He nods.
“You deleted the files—Lena, Daniel—and then left the false trail. You knew I’d made copies because you reactivated my camera, but you didn’t know where I’d hidden them,” I guess. “You hacked my alarm system at home, broke in, but I woke up before you found the flash sticks.”
Another nod.
“Dr. Gentry. He’s your father, isn’t he? Your relationship broke down when he met Lena. He married her, this girl only a few years older than you, and you couldn’t stand it.”
“She ruined my family!” he hisses, his jaw tightening, his fingers clenching around the gun he’s holding up. “Put it down!” he shrieks.
I gently place my Glock on the desk.
“Good. Now, stand still. Hands out.”
“Doll, don’t do this,” I whisper.
His hold on the gun wavers, and I take my chance.
“You’re scarin’ me, Marsh.”
“I hate it when you’re scared! It makes it hard!”
“Is that why you used hemlock? You didn’t have to deal with them begging. They were paralyzed. They couldn’t fight you.”
“Yes! Lena was easy. Her stupid split personalities made her easy! She was three people. One with my dad, one with Daniel, one with Ryan.” His hands shake.
I drop my eyes to the barrel of his Beretta, which is trembling with his unsteady hold. “And Daniel?”
“He was in the way! He recognized me when I attacked him for her salad. It was unfortunate. But necessary. He was just like her. A life-ruiner.”
I can barely breathe, the adrenaline pounding through my body the only thing stopping me from fainting.
“Portia was unfortunate, too. But a cheater. All the same. And you! You let them carry on! Those cases keep your business running. You live off cheaters and liars.” Marshall’s voice takes on an animalistic tone. “They all died. Except Portia. She realized what was happening before I could burn her like I did Daniel and my dear old stepmother. Dirty whore.”
“Marshall, I’m not those people. I do my job, just like you do.” I swallow. “Put down the gun.”
Where the fuck is Drake?
“No.” He tightens his grip on the weapon and moves his finger to the trigger.
Anyone else would miss the tremble on his finger, but I don’t.
“If you’re gonna shoot me, shoot me,” I taunt him. “I won’t beg you not to.”
His expression morphs, and his finger presses the trigger in what seems like slow motion, the barrel facing right at my chest.
I drop, pull the gun from my ankle, aim, and shoot.
My door bangs open just as my gun recoils. The bang of the door and the loud boom of my shot ring out through my ears, and I curl into a ball behind my desk. I squeeze my eyes shut as footsteps thunder through my office, deafeningly loud to my ear that’s pressed against the floor.
“Noelle!”
“Here,” I call back to Drake, sitting up.
There’s no pain or aching or stinging, and a quick rubdown of my body with my hands proves that I’m definitely not bleeding.
“Did I hit him?” I ask, using my desk to stand up. I look around, seeing that Marshall is cuffed and has a large, white bandage being held to his shoulder.
Two strong arms wrap around me. My face is buried in a solid, warm chest, one that smells like freshly burned logs and hot apple cider tinted with gunpowder.
“Hey,” I say into Drake’s chest. “I hit him, right?”
His hold on me relaxes just the tiniest bit. “Yeah, you hit him. In the shoulder.”
“Oh. Cool.” I want to hug him, but instead, I rest my hands at his trim waist. “Now what?”
“Now, the paramedics come, he gets checked out and arrested,” he sighs, letting me go just enough that he can turn and bark orders to someone on the other side of the room. Then, with his hands on my upper arms, he looks at me. “And I need a statement, ma’am.”
“Sexy.” I roll my eyes. “I have his confession on video, you know. And your unexpected hug.”
He pulls me back against him and brushes his lips over mine once.
“And now your unexpected kiss,” I mutter. “Thought we were fighting.”
“We are. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be glad you’re all right, cupcake.” He brushes his thumb down the side of my face. “And swallow my pride ’cause you were right.”
“I’m a woman. There was never any doubt about the accuracy of my theory.” I sniff in mock affection and look away.
The adrenaline is subsiding from my body now, the recent thundering pound of fear giving way to the dreaded chill of reality. I wrap my arms tight around myself as a shudder rocks me.
“You okay?” Drake asks, his eyes on mine.
I nod. “Just, you know. Coming back down from my heroic high.”
“Badass gene strikes again.” He lets out a small laugh and shrugs his leather jacket off, swinging it around my shoulders and pushing me down into my chair.
I wobble as I sit down, and my heart sinks. “Aw, man.”
“What?”
I lift my foot onto my other knee and stare at the shiny, black shoe, less half a stiletto heel. “My shoe’s broken.”
“You just shot a man and you’re worried about your shoe?” Drake deadpans.
My eyes meet his. “What? He’s still alive, and he’s arrested, and since I have his confession on camera”—I cock my thumb toward the camera in the corner—“I’m taking five seconds to lament my broken shoe. I’m traumatized. I just shot a man who was my employee. I’m coping with this in my own way.”
Drake closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Hell if I know why I worried you were dead. The man upstairs would never inflict that kind of pain on himself,” he finishes on a mutter, his eyes opening. “Come on, cupcake.” He takes my hands and heaves me up. “I’m taking you in so we can close this case.”
“Are you going to handcuff me, too?”
“You make me sick,” Brody gags as I walk past.
I grin at my little brother then glance back at Drake as I hobble across my hallway and down the stairs. “Well?”
Drake takes another deep breath and all but pushes me outside just after the medics rush in. “I usually like to get past five dates before I handcuff a woman. Unless she’s a criminal.”
“I did just shoot someone.”
“Get in the car, Bond.”
“We’re still fightin’.”
“Noelle, we could get married and we’d still fight mid vow.”
“You sayin’ you wanna marry me, Detective?” I flirtatiously bat my eyelashes.
He scowls. “Move your ass before I spank it.”
“Are you allowed to threaten that?”
“Move!”
“Yes, sir.”
I hit send on the message to Gio, telling him I won’t be able to make our date next week. No excuses—just that I won’t be able to.
After Marshall was carted out of my office, I realized that life is short. Cliché as hell, I know. But I didn’t. All it would have taken for my life to be over in a blink was for him to gather the courage to pull the trigger all the way.
Luckily for me, he was too chicken for that.
Unluckily for him, I wasn’t.
I’ve seen guns before, sure, but I’ve never looked at one and thought, Oh shit. I could die. That sounds totally dumb, but I’ve never had one pointed at me as brutally as the way he did, despite his reservations. Despite the fact that I knew, deep down, he wouldn’t actually pull the trigger and shoot me.
At least, I’d like to think he wouldn’t.
I handed Holly Woods PD my security footage with his confession as soon as I was released from questioning. There was nothing I could tell them that my tape couldn’t show them. I told them that—several times—but I’m sure Drake was just being a giant pain in the ass by keeping me there and asking me the same shit over and over.
He’s lucky I didn’t shoot him. My trigger finger was hella twitchy last night.
Now, it’s Sunday, and Nonna has successfully convinced me to come to church with her and thank God for having spared me.