chime reverberating and counting off the seconds, the beats of Wyatt’s heart—though, she realized, even now her husband could be dead.
Into the den she flew, forcing her tiring legs to keep running, her mind to stay focused, but she was clumsy from the drugs sliding into her bloodstream and she hit her hip on the corner of the desk, then stubbed her toe on a chair. “Ouch! Damn it!”
“Ma’am? Mrs. Church?”
The operator was still on the line. Ava said, “Just, please, listen! I’m telling you Khloe Prescott is stabbing my husband! For God’s sake, send someone. Now!”
“You’re watching this on your phone?” Skepticism.
“I told you, YES!!!!” Frustrated, she rattled off the address. “Get Detective Snyder or Detective Lyons. Please hurry!”
“If you’ll please stay on the line, Ms. Church—”
“I can’t!” she said, and clicked off and tried Dern again. Nothing. Quickly, she texted him:
Khloe stabbed Wyatt. In the attic. Send help!
After sending the text, she switched her phone to silent mode; she couldn’t have it go off and alert anyone hiding in the shadows of her location.
Hurry, Ava, hurry!
Her mind screamed at her, but her body wasn’t complying. All of her movements were sluggish, the sleeping pills taking effect. Still, she pushed onward. She was certain Wyatt kept a pistol locked in his desk; it had been a bone of contention between them when Noah was living in the house.
Of course the drawers were locked! “Come on, come on,” she urged herself, and found the key he kept hidden, one she’d found years before. With fumbling fingers, afraid that Khloe would walk in on her at any second, Ava unlocked the drawer where Wyatt had always kept his gun and yanked the damned thing open.
Empty!
“Damn!”
Her heart sank. But she couldn’t give up. She had to find the damned Ruger he was so proud of. Frantically, she searched the other drawers, flinging them open, tossing out the contents, searching wildly for the gun and coming up with nothing.
Khloe has it!
She’s cut the phone lines and taken the gun.
Now what?
Don’t waste any more time! Get a knife from the kitchen. Quickly! There are half a dozen in the magnetic rack above the stove.
Heart in her throat, Ava crept quietly toward the kitchen. Her stomach jumping, she expected to be attacked at every corner. Who else was in this horrid plot against her? Trent? Jacob? Ian? Were they even around? She’d felt that the house was empty, but obviously Khloe was around. What about Simon? Or Virginia? Did they have any clue that Khloe was a murderess?
Get a grip. Don’t worry about the others. Just deal with Khloe and try to get to Wyatt. There still may be time! Hurry, Ava, move!
She reached the archway into the kitchen, but her movements were slowing, and she had to work hard to stay focused. At the threshold of the hallway, she stumbled slightly, her feet not working properly. Come on, come on! You can do this. Forcing herself, she eased through the darkness, only the palest of light from a far-off security lamp coming through a window and giving any illumination to the Stygian room.
A shadow passed by the window and she nearly screamed before she saw that it was the black cat, hiding on the counter near the sink.
Her fingertips found the big gas stove, and she reached over the burners to the magnetic strips mounted on the wall tiles. Carefully, she ran her fingers over the knives. Feeling the sturdy handle of the butcher knife, she pulled it down and faced the yawning dark archway leading to the back stairs, then decided to take a smaller knife as well and slid it into her pocket. “Okay, bitch,” she said softly, her tongue thick, and she stepped into sheer darkness. Up one step. Then the next. She couldn’t risk the switch or a flashlight. She’d have to climb the stairs quietly, knife raised and—
Creeeeaaaakkk . . .
Far away, a door opened.
Oh, God!
Ava’s heart nearly stopped.
She held her breath, not daring the slightest sound.
Footsteps came cautiously from the stairway above. Someone creeping, hoping not to step on a squeaky step.
Khloe.
Jesus, help me.
Slowly letting out her breath, she stepped backward, down the two steps she’d mounted, silently backing up as her heart thudded and beads of cold, nervous sweat collected on her forehead and palms. The knife in her hand felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds.
You can do this, Ava, you can. Think of Wyatt . . . He cheated on you, yes, maybe even