Chapter Forty-Five

When Dix regained consciousness, it was to a raging headache. Disoriented at first, she struggled to sit up while her eyes slowly focused.

“Miss Dixie?” Jillie’s voice sounded muffled, as if she’d been crying.

“I’m here.” Dix tried to smile as she reached for the child’s hand.

“Well now,” Toby drawled. “A mere flesh wound, as they say. Let that be a lesson.”

“You know this isn’t going to end well for you, right?” Dix looked up at the young man holding a pistol in her face.

“I know nothing of the kind,” Toby said. “I do know, however, that by the time you have a chance to go whining to the police, I’ll be long gone.”

Dix bit back a retort. She grimaced and raised her hand to the side of her head, her sweat-salty fingertips lighting fire as they came into contact with broken skin atop a growing lump. She studied her fingers, grateful that there was very little blood.

Okay, then, just a minor concussion. Ringing in her ears, but no severe nausea and no serious mental confusion. Hopefully, no lasting damage.

“Did-ums granny fall down go boom, get a booboo?” Toby taunted.

“Stop being mean,” Jillie said. “She’s hurt.”

He whirled toward Jillie. “Oh, she’ll be a lot more than just hurt if you don’t cough up your old man’s stash.”

Jillie started to say something, but clamped her mouth shut at the warning look Dix shot her.

Toby bent at the waist to bring his eyes close to Dix’s. “I’m doing you a favor, you know.”

Taken aback, Dix squinted up at him.

“You’re on a fixed income, right? Think about it, while I’m poolside in someplace known only to God and Marco Polo, you’ll be negotiating with a major publisher for your story. My Twenty-Four Hours in Hell has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He held up his hand, palm out. “No need to thank me, just a mention in your acknowledgements will do. That’s Dinkins, with an i. Of course, within a week that’ll no longer be my name, so knock yourself out.”

“What now?” Dix said.

“As I said, we’re going on an outing.” Toby jerked the barrel of the pistol upward, motioning for Dix to stand. “I hate to add insult to injury, but you’ll have to drive.” He pointed the gun at Jillie.

“I won’t do anything unless you move that gun away from her. Point it at me, if that makes you feel better.”

“You’re telling me what to do, you interfering old witch?”

“That’d not be real smart, since you’re the one with the pistol. No, I’m just passing along some information, that’s all. If you keep holding that gun on her with your finger on the trigger, you risk a sympathetic jerk, and that would put an end to your plans.”

“A what?”

“A sympathetic jerk as a result of muscle memory. I’m assuming you’ve actually spent time practicing with that thing?” Dix struggled to keep her voice calm.

“What if I have?”

“Then your muscles will eventually do what they’ve done every time you’ve practiced, but they’ll do it on their own. Muscle memory.”

Toby frowned but shifted the pistol barrel toward Dix. “Better?”

Right then, Dix would have been thrilled to see Lil. But her sister had been so angry when she left to find Jillie, she’d probably packed all Dix’s stuff and thrown it into the street.

Dix took a deep breath and, with Jillie’s help, got to her feet. For several seconds, she remained motionless to regain her balance. With what she hoped to be a calming smile at the child, she shuffled toward the pickup.

Whistling a happy tune from a children’s animated movie, Toby fell into line behind them.