My head went with it, my eyes rolling back in their sockets.
"I think they're fighting," I heard Mrs. Rosenblatt yell.
"Maddie, are you winning, honey?" Mom called.
It was hard to say.
I may have had the element of surprise, but Charlene had about five inches on me and liked the gym way better than I did. She twisted her wrist, pointing the gun at my ribs. I moved at the last minute and it went off, shattering a lamp by the bedside.
I leaned my head down (no small task with her hands firmly grabbing by hair) and bit her on the wrist.
"Sonofabitch!" she screamed. I guess being in a fight to the death excused one from good manners.
She dropped the gun, which thankfully fell to the floor, sliding under the bed.
"You bitch!" she cried, diving for the gun.
My turn to grab a handful of hair. I yanked on her blonde roots for all I was worth, and was rewarded with a high pitched screech as she twisted on the floor, her longs legs sweeping my one good one and taking me down with her.
She sat up, then did a WWF wrestler full body slam.
I felt the air rush out of my lungs in one big whoosh.
"Maddie? Baby, are you okay?"
"Claw her eyes out, bubbe!" I heard Mrs. R yell.
Hey, not a bad idea.
I reached up, my manicured fingers digging for her eyes. Only I missed, drawing a long red scratch down her cheeks instead. But it didn't even phase her. She'd tipped over that edge of crazy where she only had one objective. Her lips curled back from her teeth, her pupils wild and dilated, her gaze locked on mine. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around my throat, squeezing with all her might.
I made a strangled sound in the back of my throat, my hands instantly going to my neck, trying to pry her manicured claws from me.
"You are so going to pay," she said. "Felix's girly little whore."
"Hey, he kissed me," I breathed out. Then kneed her in the pelvis.
She grunted, rolling over and loosening her grip on my throat.
"Right. The second time."
"The first one was an accident."
"Accident my arse. He told me you spent the night." She elbowed me in the face, and I swear I actually saw stars. Huh, who knew that wasn't just an expression?
"In the guest room. I spent the night in the guest room."
She snorted. "So you say."
"Look, I am not – N-O-T," I spelled out as I slapped her across the face, "Involved with Felix. He's so not my type."
"Rich," she said, racking her fingernails across my cheek. "Titled." She grabbed a handful of hair and pulled. "Tight ass. Not your type?"
I tried to shake my head, but her grip on my hair was too strong. Instead, I wrapped my one good leg around her middle and pinned her to the ground. "No."
"Oh really?" She wiggled, twisting out from under me. "Then what is?"
My mind instantly flashed on a dark stubbled jaw, a sleek panther trailing down one thick bicep, and a pair of dark espresso eyes.
But instead of answering, I rolled to the right, twisting Wonder Boot under me and pinning her beneath its bulk. I grabbed both her hands and sat on her chest.
"Ha! Who's girly now, huh?" I asked.
She narrowed her eyes at me. Then looked to her right.
We'd rolled along the floor until we were right next to the bed. And the gun.
Oh shit.
In one swift movement she reached up and had the gun in both hands.
A wicked grin overtook her features. Made all the more creepy looking by the fact that our tussle on the floor had her white blonde hair sticking up like an Edgar Winter Mohawk.
"Get off me," she seethed between clenched teeth.
I put my hands up in a surrender motion and slowly stood up.
"What's going on out there. Who won?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked from the bathroom.
"Shut up!" Charlene yelled. Punctuating this by shooting at the bathroom door.
I thought I heard Mom's voice shout a "Holy shit," but my mother never swore.
"You," Charlene said, straight-arming the gun at me. "You have been more trouble than you're worth. Up against the wall."
I complied, my hands still up, backing up until I felt my back hit the wallpaper.
"Just tell me one thing," I said, doing a silent prayer that someone – anyone – had heard the gunshots.
She narrowed her eyes at me. "A dying request?"
"Why kill Gisella? Was it because she was getting sloppy?"
She shook her head. "Gisella was always sloppy. She was so obvious no one would have ever suspected her."
"So then why kill her?"
Her eyes went cold. "Because of Felix. I killed her because she was dating Felix. Felix was mine! He wasn't supposed to marry her. There was no way I could let that greedy little stick figure ruin everything. Felix belongs to me. That castle belongs to me!" She paused, reigning in her volume. "And, so, I had to put an end to our business arrangement."
She took a step forward, the gun pointed at my chest. "Just like I'm putting an end to this farce. Goodbye – Maddie," she said, her voice low, her eyes flat.
Chicken that I am, I closed my eyes. I know. Silly. But if my brains were going to be splattered all over this lovely Parisian hotel room, that wasn't the last thing I wanted to see.
I held my breath and felt tears well up.
And my last irrational thought as I stood there was that I was sorry. So amazingly sorry for dragging Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt into this. Sorry that I'd ever thought the killer could be Felix. And most of all, sorry that I'd hurt Ramirez. A picture of his face as he'd stared at me through the doorway of Felix's room haunted me as the tears fell down my cheeks in wet, hot streams. I would never, ever be able to forgive myself for hurting him. I hoped though that maybe, some day, he might forgive me.
I did a little hiccup sob as I heard the chamber of Charlene's gun cock, time seeming to stand still.
I held my breath, turned my head in anticipation.
But the next sound I heard was not the report of gunfire ripping into me, but the sound of a door bursting open.
I peeked one eye open.
"Freeze!" a voice yelled.
I froze. Willing myself not to pee my pants.
Until I realize the command was not directed at me – but at Charlene.
Only she wasn't quite as compliant as I was. She turned her gun on the voice, shooting off two rounds.
"What's going on out there!" Mrs. R cried from the bathroom.
"Duck, Betty," she told my mom.
The voice returned fire, hitting Charlene once in the shoulder and again in the kneecap. She screamed, dropping her gun and falling to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Then three armed officers wearing bullet proof vests ran into the room, converging on Charlene. One applied pressure to her gunshot wounds while another stuck handcuffs at her back and yet a third kept a gun trained on her.
I blinked, the air rushing out of me, the tears flowing freely again, but for a whole different reason as I looked up and saw the fourth guy walk into the room.
Moreau.
I shook my head, my mouth moving but no words coming out. Finally I managed one. "How…?"
Moreau smiled. "You didn't really think I suspected you, did you?"
My shoulders sagged and I crumpled to the ground.
Among cries from the bathroom of, "What the hell is going on out there?!"
Chapter Twenty
I'm not sure how long I was crumpled like that on the floor, but at some point a uniformed officer scooped me up and moved me across the hall to another hotel room full of police scanners, walkie talkies, and other electronic devise I couldn't begin to guess the functions of. He sat me on the edge of the bed and a man in a white uniform with a red cross on it asked me a bunch of questions in French, to which I just shook my head, more tears falling. Finally he gave up, pulling out a first aid kit and checking me from head to toe. I had a few bruises, and very sore roots, but other than that I think he gave me a clean bill of health. I think, as he did it all in French. Though my leg throbbed like crazy under Wonder Boot. I guess fighting off a homicidal maniac was putting a little more pressure on it than Doctor Pontytail would advise.