Sara watched as Tyvek dug through the bag he’d stashed in the bushes. When he brought out lighter fluid, she had to fight not to spring out of her seat and attack. She cut her eyes toward Warrick. He was managing to stay very still, but she could see the muscles in his arms flexing as he moved. She only hoped that meant the worm gear she gave him was working, that he could cut through the ropes with it. She kept her hands by her sides, hoping Tyvek wouldn’t see her destroyed prosthesis.
She and Warrick locked eyes as she prayed over and over that he would break through the bindings. Tyvek knelt not far from her. He held the gun, but his focus was split now. He pulled two more cans of lighter fluid from the bag. That’s when Sara realized many of the shrubs had been stripped. Of course, they were bare of leaves and flowers for the winter, but Tyvek had hacked away at them and a pile of branches lay next to the bench Warrick sat on.
Tyvek had begun to talk, but the words were hard to make out. He was ranting to himself, and Sara understood what mental health experts meant when they talked about a psychotic break. He appeared to be exactly that: broken.
“William,” Warrick said, his voice steady. “Vicki always loved these roses. Don’t do this here.”
Tyvek stilled for a moment and Sara held her breath. Warrick had talked about Vicki in the past tense.
“I still do,” she said quickly. “I love this rose garden. Warrick is right. Don’t do this here.”
Tyvek shook his head and looked up at her, bone deep sorrow etched on his features. “I should have done better by you. I was too concerned about what people would think. Not this time, though. This time, we’re going to do this together and then you’ll see, things will be better when he’s gone.”
Sara’s stomach twisted and she thought she might be sick. She knew in Tyvek’s sick mind, Warrick was the root of his daughter’s problems.
Tyvek froze.
Her hand. He’d seen her hand. He stepped toward her, then spun toward Warrick. Sara couldn’t wait to see if Warrick had freed his hands.
Sara took a chance. It was now or never and she knew of one sure way to get Tyvek to turn back to her, to get his focus off Warrick. “Dad!”
Sara held her breath for a split second before remembering to breathe. As Tyvek turned, she struck, using the heel of her hand and driving straight up to his nose. Contrary to urban legend, it wouldn’t send the cartilage into his brain and kill him. But it would hurt like a mother and make his eyes water, giving her a few seconds’ advantage.
The gun fell from Tyvek’s hand and Sara dove for it, but he was on her almost instantly. Her right hand was pinned beneath her. With her prosthesis broken, she wasn’t able to grab the weapon with her left hand, but she could shove it out of the way. She hit at it, sending it under the shrubs.
“Vicki,” Tyvek choked out in a guttural sob. He looked at her as though he couldn’t believe she’d hurt him, but Sara didn’t feel anything for the man. He was a killer, and she wouldn’t let him kill Warrick in some crazed revenge plot for his daughter.
She shoved hard at Tyvek with the elbow of her left arm, flipping over to her hands and knees. She scrambled to look for a weapon. Something. Anything. Her eyes scanned the area and she finally dove for the gun she’d only moments before shoved out of the way.
She felt Tyvek’s hand clamp down on her ankle and she pitched forward, her head hitting the concrete bench.
Then Warrick was up and moving. His hands were free as he charged at Tyvek, tackling him. The two men flew over Sara and hit the ground. The sound of grunts and flesh hitting flesh rent the air.