Page 99 of Deadly Attraction
Pretend. Go along with him. You need that bullet…
Her heart was still tripping over itself, but she forced herself to take a slow, steady breath. She purposely slumped her shoulders, allowed tears to well in her eyes. It wasn’t hard, really, when she thought about the people he’d already harmed because of her.
For a long moment, she simply stood and looked dejected, channeling her own inner actress. “You’re right, Chris. I mean, Tom. I’ve been in denial, but I understand now. I’m tired. I don’t want to fight anymore.”
She took a wary step toward him, felt a small sense of relief when he didn’t tense or take on a defense posture. Forcing herself to give him her practiced, professional smile, she let the gun dangle at her side as she crossed the threshold into the bedroom and stopped, her little toe next to the bullet. “No one else needs to get hurt. I give up. What is it you want me to do?”
Nothing in his face changed, but she saw his pupils dilate. He was in exploitation mode—in control once again.
He held out his hand. “Give me the gun, cyborg.”
Cyborg. It almost made her laugh. Maybe Mitch was right. Maybe everyone was right and she was wrong. Chris Goodsman was a nutcase.
She had no choice. She was going to have to jump him. If she handed him the weapon, she was done.
Hesitantly, she held out the S&W, not enough for him to reach it, but enough to make him think he’d won. “Don’t hurt anyone else, okay? I’ll come with you. I’ll do whatever you want. You can kill me in front of your Resistance fighters if you want. Show them what a great leader you are.”
The words made her want to gag—she was a terrible actress and couldn’t believe when Chris took the bait, stepping forward. “I’d hoped you would see the light.”
“I do. I see the light now,” she lied.Come on, come on. Closer…
Just as he touched the gun, ready to take it from her, she let go of an ear-piercing scream and swung it at his head.
He must have anticipated it, because he ducked to the side, the gun barely grazing his ear.
But Emma’s body was in motion and she tackled him, knocking him onto the bed. His elbow connected with her temple, pain exploding behind her left eye.
Her arm had its own agenda, like it had with Linda, rising up and pummeling him with the gun again, this time, making contact with his hand as he bought it up to block the attack.
She heard a bone crack, the force of his hand driving hers and the gun back several inches. He didn’t seem fazed, grabbing her by the throat and squeezing.
Spots danced in her peripheral vision as she scratched at his vise grip with her free hand. An evil grin split his face as he squeezed tighter, lifting her off his chest. She couldn’t breathe, her hand on the gun loosening.
Rage poured through her again, burning in her veins and lighting her up from within. With her free hand, she reached down and clawed at his grin, her already bloody nails digging into his movie-star handsome face.
With a yelp, he threw her off to the side. She hit the edge of the bed, rolled, and belly-flopped onto the floor.
Her ribs cried out in pain and she gasped for air, coaxing her throat to work. Above her, Chris swore loudly, calling her names, the bed bouncing as his weight shifted to come after her.
Move!
That’s when she spotted the two bullets. Under the bed.
Knocking part of the draping sheet out of the way, Emma scooted under the box spring and reached for a bullet.
“What the fuck?” she heard Chris say as she flipped open the chamber.
Her fingers shook so bad, she dropped the bullet. Twice. The shadows under the bed made it difficult to see. In her peripheral vision, however, Chris’s booted feet weren’t.
He dropped onto his knees, throwing the sheet back and bending down to eye her, that awful grin on his face again. The bullet slipped around in her fingers, her throat sucked air, making her wheeze.
The added light from Chris lifting the sheet landed on something under the bed she hadn’t noticed until now.
A dozen or so green Tom Monahan Resistance soldiers, some in a line, others fallen over as if a child had just been playing with them, sat like a prop in a movie.
Oh my God, he was here, under my bed. Chris Goodsman had been under her bed playing with toy soldiers.
For how long? The possibilities filled with her revulsion.
