Page 148 of Who I Really Am

Bedhead places the black duffel on a barstool, the one at the end where it meets the landing to my attic room. He leans on the counter, enjoying the moment, content to let the help do all the work.

In my periphery, I see a flash. My eyes dart, but thankfully, the dastardly duo is otherwise focused.

Marco?He moves down the stairs, quiet and smooth as a predator on the hunt.

Avery has eyes only for my brother, whose hand she’s clutching amidst quiet sobs.

Two steps above the small landing, still sheltered by the wall, Marco—not in jail, by the way—pauses, assessing. He sees me looking, lays a finger to his lips, and tilts a nod to my right. Within a two-step reach is my own gun on an end table, left unattended by the obvious amateur of the duo. Marco’s eyebrows arch.Can you reach?

I tap Avery’s leg and mouthshh,then motion with my eyes to Marco on the stairs. Her eyes begin to widen, but she catches herself. I nod to my gun, speaking with a look. Man, I hope she reads minds.

I think she does.

I barely nod an affirmative to Marco. His reassuring smile reaches my heart, but the wink nearly sends me to the moon. Oh, when I get my hands on him…

He comes down a step. One more, and he’ll be in sight. He raises a finger.One. Two…

Three!

He launches himself over the railing, dropping the bad guys in one fell swoop.

And that’s when I realizehedoesn’t have a gun.

Where is his gun?

Connecting fists and guttural growls fill the room as Marco drives his fists into Blaisdell. Bedhead is down, dazed, but coming to life.

Tripp’s leg snakes out, toppling the dealer—but he’s a fighter, and Marco has his hands full. In a tumble, two pairs of hands are on the giant weapon, but no one has control.

I leap up, dragging Avery behind. A gun fires. I don’t know who. Where. I spring for my gun, but in my frenzy knock it further away. I lunge again. I don’t know what’s going on behind me, but Bedhead is on his feet. He charges. I can’t get the gun in time…

A pop. Bedhead drops, and I see red.Oh, Father!

Avery screams. I spin. The giant gun slides across the floor. Marco is on the ground, stunned. Blaisdell looks dazed, but he’s rising. Reaching. He’s closer…

My gun! I close the gap and wrap my fingers around the familiar grip.

“Allie!”

Blaisdell makes another stretch, reconnecting with the nasty weapon he likes to flash.

This is it. Thank you, Tripp for insisting I learn.

I raise the barrel.

Ready. Aim.

Fire.

CHAPTER 40

Annalise

The house is swarming with official looking men and women. Lots of guns and badges and serious faces. Miraculously, everyone is alive, but there are paramedics everywhere. Bedhead was the most critically injured and has long since been removed from the premises. Going forward, Dell—Blaisdell—will probably have to write those prison letters left-handed.

Tripp should beouttahere, as well, but he’s being his usual stubborn self, even propped up on a gurney, receiving on-the-scene treatment but refusing to be wheeled out until the last hoorah. Old toot.

But I’ll never tease him again.

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