Page 11 of Dead Girl Running

That was what he had promised, and she believed him.

But first…he would kill Kellen.

Cecilia scrambled to her feet.

He would kill Kellen.

She ran through red-leafed huckleberry patches.

Why hadn’t she told Kellen about the baby? Why hadn’t she told Kellen about the cruelties?

Because she was embarrassed to be so stupid as to pick an abusive man, humiliated to be so weak and afraid. In withholding that information, she had sent Kellen to her death.

Cecilia reached the rise half a mile above the cottage and stopped, gasping, holding her broken ribs. The sun shone on the old tar-and-gravel roof. Yellow daylilies surrounded the foundation…

Gregory walked around the corner of the house holding something metal, long and cruel-looking.

He would hurt Cecilia. He would kill her.

Cecilia froze, gasping, fear and chills holding her in place.

He would hurt Kellen. He would kill her.

Desperation and guilt fought to send Cecilia forward.

Gregory knelt at the gas meter, using something—a pipe wrench?—to fiddle with the connection.

Cecilia scanned the area, looking for Kellen, and she spotted her. There she was, inside the house, sitting on the couch, facing the front door, her back to the picture window, waiting to confront Gregory.

Gregory stood, dropped the wrench onto a clump of golden daylilies, wiped his hands on his dark trousers. He was handsome, tall, strong. And so cruel… He walked briskly around the house, as if on some kind of timetable.

Without him in sight, Cecilia was able to move. She ran toward the house. Through the window, she saw him come through the front door—with a pickax, its long spike lethal and shining.

“No!” Cecilia ran faster. “Kellen! Come on!”

Kellen didn’t budge. Maybe she was afraid.

No, not Kellen. Even if she was afraid, she would react.

As Gregory approached, Kellen slumped forward on the cushions.

What had he done?

Gregory walked around the couch, behind Kellen, lifted the pickax, slammed it into her head.

Her skull split. Gore…blood…death. Oh God, death!

Cecilia screamed, stumbled to a halt, covered her face with her arms.

Then…a whiff of gas. And she knew. She looked.

Inside the house, Gregory walked to the drawer where they kept the lighter for the fire.

I’ll kill you and I’ll kill myself.

That was what he intended. But he hadn’t killed Cecilia. He had killed Kellen and now—

He clicked the lighter a few times. No spark. No flame.

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