He took another step.
She squeezed the trigger.
The gun didn’t make a sound, but the body hitting the floor certainly did.
She crumpled to her knees and finally allowed the panic attack to roll over her.
FORTY
Leesha buzzed around Georgia’s house with a notepad in her hands and a look of consternation on her face. “Is this TV stand yours?”
“No, it was here when I moved in,” Georgia said from her spot on the couch.
Leesha checked off something on her notepad and then pulled a roll of stickers from her pocket. She tagged the TV stand with a blue dot, which Georgia assumed meant do not pack for the movers.
“If you give me that roll of stickers, I can help, you know.”
“I’ve got it.”
Georgia sighed in frustration. Leesha had insisted that Georgia relax, that she’d take care of everything, but it was driving Georgia a little crazy to be forced into sitting still.
A week had gone by since she’d shot Phillip in Colby’s bedroom. The scene still played over in her head every night when she tried to go to sleep. But she tried to chase away the nightmares by reminding herself that Phillip couldn’t hurt her or anyone else anymore. She was free. Finally.
But she’d killed a man to get there. Part of that stained her conscience, even though she knew he was a murderer and would’ve killed her or one of the guys without a bit of remorse. She didn’t think any normal person could take someone else’s life and not be affected by that. And it seemed people were giving her space or treating her with kid gloves because of it. Leesha, her parents when they flew in to see Ge
orgia the day after, and the boys across the way.
She’d spent a long night in the police station with Colby and Keats after everything had happened. They’d gone through endless interviews while the cops tried to put together exactly what had happened. She’d never been offered coffee so much in her life. It was as if that were all anyone could come up with to do for her. More coffee, hon?
All the while the cops were offering it to her, though, she knew they were trying to determine if she’d killed Phillip in cold blood, especially when they’d realized she, Colby, and Keats were all in some sort of relationship. She could already see the headlines in her head: In an erotic-crazed night, three people took out a scorned lover in an elaborate plan.
But when the local cops talked to the police in Chicago, the focus had shifted. Phillip hadn’t been so careful on his way out of town since he hadn’t planned to return. He’d purchased the gun illegally from a police informant. And yesterday, he’d emptied out his savings and had bought a used car with cash.
When the locals searched Phillip’s vehicle, things became even clearer. He had a notebook detailing all of Georgia’s activity from back when she was in Chicago through now. The most recent entries had stopped using her name and referred to her as the whore or the ungrateful bitch. Colby was labeled as the cocksucker. And beneath the liner of the car’s trunk was a bag of cash and two fake passports—one with Georgia’s picture on it. All evidence pointed in one direction. Phillip had come down to kidnap Georgia and escape across the border. The police concluded that it was enough to show that Georgia had acted in self-defense. Plus, based on Keats’s and Colby’s separate statements, it was clear Phillip had forced his way into Colby’s home, which in Texas gave the occupants the right to use deadly force.
They’d released all three of them around lunchtime the next day.
She’d been numb and shell-shocked still. And the guys had seemed to sense that she didn’t want to talk about it. When they’d gotten into the back of the cop car for the ride home, Colby had put his arm gingerly around her, offering support if she wanted it, and he’d whispered, “You saved all of our lives. I’ve never seen anyone be so brave.”
Keats had taken her other hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I’m sorry we let you down and didn’t protect you like we promised.”
She’d shaken her head, wanting to tell them that they hadn’t let her down, that the very reason she hadn’t collapsed into a panic when Phillip had surprised her in her garage when she’d gotten home from running errands was that they’d helped her find her strength again. But she couldn’t get the words out.
“He’s gone now, George,” Keats said softly. “You’re free of him.”
She’d finally cried then, sagging into Colby’s shoulder and squeezing Keats’s hand tight.
When they’d arrived at her house, she’d asked them to come in with her. She hadn’t wanted them facing the crime scene at Colby’s house and . . . she’d needed them there with her. Maybe they’d all needed each other. They’d gone quietly upstairs, showered until the hot water ran cold, and crawled into bed, simply holding each other until sleep finally overtook them.
But the following day had been chaos. The cops had wanted to talk to everyone again to fill in details. Leesha had called to say she was flying in with Georgia’s parents. And all the wheels had started turning without Georgia.
Colby and Keats had left with the promise that they would all talk soon. But with everyone visiting and so much happening, they hadn’t gotten the chance to do more than check in by phone.
But she’d seen carpets being pulled out and furniture being removed and replaced over at Colby’s. She didn’t blame him for not wasting any time removing memories of what had happened there. But part of her had seen it as erasing it all. The bedroom that she’d looked in so many times would be different now. And the people on the other side of the window had been changed in ways that could never be undone. She didn’t know where she fit anymore—if she fit at all.
Leesha certainly had her own ideas. She’d gone into get-Georgia-back-to-Chicago mode as soon as she’d arrived. And Georgia hadn’t protested. Phillip was gone. Her old life was waiting there for her in Chicago. Her house. Her friends. All the things that had once been so familiar and comfortable. But she couldn’t find it in herself to get excited about it.
“I was thinking maybe we should do Christmas dinner at a restaurant this year,” Leesha said, breaking Georgia from her ruminating. “I talked to your mom, and we’re all so excited to get you back home. But no one wants the stress of cooking this year. Not with all that’s going on. I’ve heard that restaurant in the Trump Hotel has a great Christmas menu.”