Page 31 of Striker's Foul
“Panic alarm at the roadhouse,” Julian yells, then hangs up.
I rush out the door, dialing Gambit as I go. “Something’s going down at the roadhouse. Get everyone round up.”
“On it,” he says, then ends the call.
I know this is Harold making another move. He can’t afford to leave Amelia alive. She’s the only one who can prove she hasn’t spent a penny of that inheritance. He’s maxed out and desperate for the payout on the policy.
“Keep my son here,” I tell the prospect guarding the driveway, and he nods.
I didn’t even tell Jude what’s going on. He’s been seeing a counselor to help with his PTSD. On top of that, Harold cornered him at school, demanding to know if he knew who he was. I love my son. Jude told him nope and that he didn’t care.
Amelia
I’m wiping down the bar top as Les finishes cleaning up the kitchen. The bell dings, but I don’t look up.
“Sorry, we’re closed.”
A loud bang makes me drop to the floor. I look up just in time to see Harold aiming a gun at me.
“Gunman!” I shout, hoping Les and any others hear and get to safety.
“Har—Dad, what are you doing?” I ask, stretching my arm toward the red button under the cash register. I press it, setting off the silent panic alarm.
My other hand instinctively moves to my stomach, where my two tiny babies are growing. Getting pregnant so easily wasn’t as shocking as finding out Luke doubled down. We’re expecting twins.
“Why did you have to come back? Why couldn’t you just stay away? I was perfectly happy with you gone.” Harold’s voice has an edge to it, and I try to peek through the flap on the bar top.
He fires again, shattering the glassware over my head. I’m freaking out. I need to get my employees and myself out of here without him hurting any of us.
“Dad, I told you before, we didn’t have to interact. You didn’t have to acknowledge me, but I had to know about Luke. I had to come back. I wanted Jude to know my home.”
“No,” he screams. “This is my home. And your fuck buddy ruined everything. He found out my secrets. He knows.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care.”
I glance around for a weapon and spot the handgun strapped beneath the bar. I forgot Julian hid it there for me. I didn’t want it, but he said I needed something, just in case.
Moving quietly toward it, I try to keep Harold distracted.
“You have your own life now. A place in DC. A girlfriend, I heard. You don’t have to be a part of our lives.” I try to give him an out.
I remove the gun and flip off the safety, just like Julian taught me. Holding it tight to my chest, I pray I won’t have to use it.
“My girlfriend wants more. She wants kids. She wants to be my wife, but I can’t have a wife.”
“Why can’t you?” I don’t understand.
“Because I’m better known as the widower whose daughter ran off. I get more votes, you stupid girl.”
“Dad—”
“But it will all change now. Lilliana just couldn’t let the disease take her or even kill herself, like I tried to talk her into. All she cared about was you. She wouldn’t leave you without a fight.”
“She did commit suicide.” I don’t want him to know I suspect differently now that I’ve met his mistress.
He scoffs. “I wish. It would have been easier. It was a good thing the sheriff at the time only needed a slip of a few bills here and there to let things slide. I slit her wrists after the sleeping pills I put in her tea took effect. She was in the bath. It was perfect, left no trace. But then that crazy bitch tried to drown her too. Everything turned to complete chaos.”
My breathing sharpens, and my jaw locks up. He murdered my mother. It wasn’t his mistress. It was him. He killed her.
