Chapter 2 - The Kitchen Floor
I screamed against the palm of his hand.
I threw my elbow backward with all the strength I had left.
The sharp bone connected squarely with Daniel's nose.
He grunted in pain and his grip loosened just enough for me to break free.
I refused to drop my son.
I clutched Noah to my chest and sprinted blindly toward the kitchen.
My bare feet slipped on the polished hardwood, but I managed to keep my balance.
I needed a weapon.
I reached the kitchen island and desperately grabbed the heavy butcher knife from the wooden block.
I spun around to face the dark hallway, holding the knife high.
My eyes darted around the dim room, searching for the other woman.
I almost tripped over her.
She was lying face down on the kitchen linoleum.
A massive pool of dark blood was spreading rapidly around her head.
The suitcase she had dropped earlier was entirely empty.
She gasped for air, her fingers twitching against the bloody floor tiles.
"He took the money," she choked out in a wet, ragged whisper.
"The antidote," she coughed, spitting blood onto the white floor. "It is in his left jacket pocket."
My husband had not just poisoned us.
He had murdered his own accomplice the moment she outlived her usefulness.
Slow, deliberate clapping echoed from the shadows of the living room.
Daniel stepped into the moonlight filtering through the kitchen window.
Blood was dripping steadily from his broken nose, staining his crisp white shirt.
He did not look angry.
He was smiling.
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He raised a heavy, black handgun and pointed it directly at Noah's head.
"Put the kitchen knife down, Rachel," he said softly.
