Still Life: The Randi Lassiter Series, Book 1 (27 page)

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Randi had to look beaten, and it certainly wasn’t hard to fake that. She watched Georgia carefully as she tilted her head back and downed the drug. She had known Georgia McGovern for years, but this person was a stranger.

Randi took a deep breath and swooned as if it had already taken some effect. She noticed Georgia’s guard drop, just a little.

It was now or never. Randi grabbed the rope Georgia had left on the floor next to her and threw it, along with the vial into Georgia’s face. It was a small distraction, but it was enough.

She scrambled to her feet and faked a run at the door. Georgia made to cut her off, but instead of bolting for the hall, Randi made for the window behind her.

Within three steps, her legs began to slow. Her feet had gone numb. She couldn’t believe how quickly the drug was taking effect. Randi nearly spilled headfirst out the window. The upside to that was she had pushed the screen out, bent frame and all. It skittered across the steep roof and plunged over the edge.

Shit!

She managed to get over the sill and heard Georgia yell as she ran up to grab her.

Randi screamed as she dropped onto the roof and hit the shingles with her shoulder. Her head was woozy and Randi hoped it was the hit on her head and not the drug causing it.

She collapsed and rolled down the roof.

As she spilled over the edge, the exact thought that ran through her mind was
kiss your ass good-bye girlie
and then she landed on the porch roof below with a thud. Randi lay on her back with the wind knocked out of her. She looked back up, expecting to see Georgia’s demented face at the window and was disappointed. She must be taking the stairs.

“Get your ass in gear!” she yelled at herself.

Randi rolled over on the flat tarpaper roof and crawled across it. White skirt and cute slingbacks be damned. She couldn’t feel her limbs, which was great as she ran this pain-filled obstacle course but sucked ass because those same limbs were floppy.

At the guttered edge she looked down, trying to convince herself that the patchy bark landscaping below was a blanket of mossy green and not a bed of giant splinters.

Dammit barked, grabbing her attention. She saw the car sway as he bounced and pulled on the leash. The car was on the far side of the yard but for Randi it might has well been back in Mt. Ouisco.

There was no use wasting time. Randi closed her eyes and rolled.

She pictured hitting the yard mid-roll and continuing down the gentle slope until she came to a safe stop. But the reality went a bit different.

Instead, as she left the roof, her sweater snagged on a nail, which opened her roll into a midair Flying Wallendas trapeze spin. Luckily, it meant she also missed landing on the inverted wine bottles some creative moron thought was a decorative choice for edging. Who does that?

Her wrist caught the porch post and put enough English on her spin to toss her into a bird’s nest bush right next to the house.

It was no small feat for Randi to get to her legs. She had almost no control of her limbs. But her mind was clear. Clear enough to realize what would happen if she didn’t get her ass in gear. The upside was she didn’t feel a thing from the fall. And in its own way, that thought scared her nearly as much as wondering where Georgia was.

Randi teetered on her legs with arms out for balance and made a run for the car. But even as she wobbled away like a drunk running from a house fire she realized she’d never be able to drive once she got there. Maybe she should have gone for the garden shed. Or made a run for the woods. Hope to hide. Too late now.

At least if she made it to the car she could do something… But what? Put up the top? Oh yeah, that’ll keep a knife out. She could let the dog go. Eureka! He could do a Lassie and fend off the bitch. Unlike her, at least he stood a chance.

Focus, Randi. Live…just live
. She was nearly at the car when Georgia caught up and yanked her backward. Randi spun into the grasping arm and now faced Georgia and her knife.

There was a sharp pinch in Randi’s side and she looked down. Georgia had a hold of the knife handle, but Randi couldn’t see the blade. She felt pressure where Georgia’s hand was and knew the blade was inside her.

Randi pushed hard against Georgia and with one last effort unsheathed her body from the knife. She tipped sideways onto the car and crumpled to the ground. Her hand went to her side and it came away bloody.

Georgia stood a few feet away. Randi tried to get up but couldn’t. With great effort, she managed to drag herself around to sit up against her car tire. She should have stayed on the damn roof. Randi couldn’t even raise her hand to defend herself now.

There was a commotion above her inside the car and Randi saw a dark blur leap into the air and onto Georgia.

“Dammit!” Georgia screamed as the big dog attacked. Randi almost laughed, but by this point she was barely conscious.

Randi felt her body slide down the side of the tire to the ground. She didn’t know what Georgia had given her, but she didn’t think she would die from it. Georgia had wanted that pleasure for herself. It was a small consolation as she realized she was going to bleed to death anyway.

The last thing Randi had felt before she lost consciousness was Dammit laying his monstrous head on her shoulder and quietly moaning. Randi was strangely content with the idea that this would be the last thing she would hear as she drifted away.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

It was three weeks before Randi discharged from hospital. CJ and Sarah had visited every day. Detective Watman—Terri—had come to the hospital for the better part of three days once she was lucid enough to give testimony. She let Randi tell her story in her own time as she worked through the trauma of it. Between her slow recuperation and the reliving of the horrific details, she was in no hurry.

Randi was told that Detective Jon Bricksen would not be in to speak with her on the case due to their previous close contact. They didn’t want a conflict of interest that might jeopardize the case against Georgia McGovern, who’d managed to survive Dammit’s attack.

Georgia refused to say a word, but had already hired the best defense attorneys her money could buy. Based on the information Randi gave on Georgia’s confession, the FBI was already delving deep into her background, which included several states and many missing acquaintances. There would be a string of murders for Jon’s ex to shore up. She’d be busy for quite a while.

The stab wound in Randi’s side had narrowly missed any vital organs, but would still take time to heal completely. There would be no rushing the process, the doctor informed her. She had a pulled ligament in her shoulder as well and there was a lump on her wrist from hitting the post. No cast needed, just a sling for a few weeks.

The day she was released she was officially declared whole, but Randi knew better. Her body was intact, her mind…not so much. It would be a long time before she’d get a full night’s sleep without seeing Georgia’s savage face, if ever.

There were other memories Randi would never forget as well. Jon’s distant voice calling her over and over on an intermittent stream of consciousness. His encouraging words of love would wash in like an ocean tide, calling to her as she clung to life that day in the house.

The drug had incapacitated her, but there had been sporadic moments of clarity, moments she could fully comprehend the outside world but was unable to respond. Among those were flashes of Jon cradling her, wiping her brow, kissing her unresponsive face.

Through all this, Randi reached an epiphany of her own. Life was too short to not live it to the fullest. She needed to stop being afraid to fail. Stop being afraid to love someone again—broken heart be damned. If she experienced love for only a moment, it was a moment to be treasured.

“We’re here.” CJ announced as they pulled up to Randi’s house. She waited for CJ to come around and help her out of the car. She had just reached a standing position when she heard toenails gouging the porch boards.

Dammit was dragging Jon down the steps. He had to double-fist the leash to keep the dog from bowling into her.

Randi lifted her eyes to Jon as the dog drew them closer together. Time stood still as they took in the sight of one another, smiles plastered on enraptured faces.

“If the two of you don’t start swapping spit soon I’m calling my sex therapist.” CJ swiped at her own moist cheeks with the back of her hand. “Bah! I’m out of here, you kindergartners are on your own.”

They laughed. With his eyes locked on hers, Jon stepped over and cupped her face in his large warm hand. Randi leaned into it. Jon thumbed a tear from her cheek and placed his lips where it had been. Randi melted into his arms.

She was home.

About the Author

A transplant from Colorado, DB Kennison lives in Wisconsin—the badger state, where she fell in love with small town life, good beer, and great cheese. However, she still fails miserably at euchre.

She currently lives in the middle of nowhere with a handsome, supportive husband, and three spoiled dachshunds which vie for position as daily muse.

As someone with an ever changing, vivid imagination—one that is, at times, hard to turn off—she is always weaving tales. Now, she’s putting them down on paper.

What an adventure!

You can visit her website at
www.dbkennison.com
and her blog at
www.whispersintheair.com

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