That did it. “Who are you, you fucking bitch?” But she could hear the wobble of fear in his voice. Men always called names when they were scared.

“What were you going to do, Dakota? Kill your twin sister and then yourself?”

There was a shocked silence, during which she could hear him hammering out breaths. He was moving faster now, and if she wanted to stay alive, at least for a little while longer, she’d have to move.

She began scooting forward on her belly, using her elbows to pull herself along. She was almost there, to the little gravesite. She’d come back here only once, and that had been enough. She didn’t remember what she’d been doing back there, maybe boredom, but she’d found the remains, obviously of an animal. It was just a scattering of small bones, but it had creeped her out enough to never return. The earth dipped down and circled around the mound, but Dakota wouldn’t know that. He was almost to the rise now; he’d be able to look into the valley Juno had rolled into, but he wouldn’t be able to see her in the dark. He’ll probably still shoot, she thought. Once her feet were pulled to safety she reached into her pocket and pulled out what she’d taken from the kitchen drawer; then, she began moving quietly forward. Juno rounded the corner as Dakota pulled back from the rise. She knew she wasn’t where he thought she’d be. He’d need to turn around if he wanted to keep looking for her. She eyed the gun, which was in his right hand, pressed to the dirt as he grunted in surprise at not seeing her. He’d be able to turn around any second, and he’d see her there. If she didn’t act, she would die as Terry Russel had, at the hands of a sick, angry man. Juno didn’t like those terms.

She didn’t wait: lunging forward, she fired the Taser she’d swiped from the kitchen drawer into his neck. The two-pronged barbs penetrated the skin near Dakota’s pulse, delivering a kick of voltage that made him convulse. In the small space Juno wasn’t able to move in time; Dakota’s left arm swung out and Juno saw stars for a second or two as it made contact with her head. She righted herself, her vision swimming. She felt frantically along the ground for the gun, her fingers scraping at dirt. Juno had used a Taser before, she knew what happened next. He was strong; he’d recover fast. She figured she had less than five seconds to find the gun and shoot Dakota if she didn’t want to die. He roared as he lunged for her, but Juno didn’t shrink back; her hands swept the dirt in frantic arcs. Then her fingertips touched the cool tip of the barrel, and relief briefly found its place in her mind. Before she could get a good grip, Dakota grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, dragging her body painfully over the ground. He tried to get to his feet while holding onto Juno’s arm, but his head connected with the roof of the crawl space with a sickening crack. Dakota was temporarily stunned, loosened his hold on her arm. She rolled because it was the only thing she could do, and she’d seen alligators subdue their prey that way. She barely heard his cry of pain over the roaring panic in her own head. Her right hand found the gun. Juno wrapped her fingers around the barrel, pulling it toward her chest. She had just enough time to roll onto her back and point the gun upward. She pulled the trigger.

      33

   WINNIE

Winnie woke to the sound of sirens. Her first thought was of Samuel. Where was Samuel? He was buried in the crawl space! She bolted upright and the room righted itself, but her head didn’t. No. Samuel was alive. He wasn’t the one buried in the crawl space. He was her baby. Hers. She pressed her palms to her face, pain shooting through the backs of her eyes and landing in the base of her skull. And then the realization: her hands were free. She remembered lying on the floor, still gagged, one of her knickknacks smashed to pieces, orange shards of porcelain that looked like mandarin peels flecking the rug. She saw blood on her clothes next, and in a rush the last hours rose into her memory, choking her with shock.

Dakota had shot Nigel. Nigel was dead. She hauled herself to her feet, closing her eyes against the pain chewing at her brain. Strips of severed duct tape clung to her clothes and she brushed them off. Had Dakota cut her free? When she was upright, she took a few tentative steps forward until she had a clear view into the apartment. Terry Russel was no figment of her imagination; the old woman lay sideways with her back to Winnie. A groan came from somewhere deep in Winnie’s throat where she tasted blood and bile. Where was her brother—why would Dakota do this? The nausea unfolded and Winnie doubled over, thinking she was going to be sick. Had he cut her hands free? No. She didn’t have time to be sick. Straightening up, Winnie started to stumble forward. She had to find Samuel—her miracle baby, her baby—not Josalyn’s. She’d prayed to God for a child, like Hannah had in the Bible, even though she’d not felt worthy to be a mother after what she’d done. And then, when she’d found out she was pregnant shortly after that horrible night, it was like God had forgiven her, he’d trusted her with her own baby. She’d done a terrible thing to Josalyn Russel, and she’d been too much of a coward to make herself accountable for what she’d done, but Samuel was hers alone. She reached the foyer, stepping over Nigel, refusing to look at him. She didn’t want to think about Josalyn right now. The front door was wide open, furniture scattered and shoved in corners like someone had kicked it around in a hurry. From outside came the sounds of sirens gusting into the house along with cold, fresh air. Gasping at the feel of it on her skin, Winnie stepped across the threshold, waving her arms at the help that was finally pulling up from every direction. Mr. Nevins stood at the edge of the lawn, arms hanging limply at his sides, his face washed of color. She broke eye contact with him to watch as the police ran across her lawn, their weapons drawn.

“Please, please help my son! Please!” she screamed, even as they yelled at her to get down. Winnie looked back at the house as police officers swarmed around and past her, through her open front door. Would they find her brother inside or had he run out before her?

Everything that followed was a blur of voices and faces until the medics tried to load her into an ambulance. She screamed Samuel’s name until one of the paramedics, a Black woman with close-cropped white hair, spoke so firmly to Winnie she stopped struggling.

“You can’t be anyone’s mother if you’re dead. Are you hearing me right now?”

Winnie stilled to watch the woman attach a blood pressure cuff to her arm. “Good, you’re listening. You have a concussion, and we’re taking you to the hospital so none of that slapping. You got me in the face and that made me angry because I’m trying to help you.”

“My son...”

“Yes, Samuel, I know, you’ve been screaming his name for the last ten minutes. The police are looking for him. Maybe he left. All we can do right now is take care of his mother. Lie back.”

Winnie did as she was told, thinking of the open door. Yes, maybe he’d gotten out, had run before Dakota could catch him. And that was the last thing she remembered.