Chapter Twenty-One
Sheri gasped as the figure stepped out of the shadows. Her heart pounded in her ears and the familiar scent of his cologne made her stomach churn.
“Jonathan. How the hell did you get in here?”
“Sheridan,” he said, stepping into place behind the boys’ carriers as he held the pistol in one hand like a pageant prop. “Good to see you again. I’ve been getting acquainted with our new home. It’s a nice place.”
She swallowed, tasting bile. How had she ever loved this man? “You’re insane. How did you get in?”
“First thing we’re going to do after I move in is install new locks on the doors. It’s much too easy to break in.” He looked down at the gun in his hand and shook his head. “The second thing we’re going to do is have fewer secrets between us. This gun, for instance.”
“My collection of heirloom firearms was never a secret, you jerk,” she snapped. “You knew about them. They belong to my family.”
“And as your husband, I’m your family. Keeping your valuables under lock and key the way you always used to—well, that’s going to change now. So is your repertoire of recipes. You’re not still making that potato flake chicken, are you?”
Sheri took a step forward, her eyes flicking between the baby carriers, the gun, and the menacing look on her ex-husband’s face. “What I do with my personal possessions and what I make for dinner are none of your business. Get away from my babies.”
He snorted. “They’re my children, Sheridan. I have every right to take them.”
“Take them? Take them where?”
Her voice was practically a shriek, but Jonathan looked unfazed. “You’ve been ignoring and disrespecting me long enough. It’s time I took some action. I want us to be a family again, and the only way you’re going to listen to me is if I have your children. Our children.”
She took another step toward him, her gut twisting in fury and disgust. “Get away from them.”
Jonathan raised the pistol. “No, you get away. Don’t come any closer. I’ve already packed a bag for you, Sheridan. You’re going to turn around now and walk back out to the car. And for God’s sake, put down that stupid toy. I already threw some things in a bag for the boys, they’ll be fine.”
Sheri looked down at her own hands, surprised to discover she’d picked up the beanie peacock. She blinked at it as her mind flashed to Sam, wondering where he was and whether she’d ever see him again. She gripped the toy tighter and looked up at her ex. As her eyes locked with his, she took another step toward him.
“You’re crazy,” she hissed. “How did I never see that before?”
His finger touched the trigger on the pistol. “Stay right there, Sheridan.”
Her heart bumped hard against her rib cage as she took a steadying breath and one more step forward. She looked down at her babies. Jackson waved one chubby hand in the air, oblivious to the danger pulsing through the room.
“Don’t come any closer,” he barked. “Turn around and walk to the car. Now!”
Disobeying his order, she took another step forward, close enough to stretch out and touch his sleeve if she wanted. She shuddered at the thought of touching him and met his eyes instead.
“I’m warning you, Sheridan,” he shouted.
Jeffrey squawked in alarm. Jackson whimpered, his soft snuffles signaling the start of a full-fledged crying jag. Sheri took another step forward, needing to reach her boys, needing to make sure they were okay—
“Stop right there!” he barked. He held the gun on Sheri for two more beats, then turned and pointed it at the babies.
Sheri lunged, pouncing on him with every ounce of mama-bear fury she never knew she had. She smacked the peacock against the side of his head, remembering what her father had taught her in a self-defense lesson at age eight. Strike hard and from above.
Her weapon left something to be desired, but she had the element of surprise on her side. Jonathan stepped back as she hit him across the eyes. His foot tangled with the second peacock lying facedown on the carpet, and he tripped. Staggering, he fell to his knees. She raised the peacock again as Jonathan lifted the pistol.
He blinked at her, dazed. “Drop the—the—what the hell is that?”
She hit him again, once more in the face and then in the arm. He kept his grip on the gun, but he was still on his knees, so she kicked him hard in the ribs. She delivered one more smack with the peacock, throwing every ounce of strength into the blow as he toppled sideways.
“Lesson number one,” she hissed, kicking him in the groin this time. “Don’t ever, ever threaten my children.”
He dropped the pistol, and she kicked it away, her fingers still gripping the peacock. “And lesson number two,” she snarled. “If you’re going to point a gun at someone raised in a family of gun nuts, make sure it’s not her grandfather’s blowback-operated, semiautomatic FN Model 1910 pistol that hasn’t worked since World War II. There’s a reason I never let you touch it, a*shole—it’s an antique.”
She drew her foot back to kick him again, then stopped herself. He was already down, and her babies were safe. She shook her head in disgust. “Don’t you ever, ever, touch me, my children, or my family heirlooms again.”
She dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing his wrists and jerking them behind his back. With one hand, she yanked Sam’s makeshift teething ring holder off the handle of Jeffrey’s carrier. She used it to cinch Jonathan’s wrists behind his back, then leaned over the boys to make sure they were okay.
“Hey, guys,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Everything’s fine now. Mama’s got you.”
She stroked a finger over Jeffrey’s cheek, and he stopped whimpering at once. She moved to Jackson, wiping his little nose with the back of her hand. “Shhh,” she soothed. “You’re okay now. Everything’s all over.”
“Not entirely,” said a voice in the darkness.
Sheri snapped her head up and blinked.
A man in black stepped through the front door. Shadows fell behind him as he strode slowly toward her.