She Can Kill (She Can Series) (5 page)

Cristan looked for the gun. Its momentum had carried it across the small store.

“What the fuck is going on?” Blue Eyes emerged from behind a display, his arms laden with white Hostess boxes. His gaze darted around the store and landed on his unconscious partner. “Fuck.” He dropped the boxes and pulled his gun from his pocket.

But Cristan was already moving toward him, closing the critical distance. He was on the robber before the gun was leveled. He grabbed the weapon with his left hand, wrapping his fingers over the slide and redirecting the muzzle toward the floor. A solid right cross struck the robber’s jaw. His head snapped back, and Cristan twisted the weapon out of his hands.

Blue Eyes cradled his hand. “You broke my wrist.”

Adjusting his grip on the gun, Cristan aimed at the center of Blue Eyes’s chest. “Get on your knees and put your hands on top of your head.”

Blue Eyes complied. Cristan backed up and positioned his body to cover both robbers with the weapon. But Red Shirt was on his knees, a second gun in his hand. He pointed it at the manager.

“We’re leaving or I shoot him.” He yelled to his partner, “Come on!”

Blue Eyes ran out. Red Shirt backed out of the door, still aiming at the store manager. Cristan tracked him with the gun until both robbers ran around the side of the building, where they presumably had a vehicle.

The store clerk and manager stared, both white faced and open mouthed.

“Have you called the police?” Cristan asked without taking his eyes off the plate glass window, though he doubted the robbers would be back.

The manager’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I hit the panic alarm. The police should be here any second.”

Cristan lowered the gun. The men were long gone. “Kenzie, are you all right?”

She emerged from behind a low refrigerated case, where she’d been crouching. Pale faced and shaking, she clutched the sobbing toddler to her chest and babbled, “Thank you. Yes. Thank you.”

Cristan surveyed his clothes. Blood from the robber’s nose spotted his jeans, sweater, and wool coat.

He should run, before the police arrived. He could swing by the house, change his clothes, and grab the go-bags. He could pick up Lucia and disappear. Their flight plan was well planned and well funded. He didn’t need to take the risk of being exposed.

So, why was he still here?

Sirens approached. A moment later, police cars pulled up and lights pulsed in the store, and Cristan’s chance to flee had passed.

He set the gun on the ground at his feet and lifted his hands to shoulder height as police officers rushed into the store, guns drawn. The manager explained the situation. Cops swept the store and called for an ambulance.

Cristan went outside and dropped to sit on the curb. The enormity of the day’s events washed over him. What was he going to do?

“Are you injured?” A policeman stepped off the concrete apron and scanned Cristan’s body.

“No. It isn’t my blood.” He shook his head. His head and stom
ach reeled with the flux of adrenaline. He breathed through it. He might be out of practice, but this was hardly the first time he had
committed an act of violence. But today, the aftermath felt different,
as if it was no longer a purely physical reaction. Relief—and fear—swirled in his chest. How would he keep a low profile after this?

“What happened?” the cop asked.

Cristan kept his story simple.

“I’ll need you to come to the station.” The cop studied Cristan’s face, as if deciding if he was being truthful. “We’ll need a more detailed statement.”

“Of course,” Cristan said. But as he stared down at his blood-spattered clothes, one question consumed his mind. What now? The quiet life he’d built had come to an end, but that was the risk with basing one’s existence on an elaborate deception. The robbery would draw attention from the police and media, and he needed to avoid scrutiny.

How would he handle Lucia? She’d be upset by today’s incident. How would his daughter react if she knew the truth? That her mother hadn’t died in an automobile accident. The thought of Lucia discovering her true heritage gave him nightmares. He could never tell her. The knowledge would put her at risk—and inspire her anger. He would rather die than lose her love, even if it had been gained in fraud.

No. Lucia would never forgive him if he told her that one week from today marked the twelfth anniversary of her mother’s execution.

CHAPTER SIX

The forearm around her throat was gentle, but Sarah couldn’t breathe.

He’s barely touching you.

“Relax, Sarah,” Brooke Davenport, her self-defense instructor, said in a calm voice. “You know Luke. He won’t hurt you.”

Luke Holloway, Brooke’s man-friend and Internet security consultant, had played the role of attacker in the three previous classes. Sarah knew Luke. Her sister’s neighbor, Mrs. Holloway, was his grandmother. Sarah had no reason to be afraid of him. She even knew exactly what he was going to do, yet every time he touched her, she froze. His body was huge behind her. Well over six feet tall, he towered over her. The padded training suit he wore for protection added bulk to his lean frame.

She had no difficulty practicing when she was paired up with another female student, but that wasn’t very helpful. Women rarely attacked other women.

“You know what to do.” Brooke stood in front of her, her kind brown eyes serious. “Come on, Sarah. I know you can do this.”

Blood rushed in her ears, and Brooke’s face spun. Despite the chilly air in the community center, sweat dripped down her back and soaked her T-shirt. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Luke said in her ear. “Take a deep breath.”

“Visualize the movement,” Brooke said. “Just give me one elbow strike. One. You can do it.”

Sarah breathed through the staccato beat of her heart. This was her fourth class, and she was the only student who couldn’t perform a single self-defense technique on Luke. Her brain reeled with images of Troy’s angry face, and today’s hostile phone call.

“You can do this,” Luke said. He lowered his voice so that only Sarah could hear him. “Don’t let him win.”

Frustration swelled into anger. She was tired of being powerless. Every time she made strides in her new life, Troy erected a new barrier in her path. It had to stop. Now.

Gathering every ounce of strength, Sarah moved her arm and popped an elbow into the padded vest. There were a few additional moves to the technique, but she didn’t get any further. All her brain could process was the fact that she’d done
something
. She broken through her wall of fear.

Luke released her, and she spun around to see his grin. Next to the rectangular mat, a dozen women applauded.

A college-age brunette in yoga pants hooted, “Go, Sarah!”

Sarah stared at Luke. “I can’t believe it. I did it.”

“Attagirl.” He raised his hand for a high five. Light-headed, Sarah lifted a weak arm and they slapped palms. Giddiness flooded her floppy limbs. She needed to start working out. A twenty-minute walk on her lunch break wasn’t enough. “I really did it.”

Brooke smiled wide. “You did.”

Sarah had been afraid she’d never be able to shake the panic-induced paralysis, that she’d be stuck in a permanent state of frozen uselessness. But tonight, she’d taken another step forward.

“Now do it again.” Brooke signaled to Luke.

He moved around her slowly and wrapped his arm around her neck again. This time, Sarah reacted almost instantly. Her elbow connected with his vest. He moved back a few inches and loosened his hold, mimicking the natural reaction to a blow to the solar plexus. Sarah looked over her shoulder, then retracted her arm and jutted her elbow into the palm he held in front of his face. Pivoting, she brought her hands in front of her face and backed away.

Luke grinned. “Yes!”

Joy flooded Sarah. The exercise was staged, but the accomplishment filled her with pride—and hope. Troy wouldn’t give up easily. She knew that, but she would fight for her independence one little step at a time. She had a goal, and she’d reach it if she had to crawl. Troy’s antics were no more than obstacles to be overcome, bumps in her road.

“One more time!” Brooke said.

Before the class finished ten minutes later, Sarah managed to break Luke’s light hold on her wrist twice. She knew he was more aggressive with the other women and very gentle with her, but she didn’t care. She’d get there. Baby steps. If she could do this, everything else would come with time.

“That’s all for tonight,” Brooke said. “Remember, all these techniques are your last resort. Your goal is not to get into a situation to need them. Be safe.”

Brooke folded her floor mats. Luke stripped off his pads. Sweat soaked his T-shirt. The women gathered around Sarah. Their congratulatory back-pats and hugs filled her with warmth.

Sarah retrieved her jacket and purse. Zipping up, she followed the other women out of the brick building into the cold. A damp wind chilled her cheeks and salt crunched under her athletic shoes as she hurried across the lot and got into her van. Sarah locked her vehicle doors and started the engine of her minivan. Keeping all Brooke’s safety tips in mind, she’d parked under a streetlamp.

Luke carried the mats and pads to Brooke’s SUV and loaded the equipment in the back.

Waiting for her van to warm up, Sarah plugged her phone into the charging cord on the console. Before she could set the phone down, it vibrated with an incoming call. Sarah didn’t recognize the number. She hesitated, but when she was away from the girls, she hated to ignore a call. She lifted the phone and pressed Answer.

“You fucking slut. Who was that man at the house?”

Her heart bumped her ribcage. “Troy?”

“Answer me.”

“Did you change your phone number?” she asked.

“Maybe I borrowed a phone from a friend. Don’t change the subject. Who is he, Sarah? Is that why you divorced me? I’ll bet you’ve been fucking this guy for years,” Troy yelled.

Recoiling, Sarah took the phone from her ear. She sent Lucia a quick text,
on my way
.

She hadn’t met Cristan until after she’d left Troy, and the accusation that she’d been unfaithful stung. She took a deep breath. No more games. She couldn’t allow Troy to manipulate her. If she did, it would never end. He would never understand that she was beyond his reach. And since when did he borrow a phone? Two possibilities occurred to her immediately. Either he thought she might not answer, or he didn’t want a record of the call to exist.

Troy yelled, “I want to know who he is, Sarah.”

Her phone vibrated as Lucia responded with
OK
. Knowing the girls were safe, Sarah set the phone on the console and stared at it.

“Sarah, God damn it. Answer me,” Troy’s bellow sounded small and tinny emanating from the speaker on her cell, but in her mind, she heard it at full volume.

Sarah held her finger an inch over the screen. She shouldn’t have to tolerate this abuse. Because that’s what it was. Troy might not be in her car. He might not be able to reach her with a fist, but the cursing and threats and yelling were all blows to her ego—and all designed for intimidation, something he’d perfected in their years together.

Be firm
, her therapist had said,
but do not engage.

“Sarah, are you still there—”

She sucked in some air and interrupted him. “Troy, if you continue to yell, I will hang up.”

He exploded. “What the fuck—”

She touched the red End button, cutting Troy off midrant, and pulled her finger away as if the phone screen had burned her skin. Her heart thudded over the sound of the van’s engine. To a normal woman, hanging up on her ex-husband might not seem like a big deal, but to Sarah, this was another first. Exhilaration and terror swept over her in waves.

A knock on her window nearly sent her into the passenger seat. She pressed a hand against her sternum, where her heart knocked. Brooke stood next to her car, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat. Sarah lowered her window.

“Is everything all right?” Brooke’s perceptive glance swept over Sarah’s face.

“Yes. Fine.” Sarah willed her face to relax, but smiling wasn’t possible.

On the console, her phone buzzed.

“Are you going to answer that?” Brooke asked.

“No.” Sarah met her gaze.

“Sarah, if you need help, please ask for it.” Brooke knew her story.

Most of the town knew about her and Troy. His family owned one of the largest businesses in town, and her father-in-law had been on the town council before he’d gone to jail on corruption
charges. The Mitchells hadn’t exactly kept a low profile in Westbury.

The phone buzzed again. Sarah reached over and deliberately
turned it off. “Thanks for asking, Brooke, but I’ll be fine.”

“Good night then. You made some real progress tonight. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I am. Good night.” Sarah raised the window and watched Brooke walk back to her SUV, then Sarah drove out of the lot.

When she’d first left Troy, the humiliation had been hard to get past. Her face had been battered, her arm broken, and her spirit shattered. There were days when she wanted to run as far away from her hometown as possible and start fresh in another town, where everyone didn’t know about her failures. Gossip was part of living in a close-knit community, but so was support. As much as Sarah wanted to stand on her own, knowing that her friends and family were there for the girls kept her sane.

The drive home was short, and Sarah soon pulled into her driveway. She picked up her phone and turned it back on. Troy had called her three times and left a message. But Cristan had also called.

Taking her keys from the ignition, she tapped Cristan’s name on her screen.

“Sarah,” he answered. “I’m going to be late picking up Lucia. Is that all right?”

His tone was strained. In the background, she heard voices, phones, and movement.

“Of course,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “The Quickie-Mart was robbed tonight.”

“While you were in it?” Concern tightened her grip on her keys.

Why else would he be detained? “I’m afraid so.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m at the police station. There’s paperwork. I’m not sure when I’ll be done.”

“It’s not a problem. Lucia can stay as long as necessary.”

“Thank you.”

“What do you want me to tell her?” Sarah asked.

“She should hear this from me. I’ll call her now and tell her what happened.”

“Keep me updated.” Sarah ended the call. Pressing the voicemail button, she held the phone to her ear while she got out of the car. Better to listen to Troy’s message before she went into the house with the children.

“You shouldn’t hang up on me.” The false calm in Troy’s voice lifted goose bumps on her arms. “I just want to talk. How will we manage our differences if you won’t even have a conversation with me?”

The chill spread through Sarah’s limbs. She had no record of his earlier, threatening call, and he was sure to keep his recorded message civil.

“We have children together, Sarah. The divorce won’t change the fact that I’ll be in your life forever.”