The Last Invitation (82)

The front door was unlocked by the time Jessa arrived at Baines’s house. She stepped into the grand foyer, expecting Gabby to be right there to greet her for their clandestine meeting. She didn’t know her way around the dark house, but she saw a light in one of the rooms.

“Gabby?” Jessa whispered the name, but the marble floors caused her voice to echo.

She slipped into a room with a desk. Probably an office or library. The space looked inviting enough, with a big leather desk chair and shelves lined with books and personal photos.

She picked up one of Baines and Kennedy sitting by a pool. Kennedy did look like him, but now Jessa knew that was due to him being her uncle. She did not in any way envy Gabby dealing with that messed-up family situation.

Jessa’s head thumped, and the adrenaline shooting through her had her a little out of breath. She wanted this over, and fast. They didn’t know who they could trust, but Jessa knew who they couldn’t rely on—Retta. And Darren could be anywhere, so Gabby needed to stop rattling around this gigantic house and show her face.

The creak behind her filled her with relief. Being excited to see Gabby was a first, but Jessa welcomed the sensation. “It’s about time. I thought . . .”

A man stood there. A familiar one. Taylor or Tom. Something like that. They’d met outside of Retta and Earl’s house that night with the reporter. His being here didn’t make sense. No one knew she was here. She didn’t have her phone. She’d changed bags. She didn’t say or type the address anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” But she feared she knew the answer. She’d said too much, dug around in the wrong places.

She saw the knife. He held it low, right against his leg, but the light bounced off the blade.

Think! Her mind raced with possible solutions. There appeared to be one door, and it was behind him. Window. Closet. Where was that cell phone from Faith?

“Is Retta with you, or is she coming later?” she asked in the calmest voice she could muster.

The question had him frowning. “What?”

His name came to her. If she could keep up the ruse while she figured out an exit plan . . . “Retta told me to meet her here. I assumed you drove her. Trent, right?”

“How do you—”

She turned and reached for the nearest object. Hardcover books. She grabbed them double-fisted. Lobbed one then another at him. Slammed the first into his head. Aimed for the knife but hit his stomach with the second. She screamed as she threw. Dodged around the desk, racing as fast as she could for the door.

She touched the knob right as he grabbed the back of her shirt.

“Not today!” She kept moving, dragging him with her. “Gabby!”

She slipped on the marble but managed to stay on her feet. Only a few steps to the front door and freedom, but his hand clamped down on her shoulder. A stinging pain had her stopping.

He was on top of her then. A muscled arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the floor. Dark spots blurred her vision as she lashed out, trying to smash the back of her head into his face. She clawed at the arm banded around her. Her fingers slipped as he whipped her around in the air.

One minute she was on her feet, the next she hit the ground. Hard. A harsh sound escaped her. She knew it came from her because the noise vibrated through her.

Dazed and dizzy, she lay on her back and looked up at her attacker. Trent stood over her with the knife. Blood dripped off the end.

“Stabbed?” She’d sliced him? That had to be it.

She tried to kick out, but her body refused to move. A strange numbness moved through her. Her hands felt wet. Lifting her head grew impossible as the sound of labored breathing registered in her brain.

Her eyes closed, and she forced them open again. She was so tired. The exhaustion crept up on her and stole all her strength. She strained to get up but couldn’t move. As the minutes ticked by, the last of her energy drained away. Her right hand slipped off her stomach and fell to the floor beside her.

The wetness. Blood. A slick fiery red covered her closed fist. She couldn’t remember making a fist but couldn’t stop. Her hand remained clenched even as she fought to open it. More red. Running out from under her, around her.

She heard a click and what sounded like a sharp intake of breath. Gabby was here. Finally. She would fix this. Jessa couldn’t form the words, but Gabby knew the truth. She knew everything.

Rest now. Peace. Quiet. Jessa savored the soothing comfort of both. This time she let her eyes close, but they opened again at the sound of Retta’s trembling voice.

“No! What did you do?”





Chapter Seventy-Three

Jessa




There was an odd sucking noise that made it hard for Jessa to hear the words. Retta entered the room, all animated and yelling. More emotion than Jessa had ever seen from her. Retta shoved the man . . . What was it again? Trent? Yeah, that was it.

Retta’s pantsuit today was a Wedgwood blue. Jessa had no idea why that mattered or stuck in her mind. Her eyes were so heavy. The blue popped through the fuzziness.

“You had no right,” Retta yelled.

He probably shouldn’t be here. That made sense. Jessa struggled to remember why she was here . . . Where was she? She focused on the leather chair and ottoman in the far corner of the room, but they didn’t look familiar. Faith had once joked that she couldn’t afford real leather, so not hers. Maybe Tim . . . Wait, no. That wasn’t right.