She fled before she could collapse in a pile in front of him. Upstairs in her room, she stared at the couch. There was no sense pulling out the bed tonight. She wouldn’t be sleeping. Sinking onto the couch, she rested her head on the pillow, nuzzling it with her cheek, seeking what comfort she could as she waited. A few minutes passed before she heard his solid tread on the stairs. He stopped at the top and she held her breath, heart aching, imagining him standing there, imagining him looking at her closed door. Silently, she begged for him to enter, to give her one more memory, a taste to take into eternity with her.

At last he moved on, his footsteps receding down the hall to his bedroom. She would wait a little longer. Until she was sure he slept. He would never hear her creep down the stairs. Never realize what had happened until it was over.

In the still of the kitchen, Claire stepped toward the chair where her gun slumbered peacefully in Gideon’s jacket, waiting. She slid her hand inside the pocket and wrapped her fingers around cold, hard steel. Now that she had reached the decision, she was anxious to get it over with. She wanted it to be over. While she still had the courage.

As she pulled the revolver out of the pocket she wondered if gunmetal ever felt anything but cold. Her thumb pulled back the hammer. Her finger curled around the trigger like a ribbon furling itself. She studied the black steel in her hand. What am I doing? The answer came back quick and firm. Ending it. For Gideon. For herself. For the world. It was the right thing to do—the responsible thing, even if it went against every instinct of survival she possessed. Deep in his heart, Gideon knew that. She had seen the truth etched in the hard lines of his face. She would spare him the burden of shooting her.

Claire lifted her trembling arm and pointed the barrel to her temple, the kiss of the gun cold on her skin. The gun wobbled so much she brought her other hand up to grasp her wrist to still the shaking. Jamming her eyes shut, her finger started to squeeze.

“You’re going to make a horrible mess in my kitchen.”

Claire gasped and spun around.

There was a flash of movement as Gideon knocked the gun from her hand. It clattered to the floor several feet away.

She looked from the gun to Gideon, fury choking her. Yet a small thread of relief niggled beneath the fury.

His eyes glittered in the darkened kitchen, his tall, athletic figure limned in moonlight spilling through the kitchen window above the sink. “Never took you for the cowardly type.”