Licking my lips, I swallowed hard and forced myself to ask, “So…how is killing me going to help you, Sal? You won’t be able to get your hands on Crispin’s money. It’ll go into probate forever. The legal red tape will be a nightmare.”
He shook a finger at me, his eyes almost wild, his brow covered in a think sheen of sweat. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. You’re going to sign everything over to me in your brand new will, Stevie. Lock, stock and millions of Mr. Showoff’s money!”
I shook my head. The hell I would. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”
He reached down and pulled up the leg of his jeans, dragging a knife from his sock to hold it up against the light. “You will if I cut your fingers off one by one. You’ll give in exactly the way Madam Zoltar did, crying and begging for your life.”
“Stevie, we have to do something rash and we have to do it now.” Win’s voice was calm, but I was sure he could see as well as I could, Sal was falling further down the rabbit hole.
“Stevie? You here? Brought you some coffee to cheer you up!”
Forrest?
I froze, that icy course of blood streaming through my veins again as Sal’s head popped up and his eyes went wide.
“Stevie, you must act! Listen closely. The moment Sal turns his back to find out who’s calling you, grab that chair and hit him. Hit him hard, Stevie, and make it count. Use everything you’ve got!”
I nodded and gulped. Hit him with the chair, hit him with the chair.
“Stevie? Where are you?”
Sal’s eyes narrowed, his mouth turning to a thin line, and then he did just as Win suspected. “Don’t make a sound, or whoever that is will die, just like you,” he threatened.
He turned to head for the steps—and with a whoosh of air and a silent prayer to the goddesses, I slid from the chair, grabbed it with my imprisoned hands, lifted it high and nailed him on the side of his deranged head.
“Run, Stevie!” Win hollered. “Run and don’t look back!”
I did as I was told, fighting the wave after wave of dizziness as I attempted to climb the steps. “Forrest! Get help!” I screamed upward, my voice raspy and tight.
Just as I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Forrest, his face slathered in his surprise. “Stevie! Are you okay?”
The moment the words flew from his mouth was the moment Win yelled in my ear, “Tell Forrest to duck!”
“Forrest, duck!”
I did as Win told me just before a shot rang out that, to my horror, took Forrest to the ground with a thud that shook the rafters of the house.
But I didn’t have time to react before Sal was grabbing at my ankles, trying to drag me back down the stairs.
“Roll over, Stevie! Roll over and kick his hand with the gun then uppercut with the heel of your foot to his jaw!” Win directed.
Again, I did as I was told, acting merely on adrenaline and British spy advice. Rolling to my back, I whacked at Sal’s hand as he dragged me down, my head banging against each tread as we went.
I whooped a yelp of triumph when I successfully knocked the gun from his hand and followed up with the hardest kick I could manage just beneath his jaw.
Sal howled when my heel made contact and he fell back down a few steps, giving me enough time to roll back over and scurry the rest of the way up the stairs.
I tripped over Forrest’s big body, his arm bleeding from the gunshot, his forehead following suit with a big gash in it.
“Don’t stop now, Stevie—he won’t trouble himself with Forrest. It’s you he wants. You have to run! Sal’s right behind you!”
“Where?” I screeched into the kitchen, trying to break free from the duct tape on my wrists, but I couldn’t remember a dang thing Win told me about how to do it.
“Enzo’s hammer, by the microwave. Grab it now and hide! I’ll get Bel to use Forrest’s phone to call 9-1-1. Do it now!”
I managed to grab the hammer just in the nick of time, almost fumbling it before grasping it securely and running through the kitchen into the dining room.
I thanked every God available to my memory Win had decided to knock down the wall between the kitchen and the dining room as I scooted around the corner, my feet plowing over discarded nails.
As my heart pounded in my chest like the hammer I was holding, my eyes wildly searched for somewhere to run. The wind outside howled, crying out, the frigid air coming from the door Forrest must have left open.
“Stevie!” Sal hollered, his voice echoing through the emptiness of the house. “You can’t get away from me!”
“You can, Stevie. You will!” Win urged. “He’s hurt. You cuffed him on his head but good. He’s dizzy and stumbling. Use that to your advantage.”
“Stevie!” Sal wailed my name again, his voice closer. “You’re going to die tonight!”
“Where?” I whispered, looking toward the set of windows in the dining room.
“No! Not the windows. There’s nowhere for you to run in all that mud. No neighbor nearby to help. Bel’s dialing 9-1-1 now, but you have no choice but to go up, Stevie. Hurry! Get up the stairs and we’ll catch him by surprise!”