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.You wretched, nosy kid…”“I did see you kill my mother.” The knowledge made her stagger.She had actually seen him kill her mother.Yet still … she didn’t remember.She looked at the watercolor.This fragment of memory was all she had.“Yes.But in the heat of action, I forgot about you.Because I had to kill her, because I grieved at what I had to do.” As if a tear would make his viciousness acceptable, Bradley cried a single, real tear.Then in a prosaic tone, he added, “Because I had to get rid of her body first.”Elizabeth could see the moment in her mind.“When you came back to get me, it was too late.Daddy had already found me.The police were already here.It was too late.”“It didn’t matter.Nothing mattered.She was dead.Misty was dead.My muse … was dead.” Now real grief twisted Bradley’s face.“You’re missing the point.You murdered her.”“I did what I had to do!”“You killed my mother … and your paintings were never the same.” Elizabeth allowed the watercolor to drop.As if he couldn’t take his gaze away, he watched it flutter to the floor.She slid her hand into her bag and brought out her knife.In a mournful tone, he said, “After all this is over, never again will I perform work worthy of my genius.”“Oh, how you mourn your genius.” She allowed her sarcasm to overflow.He yanked his gaze up to hers.“You killed my mother for your paintings.You killed blond women because they remind you of my mother.You killed children because”—in a burst of fury, Elizabeth yelled—“you’re a fucking coward who destroys people who are smaller and weaker than you.”Bradley shook as if an earthquake rattled him from the inside out.Those blue eyes grew blindly manic.Lifting the scissors, he rushed at her fast and hard.She swung aside, slammed her bag into his throat, and thrust her knife into his belly.“Bitch!” Bradley shouted.She dropped her bag, left her knife in his gut, and ran.CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINEMoving fast, Elizabeth rounded the corner into the living room—and Bradley tackled her from behind.She screamed as she went down, then hit flat and hard on the bare chipboard floor.Her lips split.Her breath slammed out of her lungs.He landed on top of her.She put her hands down to push herself up.His hand slashed down over top of hers.Agony.A pair of scissors pinned her to the floor.His pair of scissors … through her palm.Blood rose from the wound.Blood pooled on the floor.She couldn’t believe—this was wrong.Impossible.Her nightmares come to life.She was helpless against the man who had slaughtered her mother.She screamed and scrambled to reach for the handles.He slammed her to the floor again, his knee against her back.He grabbed her jaw, twisted it around until he wrenched her neck, until she could see him out of the corners of her eyes.Said, “I’ve been waiting for twenty-three years to do this.”No.He would not kill her.She wouldn’t allow it.He yanked the scissors out of her hand.Agony.She screamed again.He repeated the words he’d said to her once before, “Let’s cut off your pretty hair.We don’t want to get blood in it.”She felt a snip close to her ear.Blond strands drifted to the floor.He placed the points of the scissors against her eye.And with her bloody hand, she reached behind her, grabbed his hair, and slammed his head forward and her head back.She felt it; his face broke against her skull.Now he screamed.Driven by pain, by desperation, she bucked like a wild horse, throwing him off.She flipped over, and smacked the side of his head, over his ear, with her flat of her palm, driving air into his ear canal.For one moment, his face went slack.He fell backward.She rolled, got halfway to her feet.He kicked her leg out from underneath her.She caught a glimpse of his bloody face, of his eyes, insane with fury.Insane.Yes.And livid.Then, from the side, she heard a roar.A male body crashed into Bradley, knocking him away and tumbling him across the room.* * *Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Garik as he slammed Bradley against the wall.Garik punched him, fast and hard, in the face, the chest, the belly.But hurt as he was, Bradley still fought.Insane.His insanity gave him strength and cunning—and he still held the scissors.He knew Garik’s weakness, the ribs still unhealed, and he dodged and slashed, going for Garik’s side again and again.Every time he did, Garik fell back, gasping.Every time Garik faltered, he returned to fight again.Never taking her gaze from the two men, she tried to stand.Her knee collapsed.She crawled her way to the wall, used it to support herself as she inched to her feet.She was bleeding.From her hand, from her face.Blood slid down the back of her neck.She looked around, found a two-by-four torn from a boarded-up window.Picking it up was torment.Lifting it over her head, she turned—in time to see Bradley rush Garik.Like a bullfighter, Garik stepped aside, gave him a push, and slammed him into the wall.The scissors clanged to the floor.Bradley crumpled, unconscious.Elizabeth dropped the two-by-four.She slid to her knees in relief
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