Under the Stars

Stepping over to the table, I pick up one of the picture frames. A black and white photograph of a skinny woman with a 1940s hairstyle wearing a cotton dress.

“My first job I cleaned up one of the rooms below the theater.” I return the picture to the table. “I’ve always wondered if it was a man or a woman…”

“You wonder too much. You remind me of Rick.”

My breath disappears. It’s like I’ve been sucker punched, and I’m glad my back is turned so he can’t see the expression on my face.

“You knew my uncle?” Lifting the tumbler, I take another sip. I need another sip.

“Rick was curious. Started asking questions.” He walks around to the side so he can see my face. “Only Rick wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t come at me when he had something to lose.”

I don’t know if my expression is under control. Anger burns just below my skin. “What does that mean?”

His glittering smile turns sinister. “Rick fell in love with Tanya’s mother. She blamed Gavin for her daughter being a junky when we all knew her daughter learned that shit at her mother’s knee. Still, that crazy bitch had something to lose.”

“So it was a woman.”

“Now here you are, coming at me. You have a kid, too…”

My stomach tightens. Is this bastard threatening Jillian? The anger simmering under my skin blazes into an inferno in my chest, fueled by the bourbon I’ve drunk.

The thumb drive is forgotten.

Tricking this guy into trusting me is forgotten.

Everything fades in the face of protecting my baby girl.

With precise, even movements, I unbutton my coat. “Sounds like I’m wasting your time. Let me give you my card in case you change your mind…”

His eyes land on the holster at my chest and several things happen at once.

The clink of crystal glances off the end table before crashing to the floor.

Boots thump on hardwoods.

His pistol flies up, and I feint to the left just as the staccato pop! of gunfire echoes in the room.

Pain blasts through my temple, and I’m thrown back as warm liquid gushes down my face

“Fuck!” I shout, whipping up my pistol and pulling the trigger before he can shoot again.

Another sharp pop! echoes in the room, and Landry flies back, hitting the opposite wall with a slam. My head is spinning. My ears ring, and I’m disoriented. This is bad—I can’t tell where I’m going, but I can’t stay here.

Wiping the blood from my eyes, I stagger to the door. I’ve got to get out. If Landry’s not dead, if he’s simply wounded, he could be up and on me fast.

Pulling the door open, I stumble onto the front porch and down the steps, gripping the rail. My boots crunch on gravel, and I weave through the darkness, across the short asphalt road to the corner. Roland’s car is ahead, hidden around the corner from the store.

“Jesus,” I gasp, using the force of will to keep my heavy feet moving. I have to make it to that car before I pass out.

Reaching in my pocket, I grab the key and jerk it out.

One more step, and my knees hit the grass.

It’s damp and muddy, cold water seeping through the material to my skin.

Holding out my hand, I catch the fender, pushing away so I don’t hit it as I go down.

“Lara,” I whisper.