Expired Getaway (Last Chance County #7) - Lisa Phillips Page 0,36

the house. Aiden was going to do whatever he wanted. What was the point worrying about him? She had a bigger threat to deal with right now.

Clarke’s words played in her mind. Like a stuck record to remind her that he had not only bested her, he’d also told her that he’d deal with her later. As if. Bridget didn’t need to be any more irritated than she already was, but it sure served to energize her muscles. Adrenaline born of frustration was the best kind.

She could deal with that.

Bridget pulled out the stun gun she’d grabbed from her duffel. She didn’t need to be carrying a loaded weapon when there were cops around—even if she could produce a valid license for it. She didn’t like questions.

The mark on the door was definitely a bloody handprint, and it was wet. That meant fresh.

She felt the urge to glance at the spot on the grass where her father had bled out. I shouldn’t be glad, but I kind of am. He’d never been nice to her, and that was the best she could say. The worst it ever got? That was the night she’d left town. When he’d kicked her out—literally.

Bridget eased the door open. She could hear someone rustling around. If it was Clarke, he wasn’t going to get the drop on her this time. And if he’d been hurt? She wanted to shake the hand of whoever had made him bleed.

The living area was a mess, and it smelled. Not the familiar musk of growing up surrounded by dirty dishes he’d yell at her to take care of. Or a rug that needed vacuuming with a vacuum that was broken, and a constant promise that he would fix it when “he was good and ready to fix it.” She gritted her teeth as memories swamped her.

Could be an animal making that noise, but she figured this critter was much bigger.

Her old bedroom was nothing but boxes piled up. Her dad should’ve just shut the door and left it that way—the same way he’d shut her out.

Bridget rounded the corner and found Clarke in the bathroom, where he rummaged through the medicine cabinet. “Who do I have to thank for this?”

Clarke snatched his gun from the counter, raised it at her…and stopped. The second he realized it was her, he lowered the gun. “Get out of here.”

“So you can hurt more people.” She almost smiled. “Who shot you?”

Blood was running down his side. Too bad it was just a graze and not an actual shot. Bridget needed to get his gun from him so she could subdue him. Aiden could use his cuffs, she supposed. Clarke would be secured and no longer a threat.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re dead anyway.”

Her stomach dropped. “What did you do?”

The corner of his mouth curled up.

“I mean, in addition to leaving me for dead at the office and shooting at me in the woods.” Before she was then hit by a cop car.

“Well, I didn’t know that was you, did I now?”

She figured that was unlikely. “You need to stand down. Whatever’s going on, we can work it out.”

He huffed out a breath she figured he intended as amusement, then pressed gauze to his side. Teeth gritted. “Feel free to stick around, but I have stuff to do.”

“Like get the password to access the database from Millie?” Which he couldn’t do if he killed her. “Then what?”

“Long as I’m clear, doesn’t matter. And I have a new plan for that.”

“That’s how it is? You don’t care who you hurt?”

He shot her a look. “What do you think?”

She thought it was good he hadn’t yet realized how she was edging her way closer and closer. Almost close enough to grab for his gun.

He stared at her. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”

The gun was still on the bathroom counter. If she could subdue him, she could grab it.

Bridget lunged at him, tackled his middle and sent them both crashing into the shower curtain.

Clarke roared. She heard his head hit the tile, and they tumbled into the bathtub in a tangle of limbs. The next few seconds passed in a blur of grunts and pain. Her head exploded. There was no time to figure out what she’d smacked the back of her skull into. Bridget kneed him—close enough to his wound that she scored a hit.

He screamed and his eyes rolled most of the way back in his head. Before he managed to pull himself back from passing