Wallace noticed the way she was rasping almost immediately. Of course; stress could and often did cause an asthma flare. That was the last thing she needed. “Do you have an inhaler, Lizzie?”
“My name is Izzie.”
“I know that,” he said quietly. “It’s hard to remember sometimes. Especially when I’m under so much stress. I think about my daughter then. She…would have been your age. I’ve always imagined her looking like her mother. I’m sorry. Don’t be afraid of me, Izzie. I’m not here to hurt you. Do you have a rescue inhaler?”
She should. He knew she carried a bag with her everywhere. Even to take the puppy out. She nodded. “By the chair.”
Near Jennifer. He looked at his wife. “Get her medicine. Hurry; she needs her medicine.”
Jennifer did as he ordered, grabbing the small bag, but he could see the irritation in his wife’s eyes.
Side by side like this, he could see the differences. The similarities.
Izzie was an inch or so taller. Her hair several shades darker. Her eyes were big and soft. Scared.
Jennifer’s were cold and angry. Bitter and hard.
She slapped the bag into Izzie’s hand. Jennifer shot Izzie a glare filled of such hate Wallace winced. “Now, both of you, sit down. We need to straighten this out. Before—”
“Before what, Wallace? Before you ruin everything else? Who are you going to kill next? Was Kyle only the second? Or are there more?” Jennifer’s voice got quieter as she spoke. A sure sign she was angry.
Wallace raised the gun and pointed it at the other half of his heart. “Sit down. You are going to tell Izzie what you did. How you are responsible for the bastards breaking her arm and almost killing her in Brownsville. How you hired someone to shoot her tonight at the charity. Tell her. Tell her now.”
“What does it matter? What are you going to do to me?” his wife asked. Taunting him. Why was she taunting him?
“I’m going to clean up our mess, Jenny. The way I should have a long time ago.”