Page 121 of Our Little Secret

Right now Brooke needed to focus on Gideon and finding a way to get rid of him.

Forever.

She had a gun.

If only she had the guts.

“One way to find out,” she said to the empty car as she drove through the South End of Seattle, the wipers slapping the rain from the windshield, headlights bright on the shimmering pavement.

At the first stoplight, her stomach in knots, her muscles tense, she reached under the seat, found the pistol, and slipped it into her jacket pocket. She followed with the clips, listening to the wind howl over the rapid beating of her heart.

“God help me,” she whispered, the interior of the Explorer turning an eerie red from the stoplight.

You can still change your mind. Just go home to your family and cozy home on the hill overlooking the city. Give this up.

But then she’d never be free.

She swallowed back her fears.

The light turned green.

She hit the gas.

CHAPTER 27

You can do this, she told herself as she sped north, the city of Seattle towering on the hillside, skyscrapers knifing upward lighting the dark night. She couldn’t put up with his intimidation a second longer. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life jumping whenever the phone rang, or a motorcycle raced by, or her damned doorbell chimed. She couldn’t continue with her family at risk.

You can do this. You can do this. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the determination and fear in her eyes.You have to.

“Give me strength,” she whispered when the marina came into view, vessels shifting on the dark, ever-moving water, the rain sheeting down the windshield. The single, tall security lamp cast a bluish glow over the scattered vehicles and uneven pavement, rain swirling in its weak illumination.

Brooke threw herself out of the car and into a wall of cold rain. She ignored it. Propelled by determination and fury, she strode along the dock.

TheMedusa, moored as it always was between other craft, rocked in the pitching water. A few vessels showed tiny spots of illumination visible through their portholes.

Gideon’s boat was dark.

Fine.

If he wasn’t here, she’d wait.

Before she walked up the gangway she turned and squinted into the rain, just to make sure. And yes, his motorcycle was parked in its usual spot, chrome handlebars and exhaust pipe glinting in the poor light.

Good.

She felt the hard weight of the gun in her pocket and, in the other, the lighter, malleable package.

It was time to turn the tables.

She stepped onto the decking, the rain pouring down, sliding down her jacket. The icy wind snatched her hood.

“Gideon!” she yelled, shielding her eyes against the rain.

The boat creaked as it moved with the tide rolling into the sound.

“Gideon!”

No response.

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