I did my best to sleep the following day. Nobody bothered us. Every time there were footsteps outside the door, every time some couple argued too loudly, or I was awakened by the sounds of them making love through the thin walls, I drew my weapon. When I did drift off, it was fitful.

I was itching to get home to GloryLand. I had to rescue Jon’s soul. Risking his life was one thing, but risking his eternity was another matter altogether.

The problem was, Jon wouldn’t survive the trip at the moment, but I couldn’t leave him in the care of a woman I barely knew, but more importantly, I couldn’t leave them defenseless. Even if I found somewhere for the boy to lay low, I wouldn’t abandon Jon and Lindsey to be hunted by Malachi or those no-good Rosemary Boys.

So that meant waiting. I prepared to hole up for at least a week. Lindsey was being nice about the entire thing—even though we were seriously screwing her. She refused to go to work, and she’d said that Madame Jessica hadn’t asked questions when she’d said she was staying home for the week...although from the way Lindsey dropped her eyes, I could only imagine what Jessica had told her. The tiny Madame hadn’t been able to get away from us fast enough once she’d learned that Malachi was alive and kicking.

Jacoby was good. He didn’t whine or cry. He set next to Jon and held his hand while Jon slept, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes Jacoby would sing or make up stories.

I sat near the window, peeking through the curtain ever so often.

Lindsey paced. Or slept. Sometimes she’d leave the apartment for an hour or two and then return with milk or water or oats or chicken broth.

On day three everything changed.

Jon’s color began to regain its tawny glow, and the magical scent of cinnamon formed a cloud in the tiny bedroom. He still slept and had yet to say more than a couple of sentences—not that that was unusual. He’d never been a big talker.

He’d been a good patient and let me take care of him—that was unusual. Jon wasn’t the kind of man who wanted to be taken care of. He liked to be the one doing the caring. This was one way I knew he wasn’t up to the ride yet.

Jon was resting like the dead and Jacoby sat in the corner humming. Lindsey laid on the purple velvet sofa with a wet rag over her eyes. I’d been holding down my chair, watching the street, though I’d dozed off more than once. We’d grown accustomed to the shouts and groans and the beat of boot heels against the ground. It not long rattled us to attention. I felt that Jon would heal, and I’d get his soul back, and all would be good.

The clomp clomp clomp of someone taking the stairs two at a time didn’t even make me raise my eyebrows, and when the front door burst open, it took me a moment to realize what was happening.

Malachi waltzed into the room, as if he hadn’t been beat to a pulp only days before. The corners of his mouth twisted and curled into a maniacal smile. There were bruises on his face, and crusted blood under his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice nor care. He dragged the door shut behind him, closing it with a soft click instead of slamming it with a bang. He entered as if he were walking into a party to which he’d been invited.

I jumped to my feet, my spindle chair clattering to the floor. Lindsey sat up and the rag that covered her eyes fell away. She said nothing, but I could see the shiver in her arms and shoulders.. How had she ever agreed to go home with a monster like Malachi only days before? The way she’d been staring at Jacoby made me think that it was all about the money and sending it to her son. People did stupid things all the time for the people they loved.

I watched Malachi like a hawk watches a field mouse. Waiting for him to make his move—to make his motives known.

In the next room, Jacoby stopped singing and I hoped (prayed. Wished. Yearned.) that he’d at least attempted to hide. I didn’t hear Jon stir. I hoped he had the good sense to stand down.

“Lindsey,” Malachi said, “What a bad girl you have been. I brought you to my home—I trusted you. And look what you did!” Malachi made a tsk tsk tsk sound between his teeth. He’d yet to reach for his weapon. Sweat gathered on my upper lip and I forced my breathing to slow. I felt like a caged animal—like a snake cornered to its hole. I was going to strike, but I had to be smart about it. The thing was, I would survive. My skin was tough as iron. Nothing had ever pierced me. I’d never broken nor shattered.

That didn’t matter. There were three other people—one a child—who I had to get to safety. And a mad man blocked the door. A mad man with a gun and a vendetta.

I took an easy step toward Malachi.

“Easy there, Sheriff.” He raised his deep blue eyes to meet mine.

I froze.

“Don’t look so surprised. I knew exactly who you were the moment you rode onto my property. The famous Sheriff Davis of GloryLand. Sheriff Davis of the indestructible family line.” He spat and took another step. “You know, ever since I heard about you I couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Could I break her?’ and my bet has always been yes. Every toy can be broken...some just take longer.”  His grin continued to spread until it pulled painfully at the corners of his mouth, stretching his lips the width of his face. “Of course this” he gestured royally to the room, “isn’t how things played out in my head, mind you. But here we are. Let me ask you, do you believe in fate?”

I shivered, but remained silent.  I didn’t rub away the goose flesh dotted my arms.

Malachi continued with his rant. “Because sometimes I think I believe in fate. I think, here I am, the man who can break anything, with the unbreakable woman...” He took a step in my direction, the floor board creaking under his weight.

My shoulders stiffened and my hand slid to my pistol.

“Don’t do anything stupid, now Sheriff. I know you took my boy—and there is going to be hell to pay for you and that man, and even Ms. Willing here, but my boy is blameless in this. But you wouldn’t want me to get angry and take your sins out on him, now would you?”

“He ain’t your boy.” Jon’s voice was barely a rasp through the air.

He leaned in the bedroom doorway, his gun loose in his grasp. He visibly struggled to pull back the hammer and held it in the direction of Malachi. “He ain’t your boy,” he said again, this time with a forceful anger I’d never heard cross his lips.

A loud crack rang through the air as Jon pulled the trigger. There was a flash and then smoke, and then peals of laughter escaped from Malachi.

A red rose bloomed on Malachi’s left bicep, but instead of crumpling to the floor, he cackled and laughed, not even grasping at the wound. Malachi began to cross the crowded floor to where Jon stood, barely on his feet. Jon struggled with the gun, but it was apparent he wasn’t going to get it cocked a second time.

Malachi’s laughter grew louder. Wilder.

“No,” I whispered. I lunged for Malachi as he pointed his pistol at Jon, the smile never leaving his twisted face. My body connected with his just as his finger curled around the trigger.

My weight knocked him from his feet as he squeezed the trigger, sending another round of thunder through the room.

The bullet met Jon’s shoulder and he crumpled to the floor.

“You bastard,” I screamed.

Malachi’s laughter only grew louder. His breath was hot and sour against my ear as I took him to the ground.

I’d lost the firm grip on my gun when I connected with Malachi, but I managed to hold it loosely in my fingers.

Malachi, however, wasted no time in shoving the silver barrel of his pistol into my stomach, then pulled the hammer back and fired.

I felt as if someone kicked me in the stomach. I slid my hand—the one not holding the gun—to my abdomen. There was no sticky trail of blood. No hole. No wound at all.

I heaved a sigh. I’d been shot—plenty of times. But never at such a close range. I’d always wondered what would happen. I guess now I knew.

“I’ll be damned if it ain’t true,” Malachi began. He stopped laughing and his eyes rounded and widened.

The image of Jon crumpling to the floor filled my head, and before Malachi could finish speaking, I shoved my gun’s barrel in his mouth and without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.