And Now She's Gone(102)

Or the breakfast nook on Trail Spring Court?

His hand drifted from her cheek to the base of her throat.

She stopped breathing, as though he was already crushing her neck. The last time he’d touched her there … A sickening crunch of teeth against teeth. Warm blood filling her mouth.

“You didn’t ruin me, Nat,” he said. “You tried. You poured out all of my beer and left the empties on the counter, but you didn’t ruin me.”

Her phone rang from the table. The ringing startled her and loosened her tongue. “Go. Please. If you want to live, you should go.”

“Or?”

Her phone kept ringing.

He spun the device around and frowned, seeing a man’s face there. “Who’s that?”

“A man who wants to kill you almost as much as I do.”

His hard eyes searched hers and he grinned. “You better answer it, then.”

With her free hand, she picked up the phone. Eyes still on Sean, she said, “Hey.… Yes.… Yes.… He’s sitting across the table from me. He has his hand on my—” She paused, then offered Sean the phone.

He snatched it from her and snarled, “Who the fuck—” Sean smirked as he listened, then said, “Fuck you, bitch.” He dropped the phone back on the table.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I gave you everything. You lived like a queen. We could’ve ruled the world.” He released her hand. Sean Dixon was still six three and still weighed more than two hundred pounds. He wasn’t scared of her; he wasn’t scared of Nick; he wasn’t even scared of God.

Gray was still five four, heavier but nowhere near his punching class. A halibut fighting a nurse shark was not a fight.

Sean leaned over her plate, parted his lips, and sent a globule of spit from his mouth into her grits. He slid out of the booth and stood over Gray, bending until they were face-to-face. “You better hope your boy kills me.”

Gray could smell his breath—the funk of ego and evil. She wrapped her hand around that mug of salted coffee … and swung the cup.

Coffee splashed across his face.

Sean grabbed her neck.

Gray wiggled, loosening his grip. She scrambled out of the booth.

He grabbed her shirt collar and yanked her back.

Her head hit the edge of the table and she saw stars. Her hands fluttered around her, and her fingers found tines—fork! She grabbed it and jabbed it into his wrist.

Sean loosened his grip.

She grabbed the steak knife.

The waitress shouted, “Whoa whoa whoa!”

The cook, a man bigger than a bear, pulled Sean off of Gray.

Gray grabbed her purse and ran out of the diner and into the rain. It was coming down hard now, but it was still hot. Head throbbing, she stumbled through the weed-choked parking lot to her rental. She looked over her shoulder.

Sean grabbed her arm.

Gray reeled, struck him with a weak blow with her left hand, and then, with her right, jammed the knife into Sean’s thigh.

He gaped at her.

She gaped at him. Her breath was hot and rushed, and her hand was slick with rainwater and from the blood now seeping through Sean’s track pants.

He leaned into her, and his weight made them sink to the asphalt.

Lower … lower …

A smile spread across Sean’s face.

Gray let go of the knife.

He leaned against the car and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the knife.

She kneeled before him. With a twisted grin, she reached for that knife, ready to pull it out, sink it into his throat, and twist it.

“Don’t!” Lottie shouted from behind her. “Let the cops handle him.” The waitress pulled Gray away from the fallen man and back into the diner.

The cook guided Gray to a booth and handed her a dish towel to clean off.

Gray swiped and dabbed, and the towel was soon bright with blood. Gray’s. Sean’s.

Lottie squeaked back behind the counter and returned with a bag of ice for Gray’s head and a slice of sweet potato pie for Gray’s belly.

It’s over. I’m free. If that meant jail, Gray was down for that. She’d explain her case to the jury and maybe, maybe, they’d understand.

It didn’t take long for two sheriff’s deputies to reach the diner off the highway. Gray told them all that had happened, and the waitress and the fry cook corroborated everything she said.

“Where is this guy?” Deputy Burke had soft brown eyes and resembled Eddie Murphy.

“By the white Chevrolet out in the parking lot,” Gray said.

Deputy Burke and blond Deputy Parsons looked out the plate glass window and then at each other. The two left the diner and headed over to the car.

Gray gazed out the window.

There was the parking lot.

There was the white Chevrolet.

But where was Sean Dixon?





56


Even as the cops drove her to the airport, Gray kept scanning the roadsides and highways.

Where had Sean Dixon gone?

As deputies Burke and Parsons escorted her to the Delta ticket desk, her eyes darted around the small terminal.

Was Sean still following her?

She needed to leave Alabama. She needed to leave this case. Finding Isabel or Elyse or whoever she was? Didn’t matter anymore. Because what was at stake here? A cardiologist never seeing his dog again? Was Kenny G. worth dying for?