Standing at the altar in front of four hundred guests, Jonathan Duncan squeezed my fingers until the wedding rings bit into my flesh and leaned in to whisper that from that second forward I belonged to him and I’d better learn my place fast—so I smiled right back and told him he’d asked for a wife, and now he was about to meet my witness.

We got to the airfield forty minutes later.

The sun was just starting to come up, painting the sky pink and gray over the tarmac.

Cole’s backup was still ten minutes out.

The airfield was quiet.

Too quiet.

A private jet was sitting on the runway at the far end, its engines warming up, the stairs down, the door open.

And standing at the bottom of the stairs was Rosalind.

She was wearing a simple black dress, a trench coat, heels. Her hair was perfect. Her pearls were back in place. She looked like she was on her way to a business meeting, not running from the police.

She was holding a gun.

And she was holding Clara.

Her arm was wrapped around Clara’s throat, the gun pressed to her temple.

“Took you long enough,” Rosalind called out, when she saw us walking across the tarmac.

Cole stopped, his hand on his gun.

“Let her go, Rosalind,” he said. “It’s over. There’s nowhere for you to run. The police are on their way. The jet’s been grounded.”

Rosalind laughed.

“Grounded?” she said. “Oh, Cole. You sweet, naive man. I own this airfield. I own the company that runs the FAA office for this state. That jet is going to take off in five minutes. And I’m going to be on it. And you’re not going to do a single thing to stop me.”

She pressed the gun harder into Clara’s temple.

Clara didn’t make a sound.

Her face was pale, but her eyes were steady, locked on mine.

“Let her go, Rosalind,” I said. I took a step forward. “It’s me you want. Not her. Let her go, and I’ll take her place.”

Rosalind smiled.

“Oh, I want you too, Elena,” she said. “Don’t you worry. You’re going to watch Clara die first. Then I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to get on that jet and fly far, far away. And by the time anyone figures out what happened, I’ll be sipping margaritas on a beach in Belize, with fifty million dollars in the bank and a whole new identity. You lose. Again.”

“Why?” I said. I took another step forward, keeping my voice calm, even though my heart was hammering so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. “Why did you do it? Why kill Arthur? Why kill my dad? Why lock Clara up for ten years? Why use your own son as a pawn? What did any of it get you?”

Rosalind’s face twisted.

The perfect, polished mask slipped.

For a second, I saw the girl she’d been a long time ago.

Angry.

Hungry.

Afraid.

“I was the illegitimate daughter,” she spat. “Arthur’s father’s bastard. I grew up in a tiny apartment on the wrong side of town, watching the Duncans live in their mansion, drive their fancy cars, have everything I ever wanted. And they knew I existed. They just didn’t care. Arthur’s father gave my mom a hundred dollars a month to keep quiet. Like we were stray cats he was feeding out of the kindness of his heart.”

She tightened her grip on Clara.

“I swore I’d take it all,” she said. “Every last penny. Every bit of power. I married Arthur. I gave him a son. I waited thirty years for my chance. And when it came, I took it. I killed Arthur. I took the company. I locked Clara away because she was the rightful heir. No one was going to give me what I deserved. So I took it. All of it.”

“You killed my dad because he found out,” I said.

“Your dad was a fool,” Rosalind said. “He thought honesty mattered. That the truth would set him free. All it got him was a bullet in the chest and a grave by the river. Just like all the other fools who got in my way.”

A car pulled up behind us.

Jonathan.

He was out of the hospital, against doctor’s orders, wearing a hospital gown under his coat, an IV band still on his hand, a bandage taped to his chest.

He walked past us, stopping ten feet from Rosalind.

“Mom,” he said.

Rosalind’s head snapped toward him.

For a second, her face softened.

Just a little.

“Jonathan,” she said. “Thank God you’re alive. I was so worried. Come here, baby. Come stand with me. We’ll get on the jet together. We’ll start over. Just the two of us. Like it was always supposed to be.”

Jonathan stared at her.

“You tried to kill me,” he said. His voice was broken. “You paid a man to shoot me in my own home. Your own son.”

“I did it for us,” Rosalind said. The softness vanished, replaced by that cold, hard anger. “You were going to testify against me. You were going to throw everything we built away for a woman who never loved you. I had to stop you. I did what any mother would do.”

“No,” Jonathan said. He shook his head. “You did what you always do. You used me. You used me your whole life. You made me steal. You made me lie. You made me help you kidnap Clara. You made me watch you kill two people. And when I finally tried to do the right thing, you tried to kill me too.”

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

It was the deal he’d made with the DA.

“I’m testifying against you, Mom,” he said. “Everything. All of it. And I’m not sorry. Not anymore.”

Rosalind screamed.

She let go of Clara.

She raised the gun, aiming straight at Jonathan.

“No!” I screamed.

I ran.

The gun went off.

BANG.

Jonathan threw himself to the side.

The bullet grazed his shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground.

Rosalind raised the gun again, aiming this time at me.

I froze.

There was nowhere to go.

Then Clara moved.

She grabbed a heavy metal chock from the ground next to the jet’s wheel.

She swung it as hard as she could.

It hit Rosalind’s wrist.

The gun flew out of her hand, skittering across the tarmac.

Rosalind howled in pain.

She grabbed her wrist, stumbling back.

Cole ran forward, tackling her to the ground.

He cuffed her, reading her her rights, but she didn’t hear him.

She was screaming, cursing, spitting, fighting him every inch of the way.

I ran over to Jonathan.

He was sitting up, holding his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Are you okay?” I said.

He nodded.

“Just a graze,” he said. He looked over at Rosalind, who was still screaming as Cole pulled her to her feet. “I can’t believe she actually did it. I can’t believe she actually tried to kill me.”

I didn’t say anything.

I’d known Rosalind was capable of anything for a long time.

I just wished Jonathan had figured it out sooner.

The sound of sirens filled the air.

Backup had arrived.

Dozens of police cars, lights flashing, swarmed the tarmac.

Paramedics ran over to Jonathan, pushing me aside to look at his shoulder.

Two officers took Rosalind from Cole, leading her to a police car.

She looked at me as they passed.

Her face was twisted with rage.

“This isn’t over!” she screamed. “I’ll get out! I’ll find you! I’ll kill you all! Do you hear me? I’ll kill you all!”

The officers shoved her into the back of the car.