Second Honeymoon

Chapter 118

NED STARED DOWN at me. His jaw drew tight, and his arm stiffened behind his gun.

“I didn’t kill her,” I said. “No matter what you think, it wasn’t me.”

“You’re lying!” he fired back. “No matter who it was, you’re the one responsible. If it wasn’t for you, she’d still be alive.”

Maybe he was right about that.

I glanced at his Browning pistol, the rain beading against its black epoxy finish. “So how come you haven’t shot me?” I asked. “Since I deserve it so much.”

“You deserve this, too!” Ned wound up his right leg, his instep landing across my ribs. As I toppled from my knees, rolling on the ground in pain, all I could think was one thing.

So far so good. Better to be kicked than shot dead.

“Gee, I’m sorry,” said Ned sarcastically. “Did that hurt?”

I pushed up on my hands so I could look him in the eyes. And then I forced a smile. “Is that all you’ve got?”

I was pretty sure I heard a rib crack as Ned knocked me again with all he had, which was plenty. He was stronger than he looked. And angrier.

But I was begging for more. “C’mon, mama’s boy, show me what you can really do! Nora seduced you, didn’t she? She did the same thing to me.”

Ned aimed higher this time, his foot coming across my face. Whack! Thump! I was back on the ground again, curled in a fetal position. My hands were inches from my ankles.

I could feel the swelling around my left eye, the lid collapsing shut.

Through my right eye I watched as Ned backed up for a running start. It was as if we were playing a game of kickball and I was the ball. His entire focus was on delivering more pain.

That’s it, Ned, let it all go. The anger, the hatred…

Your hands.

They’d fallen to his side, his pistol by his waist, pointing down instead of at me. Finally, and for only a split second, the game had changed.

Now I was the one a step ahead, with a math equation of my own.

Two minus one still leaves one.

As fast as I’d ever moved, I reached for my spare—the 9mm Beretta tucked into my shin holster. I grabbed it and fired without really aiming.

The shot hit Ned near his shoulder, in a spot similar to the one where he had hit Sarah. He stumbled back, feet wobbly, reality sinking in. He tried to lift his arm to fire, but I was ready for him. And guess what? I was even angrier than he was.

BLAM!

This shot was truer, ripping through his chest, the force nearly cutting the legs out from under him. But he wouldn’t go down.

He was stumbling back, the blood spilling down his body, changing colors in the rain. Deep red, light red, almost pink.

As he raised his pistol again, he opened his mouth to say something. But he’d already done enough talking as far as I was concerned. He’d talked way too much, the sick murdering bastard.

BLAM!

The shot echoed around the surrounding oak trees as I fell onto my back. Then I was staring up at the swirling clouds. I was trying to catch my breath.

Slowly, I made my way over to where he’d fallen. My last bullet had caught him in the heart.

Ned Sinclair was dead.

Not six feet from his sister Nora’s grave. And you know what? They deserved each other.