Page 46 of Down and Dirty

Tears streamed down Patricia’s face as she cocked the gun. I stepped around the corner. “Patricia, put the gun down.”

She waved the gun between both of us. “We’ve been waiting on you, Faith.”

“Don’t hurt him. I’m here,” I held out my hands with the bat in my clutches.

“Hurt him?” Patricia snorted and turned the gun on me. “It’s not him that’s going to die; it’s you. Brandon can’t help himself. He keeps falling for the wrong women. He’s a man, and it’s in his nature to sleep around, but he always comes back to me, to my bed. Isn’t that right?”

Brandon slowly rose. “Patricia, we’re just friends.”

“Like you are with her?” Patricia asked, lifting a brow. “Do you sleep with all of your friends, Doc?”

“Whoa now,” I said, ignoring the gun pointed at me. I dumped my coffee and poured another cup. “Why don’t we sit down and talk about this like adults? Brandon and I aren’t sleeping together, Patricia. We are just friends.”

“Right, go lie to someone else. He was bringing you home at eight thirty in the morning after I spent the night watching his damn kid. He was with you.”

Anger stirred in the air. The satchel in my pocket vibrated. Jared and Veronica appeared in the kitchen with me.

“Brandon was the connection all along?” I asked and turned my gaze to him. “I thought you didn’t know two of the women? I thought they weren’t your patients.”

“They weren’t,” Patricia said. “They were the little whores who were visiting other patients. They smiled at Brandon. They flirted with him in the ER. I saw it all.”

“Patricia, put the gun down. We’ll get you some help,” Brandon said.

“Sit down, Doc. You aren’t calling the shots here,” Patricia growled and then pointed the gun at me and pulled the trigger.

“Patricia, no!” Brandon screamed.

White hot pain exploded in my stomach, spinning me toward the countertop. A splotch of red bloomed on my shirt. The searing agony shot through my body stealing my breath.

My fingers found the knife handle laying on the counter as I struggled to stay standing. Never again would I yell at the 7-year-old for leaving them out. I grabbed a dishcloth and held it against my wound as I turned throwing the knife through the air. The blade wobbled before embedding itself in Patricia’s chest.

Thank God.

She dropped the gun just as I fell to the ground, pressing the rag to my wound to stop the bleeding.

After that, it was all a big blur. Patricia struggled to pull the knife out of her chest, and Brandon stopped her.

“You do that, you’ll die. It hit an artery. That knife is the only thing keeping you alive, and you know it.”

My vision blurred just as sirens sounded through the house.

Patricia went to reach for her gun, but I grabbed it first and held it pointed at her with blurry vision. “Why Mary?”

I needed to know. Mary was too old to be considered a romantic threat.

Patricia didn’t answer.

“Why Mary?” I asked, cocking the trigger.

“That bitch told me my aura was black. That I didn’t have a soul,” Patricia growled. “Just like you told me I needed to pick a new boyfriend.”

“We were both right.” I blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake.

Keaton came through the back door as half of the police force entered through the front.

Jimbo had Patricia at gunpoint, and I collapsed into Keaton’s hold.

“Where’s my son?” Brandon asked, searching the sea of faces. “He was here.”

“I locked him in the basement,” Jared said from across the room. His ghostly apparition not even fazed by what he said.

“He’s locked in the basement.” Both Keaton and I answered.

“I’ll get him, Doc,” Jimbo said. “You can put your doctor skills to the test on the way to the hospital.”

“Her first,” I said, gesturing toward Patricia. “Her wound is lethal.”

Those were my last words before the blurry room flashed out of sight.

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