Page 152 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
“Wrong, Emmy,” she hissed. “Fred Andrews didn’t make your beneficiary change. He’s been stalling. It’s still listed as your father.”
My mind just kept spinning. How could she possibly know that? Had she bribed him with my millions? Or had she used some of her other more personal “assets” to get information from him?
“Do you actually think you’re going to get away with my murder, then marry my father?” I asked, again stunned by this conversation. “This is crazy. You can’t be serious. Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m dead serious.” Her desperate and insane eyes locked on mine. “I’ve spent too much time planning for this to fail. I’ve sacrificed everything to get here and I’m not stopping now.”
This rushed vacation suddenly made sense. She had to commit my murder before Nick became the beneficiary of my trust.
My mind raced through the last few years, seeing things from a new angle. I had once confessed to her that I had been considering donating my trust to charity. She had adamantly talked me out of it. I had asked her once if she loved my father. She had just smiled and said he was what she’d always planned for. Not loved. Not wanted. Planned for.
And when I’d told her that I was being stalked, she had never once encouraged me to go to the police. Instead, she’d asked me to point him out to her.
“My stalker? Were you behind him all along?” I asked.
“Oh, no. He’s genuinely obsessed with you. And back then, I doubt he would have caused you harm. But after Logan had him tracked down and nearly beaten to death for stalking you, his obsession turned a little . . . uglier. When I approached him with a big fat wad of cash, he was more than willing to cooperate.”
What? I had no idea that Logan had done that. It didn’t matter. Not when Steffie had a gun aimed at my chest. Not when my oldest friend was paying someone to murder me.
Pain lanced through my heart. All of my precious memories with Steffie had just been tainted by her insatiable greed. Now I knew just how much she valued our friendship and my life: less than one hundred million dollars.
“You’re my friend,” I whispered. “Does that mean nothing to you?”
She shrugged. “I’ll buy new friends.”
My sadness was quickly replaced with anger.
Hadn’t I been through enough this year? Personal struggles aside, I’d had a drug dealer press a gun to my forehead and a rogue motorcycle gang attempt to kidnap me. Now my friend, my father’s fiancée, was threatening to kill me?
“You’ll rot in jail,” I hissed.
“I won’t,” she snarled. “The cops will get here and find me tied up and helpless, sobbing over your lifeless body. Your stalker will be on his way to Canada with the money in my purse, never to be seen or heard from again. Just another break-in gone wrong. You’ve had such bad luck with those after all. Only this time I’m here to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.”
I gaped at her for a moment, letting it all sink in. There would be no pleading for my life, no softening her heart with anecdotes from the past. She would not change course. Determination was etched all over her pretty face. The friend I had always loved was just a phantom. A cloud of lies veiled the brunette stranger in my living room.
She was counting on her gun to keep my feet rooted but I wouldn’t just stand here, waiting for my executioner to arrive. I had too much to live for. I would fight fiercely to save this baby inside me. And I was banking on the fact that Steffie’s gun had been shaking in her hand since she’d pulled it out of her purse.
So I summoned all the courage I could find and took a breath. One. Two. Three.
The second Steffie looked back to the window, I whirled around and sprinted to the door. A loud crack had me ducking my head. It echoed in the room a split-second before one of the large windows next to me shattered.
She missed!
Steffie bellowed a frustrated scream and yelled my name.
Taking one glance over my shoulder, I expected to see her aiming the pistol again. Instead, she was pulling herself up off the floor. She must have tried to follow me but tripped on the wrinkle in the living room carpet. Her falling was likely the reason that the bullet had hit the window instead of me.
That wrinkle, the one I’d cursed a hundred times, had just saved my life.
Now all I had to do was make it outside before she fired again and I could escape into the trees. The adrenaline pumped in my veins and propelled me faster and faster. When I hit the tile in the foyer, I scrambled a bit but was able to stay on my feet and throw open the door.
“Get back here!” Steffie screamed.
Two steps outside and I thought I was home free. But a strong arm banded around my stomach, pulling me backward at the same time a hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my scream.
“No!” I yelled, fighting and clawing at my captor. But despite my hitting and kicking, he was able to drag me around the side of the house.
“Quiet, Emmeline.”
