too close. It was time to leave. He listened for a minute and then poked his head into the hall to look both ways. Seeing no one, he stepped into the hall and as quickly and silently as he could, retraced his steps to the indoor patio. A scan of the back lawn showed him the coast was clear, so he strode out to the guesthouse.
It had been both harder and easier than he’d thought.
“Hey!” a man shouted behind him.
Charlie flung himself toward the palm trees. A gunshot rang out. A hot pain seared his left bicep. He bit back a curse, dropped, and rolled, coming up against a palm tree. Another shot caused bark chips to spray from the tree trunk next to him.
Crap, the guy was trying to kill him! Charlie switched direction, diving for the bushy Florida Gama grass. But he kept on scrambling backward. The grass wouldn’t stop a bullet.
The hedge separating the Montgomery’s property from the absent neighbor’s was four feet wide. Charlie launched himself over it, rolled to his feet, and took off running. Any second he expected a bullet to pierce his back. How ironic that he’d come home to die.
His lungs burned. This was stupid. Running would attract attention to him. He should hide. But he’d never been shot at, never had someone try to kill him before. He couldn’t stand still and let someone murder him.
Like someone had murdered Billy. Stabbed him in the back.
Shit!
Charlie ran faster. Should he head straight for his car three doors down? Would they catch him then? The twelve-foot-high hedge that separated the houses protected him now, unless the guard was following him. Charlie couldn’t hear any pursuit. Did they have radios? God, what had he been thinking to come here at night?
He’d have to risk his car. It was his fastest getaway. He pounded down the driveway to the gate. A latent sense of self-preservation halted him there. A runner would bring unwonted attention on the street. But someone strolling to his car wouldn’t.
His nerves screamed to move faster, but he forced himself to walk toward his car. He was exposed. They’d be looking for him. He was moving too slow. Why had he parked so far away?
Sweat ran down the sides of his face into his fake beard. His T-shirt stuck to his chest and back. The hair on his neck clung with dampness.
God, let me make it to my car
. His back itched. Was a gun trained on him even now? Would he be brought down like a rabid dog? Would anyone even care if he was? His parents, his brothers. But would they care as much about him as they had about Billy?
Charlie now regretted every year he’d been forced to spend away from Juliana. If he thought he’d wasted his life as an actor, it was an even bigger waste without the one woman who seemed the other half of him. She was yin to his yang. Dammit, why had he left her this afternoon like that?
He drew his car keys from his pants pocket. The lights would flash if he clicked the door open, so he’d have to do it the old-fashioned way. His internal clock screamed that he was running out of time. With shaking hands, he inserted the key, unlocked the car, and opened the door. The light bloomed like a beacon in the night. But no one slammed the door shut. He slid behind the wheel. No one leaped from the bushes to point a gun in his face. When he reached out to shut the door his arm screamed in pain. He looked in surprise at the trail of red sliding down his arm toward his wrist.
No time. Don’t think about it now.
He had to get that light off. He closed the door and locked it. Darkness reigned. His hand shook as he stuck the key in the ignition. The car faced away from Montgomery’s mansion. He felt his back exposed. He saw a dark figure appear on the street. Charlie started the car without putting his foot on the brake. The car lurched forward. He left the headlights off and accelerated slowly.
Too slowly.
They had cars. It was miles to the freeway. He drove as fast as he dared, watching for headlights in his rearview
It had been both harder and easier than he’d thought.
“Hey!” a man shouted behind him.
Charlie flung himself toward the palm trees. A gunshot rang out. A hot pain seared his left bicep. He bit back a curse, dropped, and rolled, coming up against a palm tree. Another shot caused bark chips to spray from the tree trunk next to him.
Crap, the guy was trying to kill him! Charlie switched direction, diving for the bushy Florida Gama grass. But he kept on scrambling backward. The grass wouldn’t stop a bullet.
The hedge separating the Montgomery’s property from the absent neighbor’s was four feet wide. Charlie launched himself over it, rolled to his feet, and took off running. Any second he expected a bullet to pierce his back. How ironic that he’d come home to die.
His lungs burned. This was stupid. Running would attract attention to him. He should hide. But he’d never been shot at, never had someone try to kill him before. He couldn’t stand still and let someone murder him.
Like someone had murdered Billy. Stabbed him in the back.
Shit!
Charlie ran faster. Should he head straight for his car three doors down? Would they catch him then? The twelve-foot-high hedge that separated the houses protected him now, unless the guard was following him. Charlie couldn’t hear any pursuit. Did they have radios? God, what had he been thinking to come here at night?
He’d have to risk his car. It was his fastest getaway. He pounded down the driveway to the gate. A latent sense of self-preservation halted him there. A runner would bring unwonted attention on the street. But someone strolling to his car wouldn’t.
His nerves screamed to move faster, but he forced himself to walk toward his car. He was exposed. They’d be looking for him. He was moving too slow. Why had he parked so far away?
Sweat ran down the sides of his face into his fake beard. His T-shirt stuck to his chest and back. The hair on his neck clung with dampness.
God, let me make it to my car
. His back itched. Was a gun trained on him even now? Would he be brought down like a rabid dog? Would anyone even care if he was? His parents, his brothers. But would they care as much about him as they had about Billy?
Charlie now regretted every year he’d been forced to spend away from Juliana. If he thought he’d wasted his life as an actor, it was an even bigger waste without the one woman who seemed the other half of him. She was yin to his yang. Dammit, why had he left her this afternoon like that?
He drew his car keys from his pants pocket. The lights would flash if he clicked the door open, so he’d have to do it the old-fashioned way. His internal clock screamed that he was running out of time. With shaking hands, he inserted the key, unlocked the car, and opened the door. The light bloomed like a beacon in the night. But no one slammed the door shut. He slid behind the wheel. No one leaped from the bushes to point a gun in his face. When he reached out to shut the door his arm screamed in pain. He looked in surprise at the trail of red sliding down his arm toward his wrist.
No time. Don’t think about it now.
He had to get that light off. He closed the door and locked it. Darkness reigned. His hand shook as he stuck the key in the ignition. The car faced away from Montgomery’s mansion. He felt his back exposed. He saw a dark figure appear on the street. Charlie started the car without putting his foot on the brake. The car lurched forward. He left the headlights off and accelerated slowly.
Too slowly.
They had cars. It was miles to the freeway. He drove as fast as he dared, watching for headlights in his rearview
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