Almost Dead (Lizzy Gardner #5)(3)

“Does your fiancée know about us?”

“No,” he said.

“I thought you came here tonight because you were going to ask me to marry you. I spent the past two hours getting ready.”

His laughter echoed off the walls, causing every muscle in her body to tense.

“You see a man once a month, and you think he wants to marry you?”

She reached for the biggest knife from the wooden knife block, whipped around, and thrust the blade into his chest, pushing as hard as she could, surprised by her strength and the ease with which his flesh gave way to the sharp steel.

The surprise in his eyes, the open mouth, the stunned expression: that was the look she’d been hoping for earlier when she’d greeted him at the door.

Slow clap. Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you. This is more like it!

Brandon’s eyes had grown big and round. Both of his hands were clamped around the handle of the knife protruding from his chest. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he stumbled forward.

She jumped out of his way.

Thunk.

For a moment, she just stared at him, wondering if she had really just killed Brandon Louis. It took a little while for her breathing to return to normal, but it did, and she felt powerful and in control.

He was right. He really was. Standing up for herself was downright empowering. She felt invincible.

Blood seeped from his body and onto the floor, sending her anxiety into high alert. Careful not to step in the pool of blood, she ran to her bedroom, pulled off her clothes, and put on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. She ran through the laundry room to the garage, where she gathered cleaning products, including a pair of thick rubber gloves and a bucket. She also grabbed a tarp she’d planned to use when she painted the guestroom, then headed back for the kitchen.

She needed to work quickly. She needed to be smart.

Rolling his body onto the tarp took more strength than she’d imagined it would. Once she mopped up the blood, she put on a clean pair of gloves and emptied his pockets.

The bastard had a cell phone. He’d told her he didn’t have one, and she’d believed him. He’d told her cell phones were bad for the environment.

His phone had been powered off. Perfect, she thought, although she was dying to turn it on so she could check his messages and read his texts. But that would be stupid.

She looked through his wallet, found a picture of the woman she assumed he was engaged to. The hair was nice enough, but she had angry eyes and a pointy nose.

Do not take the picture.

Next she found the key to his rental car parked in her driveway.

She was an accomplished research chemist known for her organizational skills, intelligence, and ingenuity. Now was the time to act like it. She needed to be careful and methodical. She could not leave behind any evidence.

Once his body was rolled tightly in the tarp, she used duct tape to secure both ends. She would drag the body through the laundry room to the garage. Her father was a pig farmer in Elk Grove. He sometimes had to get rid of dead animals. She knew just what to do. Tomorrow was Friday. After work, she would pack up the body and head for the farm.

Right now, though, her priority was getting Brandon into the trunk of her car. Trussed up as he was, he wasn’t as hard to maneuver as he might’ve been, but still, he was heavy as hell and unwieldy. A two-stage process would do it: turn him over onto the low furniture dolly stored behind her freezer and wheel him to the garage door; then drive her car into the garage and transfer him into the trunk. The transfers would be awkward, but she’d take her time. After that, she would clean herself up and get rid of the rental car.





CHAPTER 2

Lizzy had been seeing her therapist, Linda Gates, for eighteen years now, beginning when she was a teen and had just returned from three months of hell. In all those years, the office had hardly changed: same couch, same executive-sized desk, same ergonomic chair—everything, including the walls, was in neutral colors. The best part was the large paned windows overlooking downtown Sacramento. If you stood at just the right angle, you could even glimpse part of the American River.

“Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling.”

Lizzy crossed her legs. “My sister is driving me nuts. Why she let that * move back in, I’ll never know. It makes no sense. My niece shouldn’t have to listen to their constant bickering. It’s—”

“Lizzy.”

“Yes?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I am?”

“Yes. How are you feeling?”

“Feeling?”

“Yes.”

Lizzy’s shoulders dropped. “Under the circumstances, I’m doing fine. I’m exercising and eating OK. Between work and my self-defense program, I’m keeping busy. The teenagers I’m teaching right now are great.”

Linda sighed.

“What?” Lizzy asked. “Why do I get the feeling there are right and wrong answers to your questions?”

“There are no right or wrong answers, you know that, but I’ve known you for a long time and I’m concerned that you may be trying to move on as if nothing has changed. And that’s not moving on at all.”

“You think I’m in denial.”

Linda nodded. “I know you are. In a matter of weeks you killed a man in self-defense, then lost your father, and now your fiancé lies comatose in a hospital bed and you’re being asked to make a difficult decision.”