Page 122 of The Nature of Secrets

She hadn’t even realized she had stopped.

The bastard followed her to the porch. Too bad she hadn’t left on a light. She dug for her key, taking her time. She had to do something soon. Say something ...

“You’re wasting your time,” she told him as she dug around in her bag, buying time, wishing she had pepper spray. “I’ve already emailed the files and images Derrick collected to the DEA.”

“He knows and he’ll deal with that,” the man assured her. “This is about all the trouble you’ve caused.” He laughed, an ugly, ruthless sound. “You should have stopped while you were ahead.”

Finley’s hand closed around the house key, allowing the long end to stick out between her fisted fingers. She could do this.Don’t think ... just act.“What can I say—I have issues letting go.”

“Too bad for—”

She steeled herself, whirled around, and stabbed at his face, aiming for an eye.

He swore loudly, stumbled backward. “Bitch!”

Finley kicked him in the balls. Turned and started to run.

The gun fired. The bullet flew past her left ear. Shit! Her heart lunged into her throat. She dived to her right. Hit the ground just beyond the edge of her porch. She rolled. Got to her hands and knees to scramble away.

“You are dead!” he roared.

Finley lunged forward, trying to put distance between them, went facedown into the grass.

A loud clangy thud echoed in the darkness.

Then another. She scooted farther across her little yard, staying low in case he fired his weapon again.

The sound came a third time, and she twisted around to see what was happening.

The man lay motionless on the ground. Helen Roberts stood over him, staring down at him, a shovel in her hands. “I don’t think he’s going to try getting up again.”

Finley clambered to her feet. Searched for the gun. The bastard was out cold.

Lights had come on, and neighbors were pouring out of houses. Good. Someone would call the police. Where the hell was her phone?

She found the gun. Trudged to the porch and collapsed on her steps. She held the weapon clenched between her hands, aimed toward the ground. Roberts remained standing over the man, shovel in hand.

Something touched Finley’s side. She jumped. The cat yowled, then rubbed against her. Finley laughed, but in spite of the reaction, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Who laughed and cried at the same time?

Didn’t matter. She was alive. By God. She was still alive.

33

Saturday, September 24

4:30 a.m.

Vanderbilt Medical Center

Medical Center Drive, Nashville

Jack and her parents had long ago gone home, and Matt was sitting up when Finley arrived. Well,sitting upwas a bit optimistic. The bed had been raised, and he was in a more upright position. But that was progress.

“You look almost ready to go home,” she teased.

She reached for a nearby chair to pull closer to his bed, but he wrapped his strong fingers around her arm and pulled her toward him.

“Lower the bed rail and sit by me.” He patted the mattress.

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