Page 81 of Evidence of Deceit

A small head movement from him acknowledging he saw her.

Silently, she approached Hillary. The woman was spewing all sorts of wild accusations. Joe was trying to calm her down.Hillary moved the knife across Claire’s throat. Time for action.

“Hillary, let Claire go,” pleaded Joe.

“Never.”

He moved a little closer, not moving too fast or provoking Hillary into cutting Claire’s throat.

Hillary hadn’t noticed Sam. “Get back, Joe. You can’t save your girlfriend now. If you come any closer, I’ll slice her even more.”

“Hillary, there is no way to get out of this mess. Claire dies, you die. Period. Let her go, and you live,” said Joe.

“Never. The bitch and her husband have destroyed me.” She pushed the knife in a little deeper.

Claire gave a feeble gasp and tried to turn, but Hillary held on to her too tight.

Joe kepthis gun on her, hoping to get in a shot without hurting Claire. But Hillary had Claire’s head almost covering hers. He kept talking to her while Sam crept up behind Hillary. Sam jumped Hillary, pushed her arm down. Seconds later, the knife went flying; Claire stumbled to the floor, and Hillary was flat on her stomach. Sam sat on her and grabbed Hillary’s arms behind her back as she was thrashing and screaming obscenities at them.

Joe holstered his gun and ran over to check on Claire, who was barely moving. “Claire, sweetheart, look at me.”

She opened her eyes. And passed out.

He heard sirens in the distance. He picked Claire up and placed her on the sofa.

Sam had tied Hillary’s hands together with the lamp cord and was wrestling her to a chair. The woman was screaming and bucking. A swift punch to Hillary’s jaw and she was out.Sam looked at him, smiled and shook her hand, “that felt good.”

Damn, the woman was lethal. He needed to remember never to piss her off.

His attention returned to his immediate concern. Claire was still out. He rubbed Claire’s cold hands. “Hold on, sweetheart. The ambulance will be here in a sec.” He hoped Claire heard him. Her wrists were cut and bloody. Blood was dripping from her neck. Thankfully, Hillary didn’t have a chance to go deeper. He looked down at the woman he loved with all his heart. She was bruised and bloodied but had still managed to stand up to a crazy woman.

Flashing lights reflected in the mirror of the living room. The police came in, guns drawn, the medics right behind them. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Forty-Six

The drama was over. Hillary had been booked for Keith and Roman’s murders and the attempted murder of Claire. He couldn’t believe Hillary had tried to kill Claire with carbon monoxide. The tape recording of Keith dying was too ghoulish to think about.

Joe was on his way over to Claire’s house. She had called him earlier and wanted to talk. When a woman wanted to talk, nothing good usually came of it, and in his estimation, it was akin to being flayed alive. He just knew it was going to end badly. He wanted her so much. The speech he’d prepared to give her about moving into his house was spinning out of control. Did she want to be with him? Was she willing to give up her house? He would move in with her, but she hadn’t asked. So many questions and he was about to get the answers.

He got out of his truck to sunny skies. He wished his mood were sunny. He inhaled the salty spray. It was beautiful and peaceful at the beach, but he liked the privacy and quiet of his own house. This spot was perfect for Claire and her painting. It was also spacious, unlike his little ranch. She waswealthy and could afford anything she wanted. He made good money but nowhere near what she had. The self-doubts plagued him up the walk. She was lovable. He wasn’t.Gah, what was he doing to himself? He shook his head. A woman says, “Let’s talk,” and he falls to pieces.

He rang the bell.

The door opened immediately. Claire stood there, backlit by the sun, her chestnut hair glinting. She looked like an angel. His angel.

“Hi,” she said brightly and took his hand. “Come on in. Coffee?”

He nodded. As he looked around, he noticed all the furniture had covers on them. Boxes were half-packed—a suitcase in the hall.

“Claire, what’s going on?”

“Oh, Joe, I have so much to tell you. Let me make coffee, and we can talk.”

Not good, not good at all. Joe strolled into the bright kitchen. Everything was in disarray—pots on the counter, boxes here and there. Claire puttered around and found some cups and the coffee pot. He watched her place the coffee grounds in the pot and turn it on. He sat down at the table and looked at the long list she had written. First up on the list: Talk to Joe.

His heart was pounding. Trickles of sweat ran down his shirt collar. She smiled at him, and he just wanted to kiss the hell out of her, fling her over his shoulder, put her in his truck, and bring her home. To his home.

“Are you leaving?” Duh, of course, she was leaving. But for where? And for how long? And would he be able to keep her in his life?

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