Page 121 of Gone Tonight
“Answer my question.” James’s voice is dangerously calm.
“Sometimes.”
James stares at Catherine intently. Then he slowly begins to lower his gun.
He must sense she isn’t lying.
“Everything was my fault, James,” I whisper. “Please let her go.”
I take a slow step toward them. James twists his head to look at me and his eyes widen.
He sees the knife I’m pressing to the side of my leg.
His reaction unnerves me. He throws back his head and laughs.
“I’ll give you credit, Ava. You’re tough as hell. You always looked as sweet as candy, but I saw what you were hiding inside. It’s why we belong together.”
James does something to his gun—I can’t tell if he’s taking the safety off or putting it on—then flicks his wrist sideways like he’s skipping a stone across the water. His weapon goes skittering beneath a car.
I don’t relax for a millisecond.
James is most dangerous when he seems peaceful. Violence centers him in a way nothing else can.
He lifts his arms and spreads them wide, like he’s surrendering.
“Go ahead, Ava. Come at me. Catherine must think I’m the bad guy. Let our daughter see you’re a killer.”
He’s goading me.
“How will you feel after you stab me, Ava? Will you regret it once you see my blood? Will you change your mind and try to call an ambulance to save me?”
I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to push inside my head to throw me off-balance.
I take a step closer, the knife steady in my hand.
Catherine is frozen in place.
Run!I will the command to her with every fiber of my being.
She begins to edge away.
“Catherine?”
She halts at the sound of James’s voice. “Your mother is right about one thing. None of this was your fault. Youdidhave a father, one who loved your mother very much. He would have loved you, too.”
James is speaking in the past tense, as if he is already dead. I lift the knife an inch higher.
“To tell you the truth, I kind of like the thought of having a part of me continue on.”
Then James does something that curdles my blood. He walks over and puts his hands on either side of Catherine’s face and tenderlytouches his lips to her forehead, like he is a loving father kissing his daughter good night.
We both watch as Catherine turns and walks toward the entrance of Sunrise. When she’s almost to the front door—to safety—I lunge at James, my knife slashing, hoping to seize the element of surprise.
He rears back and lifts his forearms to protect his throat, his reflexes lightning quick. My blade cuts through his skin, but not deeply enough to do any real damage.
James skips backward as I jab at him with the knife, like this is some lighthearted game.
Blood drips from his arm. He’s smiling.
