If she didn’t act, she would die as Terry Russel had, at the hands of a sick, angry man. Juno didn’t like those terms.
She didn’t wait: lunging forward, she fired the Taser she’d swiped from the kitchen drawer into his neck. The two-pronged barbs penetrated the skin near Dakota’s pulse, delivering a kick of voltage that made him convulse. In the small space Juno wasn’t able to move in time; Dakota’s left arm swung out and Juno saw stars for a second or two as it made contact with her head. She righted herself, her vision swimming. She felt frantically along the ground for the gun, her fingers scraping at dirt. Juno had used a Taser before, she knew what happened next. He was strong; he’d recover fast. She figured she had less than five seconds to find the gun and shoot Dakota if she didn’t want to die. He roared as he lunged for her, but Juno didn’t shrink back; her hands swept the dirt in frantic arcs. Then her fingertips touched the cool tip of the barrel, and relief briefly found its place in her mind. Before she could get a good grip, Dakota grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, dragging her body painfully over the ground. He tried to get to his feet while holding onto Juno’s arm, but his head connected with the roof of the crawl space with a sickening crack. Dakota was temporarily stunned, loosened his hold on her arm. She rolled because it was the only thing she could do, and she’d seen alligators subdue their prey that way. She barely heard his cry of pain over the roaring panic in her own head. Her right hand found the gun. Juno wrapped her fingers around the barrel, pulling it toward her chest. She had just enough time to roll onto her back and point the gun upward. She pulled the trigger.
33
WINNIE
Winnie woke to the sound of sirens. Her first thought was of Samuel. Where was Samuel? He was buried in the crawl space! She bolted upright and the room righted itself, but her head didn’t. No. Samuel was alive. He wasn’t the one buried in the crawl space. He was her baby. Hers. She pressed her palms to her face, pain shooting through the backs of her eyes and landing in the base of her skull. And then the realization: her hands were free. She remembered lying on the floor, still gagged, one of her knickknacks smashed to pieces, orange shards of porcelain that looked like mandarin peels flecking the rug. She saw blood on her clothes next, and in a rush the last hours rose into her memory, choking her with shock.
Dakota had shot Nigel. Nigel was dead. She hauled herself to her feet, closing her eyes against the pain chewing at her brain. Strips of severed duct tape clung to her clothes and she brushed them off. Had Dakota cut her free? When she was upright, she took a few tentative steps forward until she had a clear view into the apartment. Terry Russel was no figment of her imagination; the old woman lay sideways with her back to Winnie. A groan came from somewhere deep in Winnie’s throat where she tasted blood and bile. Where was her brother—why would Dakota do this? The nausea unfolded and Winnie doubled over, thinking she was going to be sick. Had he cut her hands free? No. She didn’t have time to be sick. Straightening up, Winnie started to stumble forward. She had to find Samuel—her miracle baby, her baby—not Josalyn’s. She’d prayed to God for a child, like Hannah had in the Bible, even though she’d not felt worthy to be a mother after what she’d done. And then, when she’d found out she was pregnant shortly after that horrible night, it was like God had forgiven her, he’d trusted her with her own baby. She’d done a terrible thing to Josalyn Russel, and she’d been too much of a coward to make herself accountable for what she’d done, but Samuel was hers alone. She reached the foyer, stepping over Nigel, refusing to look at him. She didn’t want to think about Josalyn right now. The front door was wide open, furniture scattered and shoved in corners like someone had kicked it around in a hurry. From outside came the sounds of sirens gusting into the house along with cold, fresh air. Gasping at the feel of it on her