Patricia Rosemoor: Skin

She wasn’t him. She wasn’t a killer. She’d never believed she could shoot someone, not even to wound him as she’d already done. All she’d ever wanted was to save her sister and stop him from killing again.

So what the hell was she doing?

And where the hell was he?

She could hear her own heartbeat. Maybe why she couldn’t place the rustling sounds until they were nearly on her. She was swinging in an arc when he ambushed her, coming at her from behind a tree. They fell to the ground together. Still holding the rifle, she rolled and got to her feet, but he was just as quick.

Gabe grabbed the rifle barrel with both hands. He was stronger. She was losing it. He laughed.

Rage renewed, Lilith lunged forward toward the rifle and him and snap-kicked, the ball of her foot making contact with his knee. With an agonized yowl, he let go and toppled backward.

“Bitch! You women are all alike. You enjoy emasculating men.”

“Sounds good to me.” So angry that she was shaking inside, she aimed the rifle lower. “Did they beg you, Gabe? Beg me.”

“Get real.” Gabe was breathing hard, staring up at her, hatred burning in his eyes.

She squeezed the trigger. The bullet chewed up the ground between his thighs. She kept the rifle aimed low.

“Were they afraid, Gabe? Sweating inside like you are? Did they beg you? But you killed them anyway, didn’t you?”

She shot again. The earth next to his ear churned. “I really could kill you.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not you. I don’t want to be you.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to see the happy faces of your ex-wife and kids when the jury votes to fry your ass.”

That got to him. His expression morphed into a mask of fury. His body grew tense, and she knew he was getting ready to strike again. She used the rifle to indicate he should get to his feet.

Suddenly, Gabe relaxed. His expression grew cunning. “Okay, okay. I’ll go easy, but I can’t get up alone.” He held out his hand for help.

She gave him a disbelieving look. “You’re the crazy one.”

Never taking the rifle off him — nor her eyes for more than a second at a time — Lilith searched around until she found what she needed. Carefully, she stooped and picked up a broken tree limb, then threw it at him.

“Help yourself up. And hurry.”

Gabe grabbed onto the tree limb and with muttered curses, used the makeshift staff to steady himself as he got up on his one good leg. Lilith backed off. He tried a few steps. His face contorted in pain, and he dragged the bad leg.

“You fucked up my leg good.”

“You’re lucky that’s all I messed up. Be glad I’m such a good shot. Not that you’re going to get the chance to make any more kids. Poor little bastards with you for a father.”

Talk of his kids seemed to fuel Gabe. His expression went from angry and cunning to cold and hard.

“So what was your sister’s excuse? You? You make her into the little tramp I took off the street?”

His words cut through Lilith as sharply as any knife. Gabe hobbled a couple of steps, glanced back as if to make sure she was still following.

“I did her good, you know. She didn’t make me just for the apartment or the intro to Sal. She liked it. Wanted it.”

More likely, Hannah had simply been desperate to be off the street.

“Shut your filthy mouth, Gabe, before I cut out your heart!”

An empty threat. Lilith knew she couldn’t kill Gabe, no matter that she would like to see him dead.

“Hannah spread her legs for me every chance she got,” Gabe said. “She trusted me. Even gave me the key to her loft. Thought I cared about her. That’s what made it so easy to take her.”

“You bastard!”

Gabe stopped, but Lilith was still moving. He swung the tree limb and knocked the rifle out of her hands. She went after it. Hopping on his good leg, he went after her. He threw himself against her. Off balance, Lilith struggled to stay on her feet.

They toppled together.

Gabe came rushing down on her, his face a mask of insane hatred as he wrapped his hands around her throat. His greater weight pinned her and kept her from breathing. Feeling as if her chest would explode, Lilith fought him to no avail. He was as desperate as she now.

He was going to kill her if she didn’t act fast.

She shoved a hand in her jacket pocket--

Her head whirled, lit by flashes of light.

--and, pulling Gabe’s knife from her pocket, plunged it into him.

His expression morphed to one of surprise and disbelief as his gut absorbed the finely honed shaft.

She felt his warm blood ooze over her as he let go and collapsed on top of her.

Limbs shaking, she lay there in shock.

Dear Lord, he’d forced her hand to kill him.

Suddenly his weight was lifted from her. Blinking, she saw Pucinski laying Gabe on the ground. And Michael was over her, helping her to her feet, pulling her tight against his chest.

“Lilith, are you all right?”

She threw her arms around his neck. “Michael, I-I killed him.”

“Nah, you didn’t,” Pucinski said. He was kneeling next to Gabe, checking his pulse. “He’s still alive.”

Lilith swallowed hard. Part of her was sorry that Gabe wasn’t dead, but mostly she was relieved. She’d lived with guilt long enough. Elena had asked her what she was willing to do. She hadn’t really known how to answer then, but she did now.

Two uniformed officers had followed Pucinski, who told them, “Get an ambulance here.” He frowned down at Gabe. “You made our case, Miss Mitchell, but we’re gonna have to come up with a creative explanation for his, uh, being in his birthday suit…”

The enormity of what she’d gone through was too much for Lilith. The dam that had been holding back her emotions finally burst, and she sobbed against Michael’s chest.

LILITH SAT on an examination table, ice pack to the side of her face, as a doctor stitched up her leg where Gabe had cut her. She’d barely felt the injury until she was in Pucinski’s car and her adrenaline had drained away.

She’d insisted on checking on Hannah and Carmen, and so he’d left the uniformed officers with Gabe and had driven her and Michael to the more distant hospital.

Hannah was alive but still hadn’t come around. Lilith was sick over it, but all she could do was wait.

Thankfully, Carmen would be fine. The girl had already been released to her parents, who’d taken her home. As to Carmen’s future, Lilith only knew she would continue to fight for the girl. Assuming Carmen would still let her.

The doctor stitched, Lilith winced, and Michael found her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. She tried on a smile for him but figured it wasn’t very convincing.

“All done,” the doctor said. He pulled out a pad and wrote a prescription. Handing it to her, he said, “For the pain.”

She shoved it in her pocket, put the ice pack back to her face and waited for a nurse to come in with printed instructions on home care.

As if she was going anywhere.

By the time she was released, and she limped into the waiting room with Michael’s support, Elena was there for her. Lilith had called her on the way to the hospital.

Elena’s eyes widened when she saw Lilith’s bruised face. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“I’m not all right. I won’t be until I know Hannah’s going to make it.”

Elena held her hand throughout what felt like an interminable wait for word on Hannah’s condition. Michael waited, too, but he gave her space, sitting to one side several chairs away. He was watching her, though, his gaze now familiar and comforting.