Garrett, you should have listened to me when you met her at that cheap bookstore.
She had no pedigree.
No resilience.
And carrying on like a hysterical peasant over a scratch on a serving platter…”
“She bit my wrist, Mother,” Garrett sneered, holding up his right hand, where a clean row of tooth marks was visible near his thumb.“She ruined my swing on the fifth hole this morning because of that idiot girl.
Leaving her out in the frost was generous.
She deserved worse.”
The heavy double doors of the dining room didn’t bang open.They didn’t creak.
They swung inward without a whisper of sound.
Sheriff Vance reacted first, his hand dropping toward his service holster by pure reflex.“Who the hell let you—”
He never finished the sentence.
I crossed the twenty feet between the entryway and the sideboard in less than two seconds.Before Vance’s Glock could clear the leather retention strap, my left palm drove upward into the base of his chin, snapping his head back with a sharp, wet crunch.
