I stared dumbly at him, sniffling quietly. He has some nerve.
He abruptly stood, placing a finger to his lips in the universal sign of be quiet. “Come with me.” He beckoned. “It’s a beautiful night . . . I want to make love to you beneath the stars.”
What? The delivery of this soap opera line lacked its usual panache, and a chill, not a thrill, ran up my spine. And I was so shell-shocked I didn’t even protest when he jerked me to him. His eyes were intense, and I was mesmerized as he drew my face forward as though for a kiss. But I stalled out on him, so he bent over and put his mouth to my ear.
“I need to speak to you outside,” he whispered. “It’s urgent.”
Subsequently, I was led into the kitchen where he left me leaning against the counter to go dig in the utensil drawer. Trance-like, I stared at him as he pulled out our sharpest knife from its exact location, next to the serving spoon. What’s he gonna do with our paring knife? Stab me for not cooperating? Maybe that’s why he’s acting so weird—they’re making him kill me cause they know I’m gonna raise hell when they come for my brother. And the only way to shut me up . . . is by murdering me.
Hysteria bubbled up inside of me. Made sense—he obviously didn’t want to do it. That made sense, too—Pete was a nice guy. But that didn’t necessarily make him a good guy.
A hand grab, and he wordlessly led me through the gloomy living room, where he paused to slip on his coat and out the front door. I followed him like a little lamb being led to slaughter. Stark night air washed over me, waking me from my reverie. The crunching of our feet over frozen pasture and the howling wind were the only sounds.
“Pete, where are you takin’ me?” My voice seemed loud, sharply bouncing into nothingness as he took us off trail. I tripped along, looking at his grim face in the moonlight, puffing out steam as he pulled me along. He still looked absurdly hot, but somewhere close to the edge of madness. Panic started to creep in. My feet stalled.
“Not here.” He tugged on my arm. “A little farther.” His tone was cold now, detached almost.
I dug my heels in. “Pete!”
He countered with a yank. “Come on, Kate . . . now that I’ve decided to go through with it, I really just wanna get it over with as fast as possible.”
Surely not. Right? Surely I was just letting my imagination run rampant. Pete stopped frog-marching me forward to reach into his coat for a flask. Come to think of it, he hadn’t offered me his coat, or even asked me to get mine. Almost as if he knew—I wouldn’t need it. My blood ran cold.
He took a serious swig from the flask, then offered me some. But I declined, wanting to keep my wits about me. As I watched him take another fortifying swallow, a siren went off in my head. He was obviously drinking away his dread. Numbing himself. Bolstering his courage for what he was about to do. He stared me down in the dark, and I felt the intent manifest itself.
There would be bloodshed tonight.
I whimpered a little. Wanted to run, but my legs felt like two limp noodles attached to a wood block.
“Come on, Kate,” he coaxed.
“Daddy will be back any minute,” I threw out.
He snorted out more steam. “No he won’t. He’s at Cannon with some old military buddies, bragging about his son’s bright future with the ‘world’s most elite military academy.’ And, unfortunately, he has a flat tire to see about tonight.”
Of course—car-rigging, his specialty. My heart studded to a halt along with my feet, suddenly stubborn as a mule’s.
“Pete! You don’t have to do this!” I tried wrenching my hand away, but he used his other hand to redouble his grip on me.
He sighed heavily, shook back his golden head. The combo of steamy air and steely eyes made him seem almost possessed. “I do, Kate. They’ve left me no choice.”
I gulped, panic stealing the breath from me. This was it. He was losing his patience. Abruptly, my legs gave way. He swore, clamped the knife between his teeth, and bent down to scoop me up, carrying me like a child a few more yards to the old elm tree I had leaned against this summer to read romance novels. I wondered what different steps I could’ve taken to prevent the path I was on . . . the one leading to bloodshed.
Pete set me down. I immediately dropped to my knees, a beggar. “You ready?” he asked. Words wouldn’t come, so I shook my head vehemently. “Here,” he handed me the flask, “it’ll help take the edge off.”
Very sporting of him I thought, accepting the flask with palsied hands. I took a tentative sip, choking as the fiery liquid burned its way down my throat. I thought of my two little brothers, sleeping innocently in their beds. Tears streamed down my face. Now I was only grateful we were away, so they wouldn’t hear or see anything.
He regarded me, and his face softened. He spoke encouragingly, “Trust me—this’ll be a lot harder on me than you.”
Trust me: the two words that had brought me down in the first place. Instantly, I was more mad than scared. Maybe it was that, coupled with the alcohol fumes, but a fire just ignited inside my belly. Easy mark my ass! I knew Pete was a highly trained fighter, but I would try one last time to beat him at his own game. Even if I failed, at least I went down fighting. Mama would be proud. My brothers were safe. . . . That’s all that mattered.
Nodding my head, I acted resigned to my fate. He nodded back, took another glug from his flask, and after drawing in a deep breath, he poured most of the remaining liquid over the knife, presumably to sanitize it. For what purpose? Surely, he couldn’t be worried about a little bit of bacteria? That would be inconsequential to a corpse. My whole body shivered like someone just stepped over my grave.
“Did you never care for me at all?” The same question niggled me to the very end.
His face came undone. Warm palms cupped my tear-stained cheeks. He stared into my eyes like he could see all the way into my soul. “Of course, I did! That’s what makes this so hard—the thought that I won’t see you again after tonight.”
I stared into the black of his eyes and saw the truth: He did care for me. Fear slithered around my heart like a cold snake. What kind of organization had such power over its underlings that they’d be willing to kill—even someone innocent, someone they cared for—just because they got in the way?
I couldn’t allow them to get their claws into Andrew. I would have to do the thing Pete was dreading. The unthinkable. Murder. Someone I had just professed my love to. Someone I’d almost just made love to. Someone standing in my way of saving my brother. Then I would run. Living off grid, hiding from the world, suddenly . . . it made a whole lot of sense to me.
Pete closed one eye to peer down at me. I was pretty sure he was drunk as a skunk, which was the only advantage I had tonight. “It’s time, Katie-Kat,” he said softly, eyes hard.
The near-empty flask was beside me. Sloppy of him. He must be even more out of it than I thought, which made me think I really had a shot now. Eyes trained on his, I felt around on the ground for the flask. “Are you sure this is the only way, Pete?”
He nodded. “Believe me . . . I’ve tried to find another way.”
My heart sank—I did believe him.
“Now no more talking,” he said. “Let’s just get this over with.” Gripping the knife in his right hand, he pulled me up with his left. Gallant to the very end. I offered him my own left hand, keeping my right one—with the fisted-flask—behind my back. As soon as he helped me up, he let me go to start unbuckling his belt.