The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to stare at his mother.
Every joint in Marjorie’s body was cocked at an unnatural angle, and a thin, white bone protruded from her upper thigh. Her housedress had popped open to reveal a ratty pink slip.
Muttering something under his breath, Ronnie took a step forward and suddenly kicked Marjorie’s body with the toe of his boot. “Bitch,” he snarled. “Stupid bitch.” He kicked her again, harder this time, then pulled his mouth into a crooked smile and spit at her.
Stunned, wary at what she was seeing, Afton gripped her Glock tighter. Caught up in the throes of a deep psychological conflict, Ronnie seemed to be processing multiple streams of data. She didn’t know if his brain was struggling to mourn his mother or break free from her. And she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was to rescue the Darden baby and keep everyone safe.
Ronnie stood in place for a few moments, swaying slightly as if in a trance, still working the scene through his brain. Then, looking pale and stricken, he dropped to his knees. Afton assumed he was going to touch his fingertips against Marjorie’s neck to feel for a pulse, for any sign of life. Instead, the boy thrust a hand under her body and felt around.
Oh no.
In one lightning-fast move, Ronnie swept up Marjorie’s gun, wrapped his fingers around the pistol grip, and was suddenly back on his feet again.
Dear Lord, he’s got her gun.
Ronnie bounced the gun in his hand, as if testing the heft and feel of it, then stared up at Afton. One watery blue eye fluttered, his lip curled in distaste. Finally he said, “You’re the bitch who stuck me with the needle.”
“You’re under arrest,” Afton snapped out. She had to stay calm and get on top of this kid. If she didn’t, she knew she could die. “Set down your weapon and place both hands on top of your head.”
“Sure thing,” Ronnie said. His arm came up in one fast, fluid motion and he pulled the trigger.
Bang!
Plaster exploded above Afton’s head as she flew backward, flattening herself against the wall.
“What the hell was that?” Shake screamed. She suddenly appeared in the doorway again, eyes wild, face contorted with fear.
“Get back inside,” Afton warned.
Bang!
Another bullet zinged past them. Ronnie wasn’t a great shot, but he knew how to crack them off just the same.
“Ronnie,” Afton called out. “Put down the gun. Do you want to kill Shake? Do you want your own baby to get hit by a stray bullet?” Her body thrummed with fear. She wasn’t trained for this sort of situation! She desperately needed help!
“Shut up,” Ronnie screamed at her. “Just shut the hell up.”
“The police are on their way,” Afton shouted back at him. “They’ll be here any minute.”
“Ronnie!” Shake called out in an agonizing warble. “You gotta come get me. We have to get the hell out of here.”
“Stop it,” Afton hissed at Shake. “Don’t you get it? That boy is shooting at us. He’s in the middle of a breakdown.”
“Ronnie wouldn’t hurt us,” Shake whined.
Ronnie fired another shot and Shake hastily backpedaled into her bedroom.
Afton drew a deep breath. Ronnie’s uncontrollable violence, her realization that she was the only one who could keep the two babies safe, suddenly jolted her mind into a new place she’d never been before. A place that acknowledged her fear, but was also weirdly cold and rational. She knew she had to make her stand. She knew that, if pushed to the limit, she would have to kill him.
Afton counted to three and slowly eased herself around the corner, gun at the ready, finger on the trigger.
But Ronnie had disappeared.
45
AFTON gripped the Glock as she stood like a sentinel at the top of the stairs. Shake’s baby had begun to cry, making mewling little kitten sounds. The baby down the hall was screaming its head off. And Ronnie had pulled a disappearing act. She didn’t know if he would try to surprise her by charging up the stairs like a crazed animal, or if he’d retreated to the basement to take stock of things.
All of Afton’s instincts screamed at her to defend this part of the house. And that was exactly what she planned to do.
Two minutes passed and then five minutes. The babies seemed to let up a little with their crying. Thank goodness. Then a door slammed downstairs.
Both hands gripping the Glock, Afton fairly quivered on the balls of her feet. Every nerve felt like it was being stretched to the point of breaking.
A shuffling sound echoed from down below, soft and faint, almost like rats scuttling across floorboards.
What the hell?