“There’s more, Krissy. Roland planned to use Henry’s murder to have you for himself. He meant to burden me with guilt and have me fired. He was in the clear now and had the partnership to give you. I was to be the irrational ex-partner. That was the choice he meant to give you. You were going to be his.” I began moving toward Cade. “You killed my friend, Roland, but I survived. I’m taking you in.”

“No.” Cade raised the gun, bracing his shooting wrist with his left hand. “That’s one thing you will never do.”

Kris Ann reached toward him. “Daddy—”

“I have to.” Cade straightened with an insane ravaged dignity. “Perhaps it’s better that you know what I’ve done for you. Now you can truly choose.”

“Don’t make me.” She reached out for him. “Please.”

“There’s nothing else left.” Cade squinted, aiming at the center of my face as I moved closer. “You have to choose now.” His finger tightened on the trigger.

Kris Ann lunged as he fired.

The gun jerked upward. Cade stared at me, astonished, amidst falling plaster. Kris Ann fell past him in the bullet’s echo. I jumped.

My head drove into his stomach and knocked him against the mantel. He bounced back, cracking his gun on my skull. I doubled, stunned, hugging his waist tightly as his momentum pushed me backward and my knees collapsed and I pulled him down on top of me. As we fell my arm lashed up at his wrist and knocked the gun to the floor, and then Cade landed on me with his full weight, fingers grasping my windpipe.

They tightened, shutting off air. There was ripped tissue in my mouth and the taste of blood. Rhythmically, he began smashing my head on the floor. My skull exploded. His face, intense and rapturous, broke into pieces in front of me. Then it went dark and there was only his sweat and weight and panting, the sourness of his breath, iron fingers as I choked for air. My left hand flopped on the wooden floor, touched steel, groping. The trigger curled against my finger. His thumbs pressed toward the back of my throat. My hand closed. In a blind reflex I jammed the gun between us and fired.

His fingers dug fiercely. I gagged, and then they twitched and loosened and I swallowed air, raw and tender in my throat, and retched it up. There was light. Cade’s face was inches from mine. His eyes seemed great with surprise, a last, profound disappointment. They made his expression softer, almost gentle. “Lydia,” he murmured, and then they went blank, and he was dead weight, and his face fell against my shoulder.