“Of course, my love.” He actually blew a kiss at her back as she walked out. What a douche.

Jameson stepped toward me, crowding me into the corner, his back to Arthur. With some effort, I focused on his face. “Scarlett,” he said softly. “I begged you to go home.”

I raised my chin to meet his eyes. I might be going out, but I wasn’t going quietly. “And I begged you to come with me,” I replied in as strong a voice as I could manage.

“You were free. You could have just gone home and tattled on us to your boss,” Jameson said, almost accusingly. “Why did you come back here?”

“You know why.” I felt my lower lip tremble, but I didn’t look away from him. “It’s Vegas, right?” I said, trying for a lighter tone. “I thought I’d bet everything that you didn’t want me to die.”

For a moment I thought Jameson might cry, but then he pulled his face together with a huff. “I’m not sorry,” he snapped. “I don’t take it back. If I had to do it all again, I’d still kill them.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” My good hand was sticky with blood, but I wiped it on my jeans, reached up, and rested my palm on his cheek.

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into it, and I felt a tear slide between my fingers, and then another. His anger had drained out of him, and he just looked . . . tired.

A throat cleared behind him. “Jameson, my good man,” came Arthur Holmwood’s voice. “I’m afraid we need to wrap this up. Our guests will be arriving.”

I leaned sideways so I could see Arthur’s face. He looked politely regretful, like he’d just told a bunch of nice kids their slumber party had to end.

If I had to die, at least I could get in one last dig. “By the way, Arthur,” I said conversationally, “I killed Claire, years ago. She’s been dead for all of your little revenge tour.”

His mouth dropped open. “No, she isn’t.”

“She is.” I gestured around. “You know, Lucy said you guys were going to kill yourselves after Claire was dead. So why not let me go?” I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m going to send my boss to stop you guys, but isn’t that what you want?”

It was stupid, but for a second I actually thought I had him. Then Arthur’s gaze hardened. “My wife was right. You are a lying piece of trash.” He raised the gun again. “Say goodbye, Jameson.”

That’s when I knew it was over. I was out of ideas, and I was going to die. You’d think that would scare me, but everything hurt so much, and my mind was numb. I was just hoping that I’d bought Wyatt enough time to recover so he could get out of here, or at least kill the Holmwoods like he wanted. Thoughts of Jack and Jesse and Molly jumped into my brain, but I pushed them away, because I would not cry.

“Dammit, Letts,” Jameson sighed. Slowly, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Then he pulled his gun out of its holster, turned quickly, and shot Arthur in the head.

Chapter 35

Now it was my turn to be stunned. Jameson turned back to me. “I was planning to work on him,” he complained, re-holstering the gun. “Arthur’s more pliable than Lucy. Maybe I could have talked him out of . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind now. Come on.”

He picked up my knife belt, looped it over my head, and took my left hand, pulling me toward the door he’d come through. I stumbled after him for a moment, then dug my heels in. “Wait! Wyatt—”

“I’m okay, Miss Scarlett,” came a wry voice from the floor. Wyatt was struggling to his hands and knees. “Go. The sooner you two get away, the faster I’ll heal. I’ll find another way out.” He glanced at the window behind him, then turned to eye Arthur’s prone form. The other vampire looked dead, but I could still feel a faint buzz in my radius. As soon as we were gone, he would start to heal. “After I finish what I came for.”

“Good luck,” I said, and then I let Jameson pull me out of the room and down an unfamiliar hallway.

“You have a car nearby?” he whispered over his shoulder, hurrying me along.

Swallowing hard, I nodded. “If we can get away from the boardinghouse and the lights, I can get us out of here.”

“I’m not going with you.”

I stopped dead in the hallway. Jameson turned back to me, looking jumpy. A couple of vampire lackeys were crossing the hallway up ahead; they looked at us and whispered to each other, then scurried away. We were running out of time here. “What?” I blurted. “Why not? We can get away—”

He shook his head. “Assuming your friend finished off Arthur, Lucy’s going to punch my ticket. If she doesn’t, it’ll be Malcolm’s people. He’s not going to stop until I’m dead, Letts, not ever. And I won’t let you or your boss get caught in the crossfire.”

“But—”

He stepped close. “This was always a one-way trip for me, Scarlett,” he said hoarsely. “I knew that coming in. I just never expected . . . well, you.” He smoothed hair away from my face, reminding me of that kiss on the gondola at the Venetian.

“Jameson—” I was absolutely going to keep arguing with him, but from behind us we heard a gunshot, then the crash of breaking glass, followed by a terrible, bloodcurdling shriek. There were two more gunshots, and then the sound of running.

“Come on.” Jameson yanked at my arm, and I was too weak and off-balance from blood loss to do anything but follow. He was pulling me toward what looked like a foyer, complete with a grandiose front door. Yes. Outside. For the first time since Arthur had shot me, actual hope bloomed in my chest.

But the big door was opening, and I could hear chattering voices and two hits in my radius: vampires about to walk in. Quickly, Jameson dodged to the right, pulling me into a darkened side room. We froze. The voices on the other side were talking with renewed excitement, about the gunshots. There were four vampires altogether, and they’d never been near a null before. They thought it was fascinating. Hopefully that meant they wouldn’t realize how close we were right now.

Jameson leaned down to put his mouth near my ear. “Watch your step in here.”

Keeping my feet where they were, I carefully turned my body to look at the room behind me. We hadn’t turned on the lights—they would have given us away—but there was a little light coming in from the curtainless floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall. It was just enough for me to see outlines of sheet-covered furniture pushed against the walls, as well as some of the rotting or missing floorboards Jameson had been warning me about. Great. If I put my weight on any one of those, I’d go straight through. And could there be snakes under there?

Shit. I really wished I hadn’t had that thought.

I held still and tried to breathe as quietly as possible, my thoughts flying to the sounds we’d heard. I was hoping the crash had been Wyatt escaping through the window. The scream had definitely been Lucy’s, but I could only hope that Wyatt had gotten out before she found Arthur. Or, preferably, Arthur’s dead body.

Still chatting, the four vampires finally moved away from the foyer and headed deeper into the building. I counted to ten, and then Jameson opened the door a crack to peer out. The stripe of light revealed a telltale red smear on the floor just outside. Blood. My blood. Leading right into this room. Any vampire could follow that.

“Jameson—” I whispered, but I was too late.

The door exploded inward, or at least that was what it felt like. Someone had fired a shotgun right through the door, hitting Jameson in the chest and knocking us both backward.

I fell hard on my butt, bruising my tailbone, with Jameson tangled in my legs. His breathing immediately went shallow. Struggling to sit up, I felt his chest. He’d been wearing his vest, thank God, but some of the shot must have gotten through or around it, because my hand still came away bloody.

Then the room flooded with light, and I saw Lucy Holmwood standing beside the old-fashioned light switch, breathing hard as she clutched Wyatt’s shotgun. Her hair was wild, her eyes practically feral.

“You killed him!” she screamed at us. “My love!” She raised the shotgun to her shoulder again. “You have destroyed everything I care about. I hope you rot in hell.”