Page 68 of The White Picket Fence

Kevin must have shopped at Costco.

Best to minimize the frequency of deliveries if you’re keeping a woman and a child hostage, she thought, trying to stay calm.

Opening a drawer, she swept the empty bottles into it so that Kevin wouldn’t know what she’d done. Then she held her breath as she mixed the contents, adding most of the chopped jalapeños and their juices. Her eyes were watering like faucets. The mix was potent, but would it be enough?

It has to be enough.

Quickly she put a skillet on the cooktop and started heating some oil. She’d sauté the bell pepper and the remaining jalapeños. If she didn’t get a chance to toss the contents of the bowl in his face, she might be able to use the contents of the skillet.

Or the skillet itself. Her right arm was pretty strong—it was her cane arm. She took out a second skillet and placed it on the other side of the sink, just in case she needed a plan B.

She hurried, pulling the bowl full of peppery spices toward her when she heard Kevin’s footsteps approaching.

“Who was that?” she asked without turning around.

“A nosy neighbor,” Kevin said with the irritation she’d anticipated. “What smells good?”

“I’m sautéing peppers.”

His footsteps came closer until she could feel the heat of his body.

Here goes nothing.

Gripping the bowl, she waited until he stood next to the skillet, observing the contents with a frown. He blinked rapidly as his eyes began to water.

“Where are the other peppers? I thought you were going to freeze the rest of them,” he said, then turned to face her, and she knew that this was it.

She flung the contents of the bowl full into his face and stepped back, her heart beating so hard that it hurt.

He screamed, his face contorting in pain. “You fucking bitch!” He dropped the knives to the floor but held onto the gun, his now-free hand coming up to rub at his eyes.

Keep rubbing, asshole. That’ll only make it worse.

Kevin fired then, the bullet hitting the ceiling, showering plaster on their heads.

Knives. Where are the knives?

Charlotte blinked because her eyes were watering, too. Her lungs were burning and she started to cough. The dust from the spices hung in the air and she was breathing it in.

But so was Kevin. She’d fallen to her knees, feeling around for the large knife he’d dropped when a door slammed open, hitting the opposite wall. It had come from the direction of what she’d assumed was the basement.

“Holy Mother of God.Charlie, what did you do?”

“Tino,” she gasped softly. Tino was here.

Kevin spun around, pointing his gun in Tino’s direction.

“Gun!” Charlotte shouted, her fingers encountering the knife a split second later. She gripped it and, holding on to the table, pushed herself to her feet and grabbed his wrist hard, pushing the gun so that it pointed at the floor. She wouldn’t be able to keep him from regaining control of the gun. He was so much stronger than she was. But it might give Tino the time to save Kayla.

“I will kill you,” Kevin snarled. “And then I’ll kill him.”

Charlotte couldn’t see anything but murky shadows through the moisture in her eyes. “Not if I kill you first,” she promised, stumbling when Kevin yanked his wrist free. He fired the gun and for a moment she waited, holding her breath. But no one cried out, and she could hear Tino quietly reassuring Kayla.

“There. You’re free. Run, honey. Go downstairs to the basement. Climb out of the window if you can. There’s help outside.”

A moment later a hand gripped Charlotte’s hair and yanked her forward.

She stumbled sideways into a hard chest, wider than Tino’s. She gripped the knife tighter, freezing when she felt the cold barrel of Kevin’s gun pressed against her forehead.

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