When Twilight Comes - By B. J. Daniels Page 0,1

over the railing.

Lorenzo stood in front of the fireplace with his back to her. He held a drink in his hand, his gaze apparently on the fire, an anxious set to his shoulders.

He was a large man. Just the thought of his big hands on her made her stomach roil. Her finger skittered over the trigger of the gun as she raised it and sighted down the barrel, pointing it right where his heart should have been.

You can’t kill him. Not in cold blood.

She wasn’t so sure about that. Not after five years with Lorenzo. Not after everything he’d done to her.

She thought about him turning and seeing her, seeing the gun. She could imagine the smirk on his face, could imagine him taunting her. He wouldn’t believe she could kill him.

Even with a gun in her hand, he wouldn’t see her as a threat. He thought he knew her so well, figured she would be too afraid to come after what he’d taken from her.

But she also knew him. Maybe better than he knew her. She knew his one weakness: arrogance. He’d been so brazen to come back here—to not even try to hide from her. Because he had the courts and the police where he wanted them. Jenna had learned the hard way that she couldn’t beat him through the system.

And because of that, he thought he had Jenna where he wanted her, as well. That was her edge. That’s why she had to move fast.

She lowered the gun, sliding it back into her jacket pocket, and turning, stole down the hallway again. As she started past the master bedroom, she noticed once more that the door was open. Lorenzo’s suit jacket was lying across the bed. She slipped into the room and moved to the nightstand on Lorenzo’s side.

Reaching into the space behind the table, her fingers brushed across duct tape and cold steel. She ripped Lorenzo’s gun off the back of the stand and peeled the sticky tape from the grip.

She didn’t need to check if it was fully loaded; she knew it was. Lorenzo was meticulous about that sort of thing. But she looked, anyway. Tonight she wasn’t taking any chances.

The gun was loaded. She slid the safety off with a soft click. Pointed it at the open doorway, slipping her finger through the guard, caressing the trigger, getting the feel of the larger, heavier piece.

Then she lowered the gun, snapped the safety back on and stuck the weapon into the waistband of her black jeans, so it was covered by the tail of her jacket.

As she started to leave the room, she saw something that stopped her cold. When Lorenzo had thrown his suit jacket on the bed, something had fallen from the pocket. At first all she saw were the passports.

With trembling fingers she picked up the top one and saw Lorenzo’s photograph, but with an entirely different name.

She began to shake harder as she picked up the second passport and opened it. Tears of fury sprang to her eyes at the sight of the photograph.

Bastard. He was planning to skip the country. That’s what was up. That’s why he was feeling vulnerable tonight. His “associates” must not know his plans, because Lorenzo belonged to an organization that knew only one type of retirement program: death.

Unless he had made some kind of deal to buy his way out.

But the passports weren’t the only things that had been in his jacket pocket, she saw. She pulled out two airline tickets and had to steady herself when she saw the date Lorenzo had booked for a one-way flight to South America. Tomorrow.

Shaking furiously, she ripped up the tickets and threw them into the wastebasket beside the bed. Then she pocketed both passports and hurried down the hallway to the smaller bedroom. As she opened the door, she could see the slight rounded shape under the covers in the glow of the nightlight. Her heart lodged in her throat at the sight of her sleeping child.

Jenna eased the door closed behind her and tried to stop shaking, angrily fighting back tears.

She moved quickly to her daughter’s side. She couldn’t let Lexi see her anger. Or her fear.

The silky dark hair was spread out on the pillow, the little face that of a cherub. Lexi had one arm around her beloved rag doll, Clarice. The other was looped around the neck of her cat, Fred.

Fred looked up as Jenna stepped deeper into the room, and let out