Page 56 of Grissom
She thought she’d won.
Guess again.
Seconds raced by before it dawned on Pam that she’d missed her intended target and Tuesday wasn’t going down. That her shot hadn’t gone wild, but neither had she hit Tanneror Grissom. That she’d underestimated the woman she was up against. That this truly was a fight to the death—her death. That Tuesday now had the upper hand.
Still fighting with every last beat of her heart, Tuesday jerked the burning pistol out of her adversary’s hand. Panicked, Pam clawed Tuesday’s face, hissing like a cat. Aiming for Tuesday’s eyes, but missing. Still fighting for control of her weapon.
Not happening.
Tuesday knew Grissom would go for his boys now that she’d cleared the way for him. They were what mattered, not her. He’d put them first, and he’d whisk them to safety like the good father he was. He’d get Luke to a doctor, and he’d make sure Tanner wouldn’t see what happened next. And it would happen.
The girl fight of Tuesday’s life was on, and her lessons in self-defense were front and center. Pressure points mattered. With Pam still clawing at her face, and for the first time worried her time might be running out, that this crazy woman could still win, Tuesday balled her free hand into a fist and punched the side of Pam’s neck, hard enough that her knuckles popped.
The witch stepped back, dazed and gasping.
Tuesday snagged the pistol before it could fall and accidentally discharge. Ouch, that barrel was hot. Not like she cared about blistered fingers or hands. She was expendable, and her strike to Pam’s carotid artery and vagus nerve had done what she’d intended. Pam’s eyes were bugged out. The woman was disbelieving to the bitter end that someone might just be meaner and smarter than her. She was still standing, but clutching her throat, gasping for air.
Damned if shock wasn’t a really good look on Pamela McCoy’s ugly face.
Not taking anything for granted, Tuesday jerked Pam in for one last close hug and rammed her skull into that baby killer’s forehead. Tanner’s would-be killer collapsed into a whinypuddle in the middle of Grissom’s front room, holding her bleeding nose and still unable to breathe.
Funny thing about that alarm. In the end, it ended the battle of Tuesday’s life. She backed out of the room and into the cool air on Grissom’s deck, her head spinning. She needed to get away from the noise.
By then, Alex was at the front door’s control panel, his back to the family room, keying in the code to silence the alarm and let in whoever was ringing the doorbell, probably local law enforcement. Maybe EMTs.
Grissom was on the floor, his eyes closed in anguish, cradling his youngest in one arm, his oldest under his other arm. Tanner was a blubbering mess, his sweaty face buried in his dad’s shirt. He wasn’t watching, and that was good. He’d be okay now. He too had the best father in the world.
Clarity hit hard, but certain. There would be no happily-ever-after with the emotionally damaged man Tuesday had come to love. Grissom’s boys needed him, and he needed them. What they didn’t need was more grief and tragedy in their lives, and that would surely come if she stayed. If she chose to put her greedy, self-serving needs ahead of theirs.
Life never worked out like you wanted it to, how well Tuesday knew. She loved these three—enough to let them go. But she had to do it now, while no one was watching. Silently, she eased the slider closed, then ducked out of sight, just as Alex opened the front door and let the first responders in. Grissom was too wrapped up in his boys to worry about her. No one saw her stumble off the deck steps and escape from a life that was never meant to be.
“Goodbye, my sweet boys,” she huffed, into what had become a blistering cold day. “Goodbye, Grissom. I’ll love you forever. Be good to each other, guys.”
And live a long, long time. Let this be my Christmas gift to you guys, to live the rest of your lives in peace and happiness.
Her skull had to be cracked, it screamed with so much pain. The burn in her side pounded as loudly. Pam had shot her, but not fatally, at least Tuesday hoped it wasn’t fatal. She was still on her feet. That had to mean something. Unfortunately, the two things she needed to make a clean break, her keys and her phone, were back in Grissom’s house.
She stumbled onward, determined to run but barely able to walk. Freddie’s gentle counsel came to her on the icy breeze:Head up. Shoulders back. Never let ’em see you blink. Never give up.
“I’m not giving up,” she told the grandfatherly ghost walking beside her. “I’m giving the guys I love most what they need to live. I’m giving me being gone.”
A tear welled in the corner of her eye. Just a few more steps. Then a few more. Until, at last, she was hidden within the sweet-smelling pines of Grissom’s tree farm again. Breathing hard but standing. Crisp evergreen scent surrounded her as quickly as the silence of the falling snow muffled the rest of the world. This little forest offered Tuesday the temporary cover she needed. Somehow, she’d find her way out of Virginia. Maybe she’d call an Uber or Lyft if she could get to a phone. Things were easy when you were rich and had what everyone else wanted. Well, almost everything. She was leaving the best part of her adult life behind. The best man and the best boys. But she was doing this for them, and someday, they’d be grateful she’d disappeared.
People thought winter killed, that cold was deadly. Tuesday knew better. Eventually, enough snow would cover her and keep her warm, like a fluffy white blanket. Dropping to her knees, she curled to her injured side and watched flakes kiss the end of her nose. She needed to rest for a minute or two. Then she’d get backon her feet, and she’d leave like she planned. It was better this way. Really. It was.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was hard dialing 911 with his hands full and his heart breaking, at what Grissom had let happen to his boys—in their house! Luke had gone stock still in his arms. He was so pale. Whatever Pam gave him was killing him. Alex had her face down on the floor, his knee in her back and her hands cuffed behind her. But the shrew was still breathing and cursing and—!
That was more than what Luke was doing. Damn her!
Maverick hadn’t called about that damned black sedan, either.
“Central dispatch, what is your emergency?”
“My son’s been poisoned! Send help!”Send everyone!
Instead of continuing to rant like a maniac at the end of his rope, Grissom calmed himself enough to relay his address, phone number, and Luke’s symptoms. He answered every question the polite woman asked. Luke’s age, weight, if he had any allergies, if he knew what his son swallowed. How he got hold of the poison. “I have no idea what he swallowed! I wasn’t here. His fucking mother gave him—hell, I don’t even know what she—!”
