Page 54 of Final Cost

“Stupid doll,” Daniel says, swinging the gun around and aiming it directly at my torso. “I’m happy to take care of you first.”

I don’t know what happens next. There’s a flurry of movement. A shout. A shot. A grunt of pain. All of it happens together. And then I’m landing on my back on the floor with a hard thud, a wild-eyed Lucien on top of me. I hit my head hard, so I’m a little dazed as Lucien withdraws. I rub my eyes and try to sit up when a war cry rings out. I get my eyes focused enough to see Lucien spring from his crouch next to me just as Daniel raises the gun again.

“No!”I yell again as another shot rings out.

Lucien connects with Daniel, catching him around the waist and knocking him to the floor. Daniel tries to raise the gun again, but Lucien is too quick for him, catching his wrist and repeatedly slamming his hand against the floor, forcing Daniel to drop the gun. By now, Lucien has straddled him and lets loose with a flurry of punches to his face. Once again, Daniel is too slow and can’t get his hands up fast enough. Lucien lands blow after blow in an endless volley of hits that would put vintage Iron Mike Tyson to shame.

“Don’t you touch her,” Lucien bellows between blows. “Don’t you ever fucking touch her!”

I recover enough of my wits to lever up to all fours and scramble for the loose gun. Meanwhile, there’s other activity in the room.

“Lucien.” The craggy new voice startles me. I glance around and discover, to my joyous relief, Winwood conscious and on his feet, staggering over to Lucien and trying to intervene.

But Lucien isn’t done. “Don’t you ever touch her!”

“Lucien.” Winwood catches Lucien around the waist and hauls him to his feet and off Daniel, whose pulverized face now resembles several pounds of raw hamburger.“Stop.”

“Here’s the gun,” I say, hastily standing and passing it to Lucien, who seems to be coming out of his murderous rage.

But there’s no need for the gun now. Daniel groans and rolls onto his side, but he’s clearly down for the count. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.

“You’re alive,” I say to Winwood, who’s gingerly rubbing the back of his head.

“Barely,” Winwood says with a fleeting smile.

“You okay?” Lucien sets the gun on his desk and reaches for me, his hands rough and urgent as he grabs me by the arm and pulls me in for a thorough once over. “He didn’t hurt you? You’re not shot?”

“No,” I say, laughing with relief. “I banged my head, but I’m okay.”

A smile of blinding joy from Lucien. “Good,” he says, pulling me in for a hard kiss.

“Areyouokay?” I say, when he lets me up for air.

That’s when Lucien starts to look funny. His face, I notice with dawning horror, is the stark white of bleached hospital sheets. He frowns, looking bewildered. “I don’t know.”

Then he sinks to the floor with the dead weight of a two hundred pound bag of grain, slipping right through my outstretched arms as I watch him with utter astonishment.

“Lucien!”I scream, dropping to my knees on one side of him while Winwood drops on his other side. I go straight into nurse mode, noting his glazed gaze fixed on the ceiling and —oh, God— the widening circle of blood ruining the starched perfection of his white dress shirt low on his abdomen.

“What is it?” Lucien says, his voice thready now.

“You got shot,” I say, trying to sound upbeat about it. “Can you roll to the side for me? I need to see the back. Winwood, call 911.Now. Wait, no. Toss me that throw from the sofa first. Thanks.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Winwood says, hurrying off.

Lucien manages to roll on his side, and I do a quick assessment, noting the small exit wound in back.

“Is it bad?” Lucien asks.

“Nope.” I settle him on his back again and throw the blanket over his wound, then lean into it, pressing hard with my palms to slow down the bleeding. He groans with pain. “It’s through and through. You’ll be just fine. I’ve seen worse.”

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding loopy now, his eyes rolling back. “It feels pretty bad to me.”

That gets a smile out of me. “I’m sure it does,” I say, kissing his forehead. “Sorry about that. But don’t you dare pass out on me.”

“Why not?” he says, his voice now fainter than ever.

“Remember when you asked me to marry you?”

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