getting in a town car and driving off.
I recognize Jones as the driver.
Jones, his number-one hit man.
Shit.
He’s not actually going to where Gabrielle’s letter says, is he?
You never know what you’re capable of in self-defense.
My father’s words ring in my ear.
He thinks Gabrielle is going to try to kill him.
He’s going to be more than ready for her with Jones.
She doesn’t stand a chance.
I run down the stairs, yelling, “Gabrielle! Gabrielle!”
I see my mother come out of the kitchen with an apron tied around her waist. “What’s wrong with you, Pascal?”
“Where’s Gabrielle?” I yell, holding her by the shoulders.
She looks absolutely bewildered. “I don’t know. Jolie went for a walk; maybe Gabrielle went with her?”
I let go of my mother and run through the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast, bursting through their back doors and straight to Gabrielle’s room.
“Gabrielle!” I yell, almost stumbling into her room.
There’s no one here.
I’m too late.
And then I hear someone behind me.
I whirl around to see Gabrielle standing in the doorway.
Aiming a gun at me.
This is the second time this year I’ve had a gun aimed at me by someone I love.
Shit.
There it is.
And it doesn’t change anything right now.
“Gabrielle?” I say quietly, trying to catch my breath. “What are you doing?”
Her hand is shaking slightly, and there are tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Pascal,” she says.
“Sorry for what?”
“Put your hands where I can see them,” she says, as if I have another gun on me that I’m going to reach for. She shakes the gun at me, fear coming across her brow. I know that fear can easily cause a gun to misfire, so I raise my hands and stay as still as I can.
“Okay,” I tell her. “It’s okay. I’m not going to move. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want you to talk to me.”
“There’s no time,” she says. “I have to go. And you’re going to let me.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GABRIELLE
The gun is starting to feel slippery in my grip. My palms are sweaty.
But I refuse to let go.
I just wish I weren’t pointing it at Pascal.
“We can talk this through,” he says. I want to. I want to so much, but I don’t have much time. It’s seven, and I’m supposed to get to the meeting point at eight. There’s a chance that his father might not show up, but there’s also a chance he will, and I need to be ready.
“There’s not much to talk about.”
“He knows, Gabrielle,” Pascal says. “He knows about the letters.”
That’s a stunning blow. I feel winded from that admission.
“Good,” I tell him. “Because the letters were for him.”
“I mean he knows you sent them.”
I shake my head. “How?”
“He figured it out. I suppose he knew you were out for revenge, though I’m still trying to piece together why. If you just put the gun down, we can talk about it.”
For a split second, putting the gun down feels like the easiest thing in the world.
Then I realize what that would mean.
He would hold me down.
I would never, ever get my revenge.
I would get something much worse, and Gautier would walk free again.
“So he told you I sent them?” I ask, my voice warbling a little, unsure of everything.
He nods. “He told me it was you. That you wanted revenge. I figured it out earlier, though, when I saw the pages you tried to print on my printer.” Fuck. “Listen, I don’t want to judge you, I just want to listen. I can’t make heads or tails of this, please just try to explain.”
“You’re trying to buy yourself time.”
“I’m trying to save your fucking life.”
“I have to do this, Pascal. I knew you wouldn’t understand. That’s why I never told you.”
“Please, for my sake. You said you love me, Gabrielle. If you truly love me, help me understand what you’re doing and why. I want to help.”
I almost laugh. I’m beyond fucking help now, and he knows it. This is the proof.
“Why did you send the letters?” he asks.
“I wanted a scapegoat,” I admit.
“A scapegoat?” He starts to lower his hands, but I shake the gun, so he raises them again.
“Yeah, a scapegoat. I wanted suspicion to go somewhere else. Everyone would have suspected me, the maid who left suddenly and then just as suddenly came back into his life. I thought the letters would make it look like someone else was after him.”
“Why were the first ones not addressed to him?”
“That was a mistake. I left it off.”
“Then why