“Open it,” he ordered.
“No.”
“One last chance.”
The clock in the kitchen continued ticking.
Thirty seconds.
Rachel suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Marcus’s arm.
The movement was not brave or graceful.
It was desperate.
The g/u/n slipped from his hand, struck the wooden floor, and slid beneath a small table.
Marcus shoved her away.
She fell against the wall.
I twisted free.
The front door burst inward.
Everything happened at once—shouts, boots, raised hands, Marcus dropping to the floor, Rachel screaming that she surrendered.
Within seconds, both of them were restrained.
An officer guided me away while another retrieved the g/u/n.
Marcus lifted his head.
“This is her fault!” he shouted. “She tricked us!”
The clock in the kitchen began chiming.
Twenty minutes had passed.
But the chime was not what I had been waiting for.
My attorney’s car appeared at the end of the driveway.
