Chapter 93

93

Powell heard what sounded like fireworks as she opened the refrigerator to grab the condiments. Fireworks weren't all that unusual in Hughes Heights. Sometimes, families rented the pavilions just over the greenway from her family. She and her brothers used to be so excited when they'd get to see surprise displays after bedtime. She remembered lying in her bed, looking out from her balcony so many times, thinking it was magic. And that the fireworks were just for her.

She had had the most idyllic childhood. She wanted to give her child that same kind of life. The dinners with Grandma and Grandpa would be a definite priority too. Powell couldn't wait.

Her father came out of his office, a look of concern on his face, his phone still in his hand. He came to her; he wrapped one hand around her arm. "Powell, get away from the window. Right now."

Her mom came around the kitchen peninsula, a worried look on her face. "Mason, what is it? The fireworks?"

"Those weren't fireworks." He wrapped his arm around Powell's shoulders. He pulled her from the front window and nudged her away. "Get to the back living room. Stay away from the windows. Where is Erickson?"

If they weren't fireworks. That meant… "Gunnar's outside. He saw Daniel outside, and he went outside. They were going to my house next door. Gunnar and Daniel. Gunnar's outside."

Powell turned toward the back door.

Just as her mother screamed.

Powell spun around. There were men there. Men she'd seen before. She screamed.

Gunnar's name.

Her father lunged at the closest man. "Run, Powell! Run! Go!"

She tried. It was them. The men from before. And they had her mother between them.

One man lashed out. Cracked his gun across the back of her father's head.

Her father fell at her feet and didn't move again. " Daddy!"

One man stepped around him. "Hi, honey, I'm home. Did you miss me?"

It was him . The man in charge. She'd seen his picture. On Gunnar's phone. A driver's license photo. The man from Wyoming.

Timothy Grundenman the Third stared back at her now. Powell just stared at him in return, her hands on her father's shoulders. There was blood on her dad's head now.

"What…what do you want?"

"Baby, I want you, of course. It's what I have wanted from the very beginning. You are the perfect woman, Powell. I have wanted you for a long, long time. Well, I've wanted what kind of life you've had all along anyway." He stepped closer. She tried to pull back. His friends blocked her escape. Her mom was crying, leaning over Powell's father. Begging him to get up. One of the men yanked her mother to her feet. "Everything I have been working for, for years, has been to get where you and your damned family already are. But Erickson kept ruining everything. Him and Fucking Heather. Now…I got you. Right where I want you. Well, almost where I want you."

Powell wasn't stupid—she knew what he meant. Would never forget what he had said, threatened before.

"What are you going to do?"

"The question isn't what I am going to do. It's what you are going to do. See, I want a family reunion before you and I have our fun. And you're going to help me make it happen. I'm going to go away for a while. A vacation of sorts. But there is some unfinished business with an aunt of mine I need to take care of first. Families can be so complicated. Loose ends, and everything. Revenge. That kind of thing. Since she destroyed everything. I'm sure you understand."

He had her by the shirt, lifting her almost off her feet. "You are small, aren't you? Let's go make a little phone call to that pal of yours, shall we?"

"If I refuse?"

He pointed the gun in his hand. At her father. Her mother. "I don't think you will. I'd hate to see Mommy and Daddy go the way that bastard Erickson just did."