A Fatal Slip(Sweet Nothings)

Chapter 26




EMMA crossed the foyer with Sabina’s gun still pressed into her lower back. The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the living room. Emma hesitated at the front door.

“Open it.” Sabina pressed the gun a little farther into Emma’s back.

Emma pulled open the door and shuddered as the blast of cold air chilled her instantly. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. Light snow was falling again, leaving wet blotches on Emma’s sweater and pants. She wished she’d worn her boots and not a pair of thin-soled shoes. She shot a glance at Sabina, who was warm and snug in her fur coat and suede boots.

“Across the field.” Sabina gestured with the gun toward the stables behind the house.

Emma began the torturous journey across the rutted field. The grass was frozen and slowly turning white from the falling snow. Emma was shivering violently now as she slipped and slid her way toward the barn. At one point she fell, crying out as her bare hands hit the hard ground.

“Get up,” Sabina demanded, waving the gun around where Emma could see it.

Emma stayed on her hands and knees for a moment, trying to catch her breath before heaving herself to her feet again. A strange feeling was coming over her. She was past being scared. Now she was mad. The surge of adrenaline propelled her forward, and she no longer felt the biting cold.

“Where are we going?” Emma had no idea where Sabina was taking her, but as long as they were out in the open field, there was still a chance that Molly or Mariel would see them. Emma risked a glance back toward the house and the driveway, but no cars had pulled in yet. For a moment she imagined that she saw Brian’s bright red pickup truck parked in the circular drive, but when she blinked again it was gone—merely an illusion or wishful thinking on her part.

Sabina marched her steadily toward the stables. They were close enough now to hear the occasional whinnying and snorting of a horse.

Emma suddenly remembered an article she had read in the paper—about how it was actually very difficult for an amateur to shoot a moving target and that when faced with someone with a gun, your best bet might be to run away. Her stomach knotted up at the thought of running while Sabina was firing at her. Emma had no idea how good a shot the woman was.

They were almost to the stables now. Was Sabina planning on shooting her there, where the noise would be less obvious? Emma decided she didn’t want to wait to find out. She took a deep breath and took off at a run across the slippery field.

“Stop,” Sabina commanded, but she didn’t fire.

Emma’s feet, in their thin-soled shoes, slipped and slid on the snow-covered grass. She kept her eyes on the ground, fearful of putting a foot wrong on the uneven terrain. A tuft of grass hid a deep rut in the frozen earth, and Emma caught her foot in it, slamming to the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of her.

In seconds, Sabina was leaning over her, the gun pointing threateningly at Emma’s head.

“Get up.”

Emma tried to stand up, but her hands slipped, and she landed on her knees again. Sabina prodded her with the gun. Finally Emma was on her feet and moving once more.

“Don’t try that again,” Sabina warned.

Emma risked another glance over her shoulder, but the driveway was still empty.

Emma was beyond chilled to the bone by the time they reached the stables. Sabina pulled open the door and shoved Emma inside.

The sudden comparative warmth felt glorious. The smells of hay and horse filled Emma’s senses, and she heard pawing and snorting from various stalls as if the horses were surprised by their sudden visitors.

A row of stalls ran down either side of a wide aisle lit by hanging overhead fluorescent lights. The stall doors were wood on the bottom with metal grills on top and over each was a metal plate with the horse’s name on it. Emma noticed that Big Boy’s stall was empty. Joy must still be out riding.

The horses moved around restlessly, perhaps wondering if Emma and Sabina had come to feed them. One large black mare named Pretty Girl snorted loudly and banged against the door of her stall with her rump, startling Emma and making her jump.

Emma’s mind was racing trying to think of a way to escape from Sabina. Sabina had approached Pretty Girl’s stall and was fumbling with the latch, her gun still trained on Emma. She finally unlocked the door and grabbed Emma by the arm.

“What are you doing?” Emma tried to resist, but Sabina waved the gun in her face.

“You’re going in there,” Sabina said, pointing to the horse’s stall. “And when I shoot off my gun”—she brandished it in Emma’s face—“the horse is going to go crazy. You won’t be able to get out of her way, and it will all look like a terrible and unfortunate accident.”

“No,” Emma protested. The mare was stomping and snorting in earnest now as if she was angry at the intrusion into her territory. Emma watched as more than one thousand pounds of horseflesh slammed into the sides of the stall. If Emma went in there, she would be crushed for certain.

She decided to take her chances. She yanked her arm from Sabina’s grasp and began to run, zigzagging across the stable floor. She was out the door before Sabina was able to respond but it was mere seconds before Emma heard footsteps pounding behind her followed by the sound of the gun being fired.

She flinched but kept running, changing direction repeatedly so that she would be harder to hit. Another shot, then another, but she was still running, her breath rasping in her ears, her heart feeling as if it would burst.

A thunderous noise came from behind Emma. She turned around and glanced over her shoulder quickly. Joy was galloping across the field, standing out of the saddle, a look of intense concentration on her face. Big Boy was kicking up clods of mud behind him as he flew across the grass.

Sabina raised her gun in the air, and Emma held her breath. If Big Boy spooked now, Joy could be seriously injured. Sabina pulled the trigger but . . . nothing. No sound, no bullet. She swore loudly, throwing the gun on the ground. She turned around and looked at Emma then back at Joy.


Joy and Big Boy were headed straight for Sabina. Sabina hesitated like a deer caught in a car’s headlights, then she began to run. Joy and Big Boy easily overtook her, the huge horse knocking her to the ground. Joy pulled on the reins and Big Boy slowed and finally came to a halt, his chest heaving and clouds of vapor streaming from his nose. Joy dismounted and both she and Emma made their way toward Sabina, Joy suddenly clumsy now that she was no longer on Big Boy’s back.

Sabina lay on the cold grass, her face white and her body still.

“Is she breathing?” Joy asked, her own breath coming in gasps.

Emma, who had begun to shiver uncontrollably, knelt and felt Sabina’s neck. She looked up at Joy. “There’s a pulse.”

“Time to call nine-one-one.” Joy pulled a cell phone from her jacket pocket and punched in the numbers.

Just then they heard the sound of a car engine, and they both turned toward the house. Brian’s red pickup truck was barreling down the drive. Emma couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. The truck came to a stop in a spray of gravel and both doors flew open.

A man—Emma thought it was Bobby Fuller—was sitting on the driver’s side as Brian slid out of the passenger seat, swinging his crutches after him. He began to make his slow and laborious way toward Emma.

Emma began to run, cold, stiff and limping slightly from all the times she had fallen. She reached Brian about two-thirds of the way across the field and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Brian whipped off his coat and wrapped it around Emma, holding her tight against him. She began to cry, and he stroked her hair gently.

“How did you . . . why did . . .”

“Sssh,” Brian said softly. “When you hung up on me earlier and then didn’t answer your phone, I had a strange feeling. I didn’t like it. I convinced Bobby to drive me over here to check on you. We were already out looking at a job.”

“It was Sabina,” Emma said somewhat incoherently, gesturing toward the field. “She was trying to kill me.”

Brian tightened his arms around Emma. They both heard the faint wail of a siren in the distance. Emma twisted in Brian’s embrace. She looked back toward the field. “I’d better go help Joy. If Sabina wakes up . . .”

But before Emma could move, a police cruiser had pulled into the driveway and the two occupants were running toward the figure lying in the field, their guns drawn.

“Let’s get you inside. You’re freezing,” Brian said.

Another siren blared in the distance getting louder and louder until it cut off abruptly as the ambulance pulled into the driveway.

“They’ll take care of everything,” Brian said, gesturing toward the police and the EMT crew who were pulling a gurney from the back of the ambulance. He began to lead Emma back toward the house. “It’s all over.”