Chapter Seventeen

“Of course!”

I filled his glass. He took a big swig and began to carve again. I watched him as he sliced into the breast, cut off a leg.

“White or dark?” he said.

“You help yourself.” I smiled. “I’ll get my own.”

“No, no, no,” he said. “You’re my guest. White or dark?”

He filled my plate, then served himself. I suggested another toast.

“To your big publishing deal!” I said.

He smiled and tossed back his glass of champagne. I went to refill it. I wanted him drunk and sloppy.

He stopped me.

“No more for me, thanks. I don’t want to miss a moment of our night together.” He kissed my hand. “I have big plans for us.”

He gave me a slow smile. My skin crawled. I sucked in my breath.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said. “We’ll take it easy.”

No, I thought, no. I’m not going to let that happen.

I lurched across the table. I tried to grab the carving knife, but he was faster. He got it first.

“Now, Frances,” he said.

That’s what I was thinking too, only to me it sounded like “Now, Frances!” Go for it!

I grabbed the chicken carcass and flung it at his head. He ducked. I missed. But it gave me a couple of extra seconds to get away. I jumped over the table.

Or tried to anyway.

I really am a spaz. My back leg hit the box on the way past and everything went flying. Glasses smashed. The candle went out. Devin swore. He lunged at me.

He caught the back of my sweater. He slipped on the chicken grease and pulled us both down. I kicked him in the head. I got away.

I ran blindly into the store, sliding in my greasy shoes, knocking cans onto the floor, ramming into shelves. I fumbled for the phone. I picked up the receiver. I could feel Devin right behind me.

I dialed nine, one…

His hand slammed the phone down.

“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he said.

He brought the carving knife up to my throat.