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I’m frozen. Ripped apart by indecision. If I give Marco the DVD, my dad’s killer will walk free. But I have to protect Jim. And Leslie. My old life, or my new one. I have to choose, and choose fast.

In the end, there’s no contest. Jim’s safety comes first. And I only know one way to protect him.

By giving Marco what he wants.

When we reach the messenger bag, Marco shoves me forward until I stumble. “Get me that disc. Now.”

With trembling hands, I search through the bag, going straight for the zipper pocket where I tucked the DVD away.

Empty.

The disc is gone.

“No, no, no.” Frantic, I dig through the other compartments, but come up short. I sink back onto my heels. “It’s not there.”

With a snarl, Marco shoves me aside and searches the bag himself. “Where is it, Taya? I’m not fucking around here.” He wraps a calloused hand my throat and slams me into the wall. “You’d better find that disc right now.”

“I don’t know where it is. I left it in my bag.”

Marco squeezes my throat even tighter, replacing my fear with determination and anger. I slam my head forward, driving my forehead up and into his nose and mouth. He curses viciously and releases me. “Fuck... you,” I gasp, while my throat spasms.

Stumbling back, I dart past him, ceramic from the shattered mug embedding itself into the soles of my feet. I barely make it into the kitchen before his hands are on me again. I turn on him like a dervish, pushing in close before he can use his longer reach to do more serious damage, and I drive a fist into his solar plexus. The air is driven from him, and when he doubles over, I shove his face onto my knee, hitting him so hard and fast, I shriek with it. Once, twice, three times. He goes down but hooks my legs with his arms and brings me with him.

I land on the kitchen floor and cry out, but the sound is choked off when Marco slams his fist into my face. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. The world darkens for a brief, terrifying instant.

Marco drives his elbow into my side and a rib cracks. I scream, nausea an instant and vicious companion. I vomit onto the tile, and bright spots of red decorate the mess on the floor. Marco rolls off of me, and I lay there for precious seconds, trying to breathe past the pain. Terror is leaching the strength from my limbs, and an overload of adrenaline has me shaking so hard, my body jerks with it.

Get up. Get up and fight.

As I slowly push my way to my hands and knees, Marco lets out a sound of excitement. “What’s this?”

The room spins while I lift my head, black dots piercing my vision as Marco reaches for Jim’s laptop sitting on the kitchen table. I’d been so excited to cook him breakfast that I hadn’t noticed the external disc drive sitting next to it. Then I recall my husband whispering in my ear last night, asking me about the disc so he could look through the information while I slept.

A faint whirring sound fills the room and then Marco clasps the DVD in his hand. Seconds later his boots thud against the floor just as I sit back onto my knees. The shrill clang of metal fills the room and makes me curl in on myself. Once again, I try and get to my feet. Once again, my vision goes white with agony, and I collapse back down to the floor.

The next moment, Marco’s hands are in my hair. He holds me down, breathing hard against the shell of my ear, his body a crushing weight that drives my broken rib into places it shouldn’t go. “I really didn’t want to do this, but you left me no other option. I’m not going to jail for assault. Luckily, I found my scapegoat. ‘Emotionally unstable SEAL murders cheating wife.’ Works for me. How ’bout you? But first, I’ll take this.”

Before I know what’s happening, he’s yanking Jim’s engagement ring over my knuckle.

His calloused palm covers my mouth and he punches me.

Once.

Twice. Where he strikes, my muscles go cold and numb. It doesn’t hurt. It just feels strange, invasive in a way I have no words for. It isn’t until the butcher knife clatters against the tile that I realize what’s happened.

My breath sounds ragged, my heartbeat loud. I try to crawl again, but my body weighs a ton. My cheek presses into an ever-growing pool of blood. Briefly, I see Marco’s boots disappear through the garage door, but I don’t wonder where he’s going. I don’t especially care anymore. I’m too tired to care.

But I can see the sky through the panes of my window nook. The scene is overpowering, even from where I lay. The clouds rise up like mountaintops into the sky, the sun a heavy disc of warmth filtering through the trees. Everything dances, even the leaves.

Especially the leaves.

I wish Jim was here to see it.

It would have been nice not to die alone.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jim

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