Red Handed(87)

Danielle screamed, the sound of it foreign to her ringing ears, as if it was coming from someone else. “Roman! Oh my God. You killed him. You killed your own son.”

Tasha didn’t shed a single tear. “He made his decision,” she said coldly. “He’s no longer my son.”

Roman lay lifeless on the floor, his blood pooling on the carpet. How could a mother destroy her own child?

Danielle’s body shook violently. A sharp spasm wracked her lower abdomen, stealing her breath, and she tried to curl into herself, wrenching against the restraints.

Was she losing her baby?

Tasha was speaking, but Danielle couldn’t understand her, and it took a moment to realize her stepmother was speaking in her native Russian tongue. Danielle was helpless as she watched the woman she’d once called family lift the candle to the curtain and the fabric go up in flames. Billows of smoke instantly filled the room as the fire roared to an inferno of blazing heat. She coughed, her lungs burning as hot as the drapes, and another cramp squeezed her belly.

Her life couldn’t end this way.

She’d never gotten the chance to tell Cole about the baby. When he learned about her death and that of their unborn child, would he mourn them? Would he blame himself for not protecting them? She didn’t blame him. Not one bit. She should’ve stayed in Michigan, fought harder for their love, rather than give up on him and retreat into a shell like a turtle. She’d allowed life to pass her by when she should’ve held onto it as tightly as she could with both hands. She was a coward. Too afraid of rejection that she hadn’t even taken a chance. She’d thought her old life would keep her safe, but instead it would kill her.

A child’s face flashed before her eyes. A little girl with skin the color of café au lait and a gap-toothed grin that lit up her face. Her daughter laughed as her daddy sent them careening down the hill in their sled, her braids peeking out from under her pink snow hat.

Her child.

Cole’s child.

Another contraction wrapped around her middle. Danielle cried out, the pain of it almost unbearable, and tears streamed down her face.

Tasha pointed the gun at her.

Danielle’s laugh, nothing like her unborn child’s musical one, mixed with her coughs. At least she wouldn’t burn to death.

She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the shot. In her mind, she pictured Cole. His image was so vivid, she could almost smell him beneath the smoke. Hear his voice through the rumble of the flames. He was talking to her. Telling her to hold on. That he’d get her out.

Tasha screamed.

Danielle opened her eyes.

And Cole was there, fighting with Tasha for the gun. His fist plowed into Tasha’s face, and the gun fired, its bang drowned out by the thunder of the blaze engulfing the curtains. Tasha flailed backward, the bullet’s force knocking her into the fire, and she dropped to the floor, the flames licking at her skin.

May she rot in hell.

Danielle opened her mouth to call to Cole, to tell him she loved him, to tell him about their child, but she could only cough, the smoke suffocating her. Spasms rocked her abdomen, one after the other. A heavy weight crushed her chest, and her throat constricted. Despite the bright flames, the room dimmed, swirling like a merry-go-round.

Suddenly, she was shrouded in warmth and floating as if weightless. The acrid air disappeared, and she sucked in a breath.

Her eyes opened to a soot-covered Cole looking down at her, the sun at his back. “Cole,” she said hoarsely. “Am I dead?

He cradled her face in his hands. “No, baby. I’m really here. Everything’s going to be fine. The ambulance is on its way.”

She scanned her surroundings, processing she was outside, in front of her house. How long had she been here? “Tasha tried to kill me. I found a list my father left for me in the music box. I sent it to you by email. It’s got everything we need to bring her Russian crime family down.” Feeling as though she was missing something important, she slowly sat up. “I just sent it to you a little while ago. How did you get here so quickly?”

He supported her with his arm around her back. “I was already on my way here from the airport. I told myself I was protecting you by giving you up, but you were right. I was only protecting my stupid pride. I’ve lived in a hell of my own making these last ten weeks. Even with my sight, I’m blind without you. So after Gracie spoke with Roman this morning about Michael and Rinaldi—”

She hurtled to her feet, stumbling with dizziness. “Roman is inside the den! He might still be alive!”

Cole’s head snapped up toward the house. Sirens sounded in the distance. He plunged his fingers into her hair and cradled her head in his hands, then kissed her hard on her lips. Before she could respond, he tore away from her. “I love you.”