Blood in the Water(81)

Her pistol was tucked away in the bathroom, waiting for the right moment. And she knew Valentine would take her in there, so he could drown her and slice her veins open.

Don’t think about it, focus on the plan.

She replayed the afternoon in her mind. After Vick had swept the place for video cameras again, they’d gone to work. Byron had walked her through several scenarios, and gave her a quick rundown on several tactics she could take with Valentine. She chose the one which felt the most natural. Then they’d moved on to munitions.

Byron was a good instructor, and she’d been able to hit the bullseye on the target after a couple of hours’ practice. Of course, that was nothing like hitting a real, flesh and blood, human being.

He told her the self-preservation instinct would take over, and she’d be able to take the shot when the time came.

Jane prayed he was right.

A scrape of metal, a key turning in the lock.

Valentine.

The intrusive bastard had a key to her house—of course, he did—he’d invaded every area of her life. The door screaked open, and there he stood in the meager moonlight, dressed in jeans and a black hoodie. It was pulled low over his face like a shroud. He looked like the Grim Reaper, death himself come to claim her.

“Hello, Jane.”

“Oscar.” Her tone was short and clipped. “Why don’t you come inside?” One step over the threshold and she could legally blow him away.

The thought almost made her giddy.

“All in good time.” A smile bowed his lips. “Is the mobster here?” He peered over her shoulder.

“I kept my word, it’s just you and me.”

“You’ll forgive me, if I don’t trust you.”

Standing next to him was Brady, her small hand enveloped in his. She was in pigtails and a white organza dress. Jane remembered it from last Easter. They’d gone on a community egg hunt together and had a picnic afterward. The memory felt foreign, a relic of a long time ago.

The bastard must’ve dressed her since she would’ve been wearing pajamas last night.

Tears filled Brady’s eyes, causing them to well. “A-aunt Jane.” She stepped closer, and Valentine squeezed her hand so hard, Brady gasped in pain. “Stop. You’re hurting me.” Brady tugged at his arm, trying to twist free.

“Let her go!” Jane’s fists clenched.

“Why would I let go of such a good bargaining chip?” He swept the girl up in his arms and kissed her cheek, eyes on Jane all the while, taunting her.

Jane wished she’d tucked the gun into the back pocket of her trousers. She imagined the cold steel in her hands, how good it’d feel to watch the bullets pierce him—to make him afraid the way he’d terrorized those women. For once, she wanted to wield power over him—to finish this, but she couldn’t.

Not yet.

If she tried something now with Brady in the mix, they’d all die here today. Jane had to lull him into a false sense of security. Let him think he’d won.

Valentine stepped over the threshold, then closed and locked the door behind himself. He set Brady on her feet once more.

The scene was set. One of them wouldn’t be making it out of this apartment alive.

“It’s okay, honey. I’m here.” Jane knelt, so she was eye-level with Brady. She did her very best to appear reassuring.

“He hurt my mommy.” The words came out in a pained whisper.

Her heart twisted. “I know. I’m so sorry. Did he hurt you? Touch you?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t molest children.”

“You don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.” Jane didn’t bother looking up when she spoke to him.

“Stop fussing over her and pay attention to me.”

Jane stayed right where she was, but she lifted her head to glare at him.

If looks alone could kill.

“I’m sorry, did I question your honor? You’re only a killer, then? How noble.” Her temper got the better of her.

Brady would never again be the same carefree little girl. He might not have molested her, but he’d still stolen her innocence all the same.

“Yes, and you’re going to find out firsthand tonight.”

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing her fear. As a sadist, he thrived on it, drank it in.

“I have your word you won’t harm her? It’s my life for hers, right?”

“Aunt Jane, please—”

“Shh, Brady, it’s okay.”

“Like I said, I don’t hurt children. She hasn’t grown into a faithless whore—yet, so Brady hasn’t earned any punishment.”

Jane winced. “I don’t want her to hear any more of this.” On the coffee table, she’d laid out her tablet and a pair of earbuds—along with her cell phone, as a show of good faith. “Brady can stay in the spare bedroom and watch Tangled.”