Page 57 of Redemption

He flips on the light and gently guides me inside.

I’m shaking helplessly as he offers me a handgun. “Be careful. The safety is off. All you have to do is pull the trigger right here.”

I pay attention to what he shows me and nod shakily to prove I understand. I take the gun. Hold it in both hands.

Two tears slide down my face as I look back up at him.

He checks the camera feeds on the tablet again. “He’s coming around the back. He must assume I’m too injured to fight back.”

I can’t do anything but whimper softly.

He grabs my chin and lifts my face so I’m looking at him. “I’ve got this, baby. I promise.”

A nod is the only response I’m capable of.

“He’s alone,” he says. “I can take him. We’re both going to be all right. When I shut this door, you stay in here. You don’t come out until you hear my voice. If the door opens without you hearing me first, you start shooting and you don’t stop.”

“O-okay.” I have to clear my aching throat. Swipe at my eyes with the back of my forearm. Crouch down in the closet because my legs won’t hold me any longer. “I love you, Caleb.”

He makes a weird, strangled sound. Searches my face with what looks like desperation.

“I love you,” I repeat. “And I’m so sorry for?—”

“No!” The word bursts out of him. He kneels down to my level and continues thickly, “Don’t you dare say that again. Everything wrong you ever did to me is gone. All of it is gone. My love for you covers everything and fills every gap. My love is the only thing left.”

I sob.Sob. Can’t possibly speak. But I manage to control myself as Caleb straightens up and checks the tablet again.

He murmurs, “He’s coming” and then closes the closet door.

I stay huddled there with all my clothes and shoes, wiping my face and then wiping my damp hands one by one on my pants.

I can’t hear anything. I have no idea what’s happening. I only know that Caleb is out there, injured and alone. Mick couldn’t have been very far away, but he’s not going to get back here in time.

Montaigne managed to shoot Caleb once. He might be able to do it again.

It’s been a couple of minutes when I hear a shattering sound. Like something breaking. Maybe a window. I smother a squeal and readjust my position so I’m standing, hoping I’m not going to throw up from the adrenaline-fueled panic.

Then there are gunshots. More than one. Something loud crashing. Someone crying out. It’s all vague and disconnected and without context, so I can’t form a picture to match the sounds.

Please God let it not be Caleb who was shot.

It’s another couple of minutes—it can’t be much longer than that—when I hear a voice from outside the closet door. “It’s me, baby. It’s okay. It’s over.”

I burst into tears as the closet door swings open. Caleb is standing in front of me, sweat dripping all down his face and blood soaking through his shirt.

It doesn’t matter. He’s standing. He pulls me in with his good arm, and I sob against his chest.

He takes the handgun out of my loose fingers as I cry and sets it carefully on a nightstand. Then he tightens his arm around me.

I’ve just started to control myself when I hear new sounds from the other side of the house. I gasp and straighten up.

“It’s just Mick.”

“Where’s Montaigne? Did you?—?”

“I didn’t kill him, although I was tempted. I shot him, but he kept coming at me, so there was a scuffle before I got control of him. I handcuffed him. He’s not going anywhere.”

I exhale raggedly. Then notice his blood-soaked shirt again. “You’re hurt again!”

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