasher.
But his murderous spree was over.
Wheelan was holding his face, blood pouring through his fingers as he writhed on the ground. “You’re heathens,” he spat. “Heathens. God will punish you.”
“And you!” Lily said, her lips barely moving, rage glittering in her eyes. “I’d love to be there when you meet good old Saint Pete at the pearly gates and you try to explain all your sins. Good luck getting in.”
He forced out, “Thou shalt not …” But his voice faded.
Nikki finished for him. “Thou shalt not mess with mothers protecting their babes,” and she carefully removed the tape from Chloe’s mouth.
“Blasphemy!” he spat, and then his eyes rolled back into his head, and she hoped he didn’t die. Duke Wheelan needed to face a court of law before he went on to his final judgment.
Nikki had a child to care for.
And a story to write.
She figured God could wait.
Chapter 40
Sol had lied.
Right through her teeth.
She’d promised Reed that she would stay put, that she would wait in his Jeep for five minutes while he tried to talk some sense into his friend, the deranged killer who had murdered his wife.
But that was crazy.
She didn’t like the plan, not one bit, even though Reed assured her that he could handle the situation, and if push came to shove, he had his pistol. It wasn’t enough.
So while Reed was walking up the front steps of Jamison Kittle’s Georgian-style home to try to face his friend, to do the right thing and give the murdering son of a bitch some dignity, she texted for backup, slipped her pistol from its holster, and reached for the Jeep’s door handle.
Even so, she was too late as Reed knocked on the door, and it immediately swung open.
He stepped inside.
“Damn it.” She opened the door and slipped out of the Jeep. She’d been a fool to let him come here, she knew it. She should have called his bluff, arrested him on the spot, and cuffed him to his desk.Or maybe sent him to the psych ward. Or done anything to stop this madness.
What was it about male friendship?
The “bro” pact or whatever?
There seemed to be some testosterone-fueled pride involved.
She knew Reed thought he was giving his friend a chance to come clean and confess, to explain himself and turn himself in. In truth, he was a patsy. And she was a fool to have agreed to this screwball, dangerous plan!
She’d made a mistake.
And now she had to rectify it.
Whether Reed knew it or not, Jamison Kittle was all about Jamison Kittle.
Period.
His wife’s life hadn’t mattered.
