Witch's Bounty (27 page)

The following evening Katie waited for Rick. He arrived in a taxi, the door swung open and he leaned out, looking staggeringly handsome as usual.

“Hi, babe. Hungry?” he called, beckoning to her.

Katie swallowed the lump of disappointment. She wished just for once he’d treat her in a more ladylike manner, but on reaching the taxi, and when he kissed her and she caught the gorgeous whiff of his favorite, extremely-expensive-present-from-herself aftershave, Katie smiled. “Ravenous.”

Rick’s glance flickered over her. Katie pulled her cardigan down a little farther.

Inside the restaurant seated at the candlelit table, Rick took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. “Phew, it’s warm, doll.”

Katie agreed, but thought even with a trickle of perspiration running between her shoulder blades, there was no way she’d be taking off her cardigan.

“I think champagne’s called for.” Rick smiled, reaching across to squeeze her hand.

The minute the bottle popped open, they drank it rather quickly and ordered another. The meal was finished with a generous cognac, and by the time the waiter placed the bill on the table, Katie wondered if she’d be able to walk straight.

Turning, fumbling in his jacket pocket, Rick suddenly cursed.

“What?” Katie blinked, trying to focus.

“Hell’s bells, Katie…” He frowned. “I’ve forgotten my damn wallet! Or have I lost it? Oh sweetie, the meal…”

Katie laughed. “It’s not a problem. Stop worrying. I’ll get it.”

“Thanks, you’re a real doll. I just need to pay a visit.” He leaned over to kiss her before heading off to the men’s room, not noticing he’d knocked his jacket to the floor. As Katie reached down to retrieve it, a small black wallet dropped from an inside pocket. Heart pounding, she picked it up and opened it.

Inside were a collection of credit cards and two folded pieces of newspaper.

Taking them out, she looked at the one taken from a national paper. The clipping showed her with a stupid grin on her face holding the oversized eight million dollar check. The second was a cutting from the local paper, a piece Katie remembered well—when the SPCA advertised her lottery win and the fact she would be handing over keys to the new premises she’d donated on Tuesday the eighteenth.

The date was underlined in red.

In two seconds flat, Katie was stone cold sober.

Carefully smoothing both articles out, she laid them inside the folder containing the bill, collected her bag, and rose to walk out of the place without a backward glance.

Blood.

So much blood.

As though she were floating in the room, separated from her body, Ashley watched the blood drip off her fingers and land on the tile floor. Each plop rang in her ears, amplified by the silence now reigning in her studio.

Moments ago the house had been filled with her screams, the loud pulsing of her own blood as it flowed through her ears, the grunts and groans of her attacker as he’d attempted to dominate her with his strength.

Now it was over. Silence. And blood.

She heaved for breath as her hands began to shake. She willed herself to release the knife, and it clamored to the floor, bouncing twice with a ping that made her flinch.

Oh God, I killed him
.

The reality of her actions sank in as she stood rooted to the spot, unable to move an inch. Her legs wouldn’t respond to any of the messages her brain fired at them.

She stared in disbelief at the man on the ground at her feet. Damon Parkfield. She felt not one ounce of remorse for her actions. Should she?

Concern for the repercussions yes, but not sadness or sorrow. If she had to go to jail for the rest of her life for this killing, so be it.

Sirens wailed outside. She jerked her head up at the sound. The sirens got louder and multiplied.

She narrowed her gaze, knowing instinctively they were coming for her.

Damon entered her home less than half an hour ago. The cops were fast.

His downfall: she’d been anticipating him. She’d known he would come for her.

No longer the weak girl he’d held captive for four years, Ashley’s mind had cleared. Her ability to think rationally had returned in bits and pieces over the past months. She’d visualized every imaginable scenario of this moment.

She’d known he would come eventually. Never for a second had she doubted his tenaciousness. Neither a restraining order nor the passage of time would keep Damon from seeking revenge.

“You’re mine, bitch.”
His words still rang in her head. But Ashley’s head was no longer floating in the clouds as she had been for the four years he’d tortured her. Nothing he could say would have altered the course of her actions.

What he didn’t consider was her determination not to be taken by him a second time outweighed his resolve to abduct her and hold her under his thumb once again.

The sound of police cars surrounding the house increased. Tires squealed and she closed her eyes, picturing the red and blue flashing lights spinning on the tops of several cruisers, skidding up to the curb, heedless of their haphazard parking jobs.

Doors slammed and she jerked again, her feet still rooted to the spot.

She opened her eyes and returned her gaze to the man on the floor, the bastard who’d stolen so much from her. All that would end now. No matter what happened next, she would never have to worry about Damon Parkfield again. And neither would any other woman…