“Because I’m good at them. Even as a kid. My dad was proud of my poems.”

“It was hard for you, losing him.”

“I didn’t lose him. You killed him.” He jammed the gun into the small of her back. “If you hadn’t been born, he’d be alive.”

Training kicked in so she calmed herself with breath. “I didn’t know about him until that day. My mother never told me. She never told anybody.”

“I don’t give a gold-plated fuck about who she told, who she didn’t. He’s dead because you’re alive.”

She glanced at the bronze statue on a table in the upstairs hall.

Heavy, she thought.

She walked past it, and into the bedroom.

“Close and lock.”

Phone on the charger, just a few feet away. Distraction.

She turned toward him, let all the fear shake into her voice. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t understand why—”

He backhanded her with his left, hard enough to knock her to the floor and send pain rocketing through her face.

“Close and lock. Do what I say when I say it, or I’ll knock some teeth out next time.”

She pushed herself up, closed the doors, turned the lock. And when he sidestepped, picked up her phone, her hopes dropped.

He tossed it to the floor, stomped on it. Grinned.

Said, “Oops!”

He gestured with the gun toward the love seat, the reading chair. “Take a seat. Now! Unless you want another smack.”

She’d be ready for it next time, and she knew how to counter.

He had a couple of inches on her at best—and she had longer limbs. Wiry muscles, yeah, but she’d pit hers against his.

She’d have to.

But he still held the gun.

She sat in the corner of the love seat nearest the door.

He shrugged off the backpack, set it down, took the chair.

“Now we’re all cozy.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

In the yard, under the strengthening sun, Sadie’s legs began to twitch. Her eyes rolled open.

When she tried to stand, they wouldn’t hold her, so she lay panting, confused.

She vomited up the sick in her stomach, lay whining. She wanted Adrian, and cool water.

When she managed to get up, she stumbled forward a few steps. Sicked up again. Slowly, drunkenly, she walked toward the house. She wanted to sleep again, but she wanted Adrian and the water more.

She stopped at the yoga mat, sniffed at it, felt some comfort when she smelled Adrian. But there was another scent, one she’d smelled before something hurt, before she got sick.

Human, but not familiar. She didn’t like it. It made her growl.

She walked to the patio doors, but they were closed, and she didn’t see Adrian inside. It was hard to walk up the steps. It took a long time, but there was water, and she drank and drank.

The food bowl was empty, but she didn’t want to eat.

Adrian didn’t come to let her in, so she waited as she’d been taught. She whined again, hoping. Then looked up the stairs.

She didn’t want to go up; she wanted to go in. But she walked toward them, and with a canine sigh, started up.

* * *

In the bedroom, JJ held the gun steady. “Damn big house for one skinny woman.”

“It’s my family home.”

“The grandparents croaked, didn’t they? Grandmother all smashed up in a car, and the grandfather just died of old. Fucking pizza, right? Maybe I’ll grab some when we’re done here. You think you’re special. You think you’re important, with all your DVDs and the streaming and the blog, telling people how to live, what to eat, getting them to jump around and buy your overpriced bullshit.

“My father was important. Dr. Jonathan Bennett. My father. You got that?”

“Yes. He was a teacher. That’s very important.”

“He was smart, smarter than you. Smarter than anyone. He only stayed with our pill-popping mother because of me. He loved me.”

“I know he did.”

“He protected me.”

“Of course. You’re his son.”

“And he’s dead because of you. Because your whore of a mother got herself pregnant and tried to trick him. I don’t see any of him in you, never have, so that was probably a lie. Doesn’t change what happened. She came on to him like all the others. A man who doesn’t take what’s offered is a fool, and my father wasn’t a fool.”

Let him tell his story, she thought as she sat with her hands quietly in her lap. And considered the weapons in the room.

Her grandmother’s candlestands—heavy, easy to grab and swing. The copper bowl she’d bought at Maya’s shop. Decent weight, throwable. The letter opener on her writing desk, the scissors in the middle drawer. Sharp.

Keep him talking.

“None of the others had a child from that, or … pretended to. Why have you killed them?”

“That nosy bitch you hired got to that asshole reporter, didn’t she? He’ll be sorry about that. She already is.”

Cold washed over her, brought popping chills to her skin. A terrible twist inside her belly. “What do you mean?”

“She thought she was smart, too, but not as smart as me. I’m my father’s son. I killed her last night, left her bleeding in the street.”

“Oh God.” Adrian gripped her elbows, rocked.

“Got what she asked for, coming around to my house, trying to get my sister to blab on me. Well, Nikki won’t be blabbing.”

He smiled, so wide.

“You—you killed your sister?”

“Not yet.” He snickered and grinned again. “But when I do, that’s on you, too. You hired the nosy, you brought Nikki into it. So, you killed them both, just like you killed my father. You ruined my fucking life, you whore, you took away the only person in this world who loved me. You should never have drawn a breath.”

“None of this will bring your father back.”

“I know that!” He pounded his fist against the arm of the chair. “Do you think I don’t fucking know that? Do you think I’m stupid?”

Her heart beat in her throat now, wild as the rage in his eyes. “No, but I don’t understand what you’re trying to do by killing. I’m trying to understand.”

“I’m avenging him, you idiot. That’s what a son, a true son, does when his father’s been murdered.”

No, no reasoning with him, she realized. But she could stall.

“Do you think he’d want you to do this? To spend your life doing this? You said he protected you. He wanted the best for you. You could have been a teacher, like him. Or a poet. Your poems are so compelling.”

“He taught me to stand up for myself.” He jerked his left thumb at his own chest. “I’m standing up for myself, and for him. My poems are an homage to him. And I saved the best for last.”

With his left hand, he unzipped the top compartment of the backpack, drew out a carefully folded sheet of paper. “How about I read it to you?”

She said nothing, but she braced. She’d charge him, she decided. If he was going to shoot her, it wouldn’t be while she sat like a helpless weakling.

JJ cleared his throat.