Page 74 of Nicole's Shelter

“I’m sorry.”

“The three of us were very close. My witnessing a murder drove a wedge between us for a long time.” She swiped away a tear. “The relationship was just one more casualty, I guess. Until he finalized it.”

Rick wanted to fix it, needed to fix some part of this for her. He could hardly go back in time and return her family, but he could take out the monster who’d ruined her life. He knew he was reaching a perilous stage, the point where he was less inclined to see Clifton behind bars and more inclined to give him a one way ticket to a coffin.

In his experience, letting in that kind of emotion was a dangerous way to think. Revenge blurred logic and often gave a cool-headed opponent the advantage.

“We may never know exactly why Clifton killed Chan, but your pictures will be enough to make him act rashly.”

“But you don’t believe sending the photo to the marshals is enough to have him arrested?”

“I believe it’s a start, but they have to find him first.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “You’re thinking about the way he’s slipped through the system and managed to avoid prosecution for all these years.”

Rick shifted the Fu dog from hand to hand, wishing he could tell her it wasn’t true. He’d sent an email to Bart, hoping his friend had managed to send the tip about the cocaine in Clifton’s possession to the right department. Maybe the bastard would get busted before he ever made it to Myrtle Beach.

“Why don’t we head out to the boardwalk for a while and go over the options.” If his suspicions were correct, their time together was running short. She needed to know what he planned, how he expected Clifton to react, and what actions to take when that reaction happened.

“It’s a date.”

* * *

Nicole walked into the kitchen, on an emotional high so delightful her feet barely touched the ground. Humming a little tune, she gathered eggs, milk, and berries from the refrigerator. It seemed the perfect morning for blueberry pancakes. In bed.

It had been the best two days of her life, despite the sensation that the axe could drop anytime. They’d gone out, they’d stayed in, and Clifton had stayed away. She’d taken oodles of pictures of both scenery and people, but none of Rick. He’d proven oddly camera shy.

About a thousand times a day, she started to ask him if he believed Clifton had done the smart thing and disappeared, but she held her tongue. Talking about it would ruin the perfection of this special interlude with Rick.

Selfish? Definitely. But she couldn’t be sure how much time they had left. If she said anything, she should tell him how she felt. Except those three little words kept getting stuck in her throat. And really what did she expect? That they’d put a citizen’s arrest on Clifton and live happily ever after?

He had a job and a team to get back to and she had… That was the problem, she didn’t know what she had when this was over. The world would be her oyster when Clifton was contained and she didn’t have any idea what kind of pearl she wanted to find.

Her happy mood muted, she turned to put the griddle on the stove and dropped it as panic seized her. A garish red delete sign marred the ceramic stovetop. Icy dread tickled her nape.

Clifton was here. Sure, it was the plan, but the reality shook her. He must have painted this sometime in the night while she and Rick… her stomach rolled. He was here.

“Give me the evidence, Miss Reynolds, or he dies.”

She swiveled on her heel to find Clifton in the main room of the cottage, surrounded by breezy coastal scenes, with Rick on his knees at the business end of a gun. It was a terrifying re-enactment of the scene she’d witnessed once before.

“What, no hysterical tears or screaming? My, how you’ve matured.”

“I wish I could say it’s good to see you.”

“Ah, but isn’t this what you wanted?” He pressed the barrel into Rick’s temple. “You invited me after all.”

“No.” She struggled to breathe normally. Passing out wasn’t in the plan. “I told the marshals I had pictures.”

“Of course. You put such trust in your ever-present camera.” He leaned forward. “The evidence. Now!”

She jumped, startled by the sudden change from gracious conversationalist to roaring mad man. Nicole knew, regardless of her cooperation, Clifton would kill them both and walk away, free to do as he pleased. This was precisely the moment she and Rick had discussed.

He’d walked into their trap. It was time to spring it. All she had to do was reach into the new cookie jar—Rick claimed it was a hiding place Clifton would believe—and pull out the envelope with the prints and negatives. When she handed the evidence to Clifton, Rick would make his move.

Instead, she stared at the man who’d ruined her life. Her legs had gone numb and her gaze was locked on the place where the ugly black barrel of the weapon pressed to Rick’s temple.

Caught. She was frozen in a nightmare of déjà vu, only this time she wouldn’t have a camera lens to hide behind as the life drained out of the man she loved. Her fingers twitched, but her hands were empty.

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