“Ten years,” he muttered, straining to see any movement outside. “Ten years and he’s still trying to ruin my life. I can’t let him.”

“Your life will be ruined if you do anything to me.” Be logical, Maggie told herself as waves of panic threatened to overtake her. Be calm. “It wouldn’t be an accident this time, Stan. This time you’d be a murderer. You’d never make Joyce understand.”

His fingers tightened until she had to dig her teeth into her lower lip to keep from crying out. “Joyce stood behind me.”

“She loves you. She believes in you. But if you hurt me, everything would change.”

She felt him tremble. The grip on her arm loosened fractionally. As Maggie watched, Joyce walked up over the rise toward the house. At first, she thought she was hallucinating; then she heard Stan’s breath catch. He saw her, too.

“Stan.” Joyce’s hand moved on her throat, as if she could make her voice stronger. “Stan, please come out.”

“I don’t want you involved in this.” Stan’s fingers were like iron on Maggie’s arm again.

“I am involved. I’ve always been involved. I know everything you did you did for me.”

“Damn it.” He pressed his face against the window glass, pounding one fist steadily against the frame. “He can’t ruin everything we’ve built.”

“No, he can’t.” Joyce came closer to the house, measuring each step. In all the years she’d known her husband, she’d never heard despair in his voice. “Stan, he can’t touch us now. We’re together. We’ll always be together.”

“They’ll take me away from you. The law.” He squeezed his eyes tighter. “I’ve done my best by the law.”

“Everyone knows that. Stan, I’ll be with you. I love you. You’re everything to me, my whole life. Please, please, don’t do anything I’d be ashamed of.”

Maggie felt him tense as he straightened from the window. The muscle was still working in his cheek. There was a line of sweat over his lip he no longer bothered to wipe away. He stared out the window, at Joyce, then over at the gully.

“Ten years,” he whispered. “But it’s still not over.”

His fingers worked sporadically on Maggie’s arm. Numb with fear, she watched as he drew the gun out of its holster. His eyes met hers, cold, clear blue, without expression. Perhaps she would’ve begged for her life, but she knew, as any prey knows, that mercy comes at the hunter’s whim.

His expression never changed as he set the gun down on the sill and released her arm. Maggie felt her blood begin to pump again, fast and hot. “I’m going outside,” Stan said flatly, “to my wife.”