Page 106 of Strangers She Knows

“WhenI shoot you.”

“When you shoot me,” Kellen conceded, “the game is over.”

“The game ends today anyway.”

“I imagine it does.” Kellen glanced out the window. “You stabbed me.”

“In the hand,” Mara said scornfully. “A tiny wound.”

“You shot at me. Killed my bike. Knocked me flat.” Kellen placed her palm on the spot over her ribs where the bicycle spoke had pierced her. “I lost a lot of blood.”

“Poor you.”

“I spent the day on the run.”

“Like I didn’t?” Mara spoke through clenched teeth.

“You’re the one who made the rules!”

“I intended to drive the golf cart!”

“If you’d told me, I would have left the battery in it.” Kellen tried to play it straight, to keep mockery out of her voice.

Mara’s hands tightened on the shotgun, so apparently she wasn’t successful.

“What? Your father was a professor of English composition and you don’t appreciate sarcasm?” Kellen frowned. How did she know Mara’s father was a professor of English composition?

Last night, in a nightmare, Mara had told her.

Poor Mara. A childhood of misery followed by an adult life of creating misery. Kellen had to warn her. “You’re a human being who has made her choices, dreadful, miserable choices. You’re responsible for your life, and for what happens next.”

“What does that mean?”

Kellen had to, in all conscience, make the offer. “It means you should quit now, and pay the price for the crimes and the murders.”

“To hell with you!” But Mara wasn’t steady, almost as if she comprehended the warning, even agreed with it.

“All right. We’ll do it your way.” In a reasonable tone, Kellen said, “You slept well last night, longer and better and in more comfort than I did. I’m the one with all the handicaps. Even if you didn’t hold the shotgun, you’d win.”

“Damned straight.” Mara nodded. Her grip loosened. Kellen had talked her down.

“What time is it?”

“Ten.”

“In the morning? Tsk. You let me sleep in.”

A bloody red climbed up Mara’s neck, her cheeks, her forehead. “I didn’t let you do anything.” She waved a hand at Kellen’s door. “Didn’t you hear me pounding?”

“I didn’t hear a thing.” Kellen told the truth.

Mara did not, could not, like that Kellen had slept through her assault.

“Hold on. I’ve got to hit the john and have some breakfast. Then we’ll get started.”

Incredulous, Mara said, “You think I’m going to let you—”

Kellen had spent six years in the Army in the toughest environment surrounded by soldiers, men and women, who daily faced fear, death, and bodily functions. She looked at Mara straight on. “You want to fight about whether I get to pee? Because you’re likely to get wet.”

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