The Murderer's Daughter

Chapter 52

Dual points of impact ignited sparks of agony.

At the small of her back and the nape of her neck, the latter from an attempt to yank at her ski mask from behind. She twisted out of the way but went down hard, scraping her face and her knees and her elbows on the harsh, cold floor of the conservatory. The Glock flew from her hands, thick plastic thudding to the right side of the green table where Lily now sat up, hands to her mouth, whimpering.

Dion Larue’s attire told Grace she hadn’t screwed up, just an unlucky break.

Black silk robe with red quilted shawl lapels, loosely belted over a naked body.

Butting Grace with that level of force had splayed the robe’s flaps. Larue’s body was hard, tan, defined, a whole different species from Sporn. Up close, she made out the details of his face. The murderous boy who’d showed up at the ranch, taking so much from her so quickly.

Harder, craggier, but just as handsome. No mistaking the eyes, cold but active. Assessing nonstop.

Despite some consternation when he glanced at Sporn’s whale-corpse, no lagging of confidence as he smiled wolfishly.

The look on his face an essay on the calculus of violence. The same determinedly destructive expression hunters got when they locked in.

Grace forced herself not to look at the Glock but tried to recall how far away it had landed. Still in reach if she lunged skillfully? Doubtful. Was it worth a try, anyway?

Dion Larue snorted. A low wet sound issued from between his lips and he clawed his hands and advanced on Grace, snickering, pectorals flexing, genitals swinging.

No penile shrinkage for him; this body came alive with the expectation of blood.

“A chick,” he said. “Are you fucking nuts?”

He laughed — more like a cackle, unbecoming for a stud. One of the clawed hands rolled into a fist and now Grace noticed something gripped by the other. Small tube, red, the word Love barely visible.

His own personal container of lube; the boss had come to join the party.

Now he was going to have a different kind of fun.

A bare foot kicked out viciously, just as it had at his wife’s foot at Monkey Island Park. But harder, much harder, and when he made contact with Grace’s ribs and pain seared her, she knew he’d broken something.

Rolling to her right she went for the Glock.

Larue had anticipated the move, kicked the weapon away, bent and tried to catch Grace again with a pointed foot — a martial arts thing, she vaguely remembered Shoshana showing her something like it.

She scurried backward, avoided the blow. Dion Larue grunted and bent low and moved toward her faster but instead of making contact, he feinted to one side, then another.

Came up holding the Glock.

“Stupid cunt. Who the fuck are you?”

Erection in full bloom.

Grace said, “Shouldn’t you finish Walter off first?”

Nothing profound, nothing clever, but it threw him, he’d assumed Sporn to be dead, Sporn was dead so what the fuck was this dumb cunt — and now Larue was realizing he’d been had and he roared and attacked.

But the split second it had taken for his thoughts to reassemble had been enough for Grace to reach into another bottom pocket of her jacket, not the easiest move, she was right-handed and this was the left pocket, definitely a disadvantage but you worked with what you had because there was no choice and what she had in her nondominant hand was her lovely little Beretta, which she transferred to her right hand and aimed upward.

Dion Larue snarled, “Fucking bitch.”

Same exact thing Beldrim Benn had said in her backyard.

So unoriginal, these psychopaths.

Grace emptied the gun into him. The erection went first, the rest didn’t really matter.

Unlike Sporn, he died silently, immediately, landing on his side then tipping onto his back.

No doubt about this one. His hard bronze body was a sieve.

Collecting every shell, Grace approached Lily, now sitting atop the potting table, shivering.

Placing a finger softly on Lily’s lips, Grace focused Lily’s head the way Azha had.

Made sure Lily was looking squarely at her, Grace cocked an eyebrow. Enunciated clearly.

“You’ll keep this between us?”

Deaf and mute and brutalized beyond imagination, Lily spoke. Projecting a single word as clearly as a hearing person.

“Yes.”

Choosing to believe her because what choice did she have, Grace left the way she’d come.