by Jamie Hill
"Shut up!” she hissed.
"Drop the knife! We have you surrounded!"
"LeAnn,” Troy tried to talk to her.
"I said shut up!” she yelled at him, and he could almost see her mind working, trying to figure out what to do.
"LeAnn, please,” Troy started again, but he angered her.
"What part of shut up don't you understand?” she screeched, and stabbed the knife at his stomach with all her might.
She had not taken his strength into account. Even with one hand out of commission, he easily overpowered her and knocked the knife out of reach.
She growled her fury and charged at him with her free hand. Grasping him by the neck, she clawed and tried to choke him. Troy was just getting her pushed away when a shot rang out, and he felt, rather than heard, a surreal whiz.
LeAnn's eyes grew wide. Troy looked at her in disbelief, as a bloodstain formed on her chest and oozed in all directions. “LeAnn!” he looked into her eyes, and for a moment, he remembered the feeling of her tender kisses. She looked into his eyes, and fell forward into his arms. They were handcuffed together; she had nowhere else to go. “LeAnn!” he called again, then yelled in a raspy voice, “Somebody call an ambulance!"
Two police officers rushed forward, one grabbed the keys from LeAnn's hand and released the handcuff from Troy's arm. She slumped to the ground, and Troy crouched down and rolled her over. Her eyes had gone back in her head, and she wasn't breathing. One of the officers checked her pulse and shook his head.
Troy held her for a moment, not realizing he was crying until he saw tears splashing on her face. “Why, LeAnn?” He looked at the police officers. “Why did you have to shoot her? She was harmless."
The officers snorted at the remark, and one said, “She had a knife, ready to stab you, Mr. McBride. We don't consider that harmless."
Troy looked at her face one more time, then back to the police officers, who by now, had multiplied to six. “She said she has a brother in the house."
The police got into position and burst through the door. Several of them entered the house. Troy stared into LeAnn's face until he heard Dave's voice.
"Holy crap, Troy! Are you all right?” He ran up the driveway.
Troy looked at Dave, then back at LeAnn. He wiped his face quickly, then laid her gently on the garage floor and stood up. His shirt was covered with blood.
"Are you hurt?” Dave asked.
He looked down at himself. “It's not my blood.” He looked back up at Dave. “What are you doing here?"
"Joe and Steve called me as soon as they realized what was happening, then they alerted the police."
Troy nodded. “I figured they would. I'll never bitch about paying for bodyguards again."
Dave smiled. “They're good. The transmitter on the car, and the bug inside it were very helpful."
Troy looked around. “Where are they?"
"They took off when the police showed. Some of their gadgets are, shall we say, on the edge of legality."
Troy nodded again, and looked up as a policewoman called his name. “Mr. McBride? You might want to see this."
"Is Bubba in there?"
She smiled and shook her head. “There's only evidence of one person living here—one sick, sick person."
Troy stepped into the house with Dave behind him. The living room was empty except for a computer on a small table, and one chair. Two walls of the room were papered with pictures of Troy, cut out and taped up. He was sickened to see multiple copies of his face staring back at him.
"Look at this,” the policewoman said, pointing to the computer. The screen saver scrolled the message Troy, I'm your biggest fan! Love, LeAnn. She jiggled the mouse and the desktop appeared, with a large smiling picture of Troy as the wallpaper.
"Jeez,” Troy muttered and shivered as he looked at Dave. “I want to go home."
The policewoman told him, “I'm afraid we'll need to keep your car until the initial investigation is complete—we can try to get it done by tomorrow."
"It's okay.” Troy waved his hand.
"I'll take him home,” Dave told her.
She handed Dave her card. “Have him call me tomorrow. We'll have a few questions for him, and he can get his car."
"Thanks.” Dave stuck the card in his pocket, and put his arm around Troy's shoulder. “Come on, buddy. I'll take you home."
They walked back out through the garage, and Troy took one last look at LeAnn lying on the floor.
"Come on,” Dave encouraged him. “You'll feel better when you get home."
Troy nodded. “I want to go home."
Dave led him to his car. “To Carrie."
Troy shook his head. “No. To my mother."
Dave laughed and put Troy in the car. He shut the door, and went around to his side. “Oh, Troy,” he said as he got in. “You don't want to go back to New York. Stay here, in beautiful California. We love you here."
They both looked at LeAnn's body, still visible on the garage floor. “Okay,” Dave admitted. “Some of us a little too much. But ninety-nine percent of us are sane."
Troy leaned his head back against the car seat. “I wish I could forget this whole thing ever happened."
"I think you should be careful what you wish for,” Dave said with a sly smile.
Troy shot him a look. “I suppose you don't have any aspirin."
"As a matter of fact, I do.” He reached in his console, and tossed the bottle to Troy. “I even have a lovely bottle of bourbon to crack open when we get back to your place."
Troy looked at him. “I hope it's a big damn bottle."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jamie Hill was born and raised in the Midwest, where she still lives with her husband and two sons. She has always loved to read, with romance and mysteries being particular favorites. She enjoys writing romantic suspense and short stories with erotic and paranormal elements. Her first story for Whiskey Creek Press—Torrid was Far from Ordinary in the Summer Sizzlers Anthology. Other WCPT Titles include Sweet Reunion in the Fall Fires Anthology, and Moving Day in the Lust Anthology. Visit Jamie's website at www.jamiehill.biz, and sign up for her monthly newsletter with contests and news about upcoming releases.
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