Beau grabs my hand and hauls me the rest of the way up the steps. We press against the house to one side of the front door. I'm numb, in shock, but struggling to find a way to help my cousin.

Jake's voice booms from inside, loud enough I'm surprised the bricks don't rattle against my back.

"When did you sneak away and call her, tell her to come?"

More banging, punctuated by what sounds like china smashing into the floor or walls. Each shattering thud makes me jump, and my heart stumbles loose from my chest at what sounds like an overturned table. Amelia's sobs rip out pieces of my soul. The wind sucks them away.

"What are we going to do?" I whisper to Beau.

He doesn't answer, but he does pull out his phone and dial, pressing it to his ear. "Hello. Yes, I'd like to report a domestic disturbance. The address is..." He raises his eyebrows at me, then repeats what I rattle off from memory before disconnecting.

"You don't deserve to have my baby! You're nothing but a whore. It's probably not even mine, the way you run around like the little slut you used to be whenever I'm out of town—don't think I haven't been watching you." Another sickening thump and crack leap through the walls, and Amelia shrieks again.

We can't wait.

"You're lucky I married you in the first place. You played such an innocent little goody-goody, little Millie Cooper from one of the most worthless families in Charleston. But I chose you. Raised you up. And this is how you repay me. Telling lies to your bitch cousin, inviting her here without permission."

"I didn't invite her, Jake, I swear. I don't want anyone but you," Amelia begs, sobbing so hard the words are hard to understand.

"You can't go back to your old life, Amelia. I won't let you leave."

"I won't say a word, Jake, and I'll never talk to Gracie again, I swear. I only want you. You, me, and the baby."

It's hard to know what effect she expects her words to have, but their impact seems lost on Jake, who's worked himself into the kind of rage that's blind, deaf, and dumb, to boot.

The police aren't going to make it in time, and as the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh pummels my ears, combining with my cousin's pathetic mewls, Beau puts his hand on the doorknob. It turns under the pressure, surprising us both. Jake doesn't seem like the careless type, but if he was in as big a hurry as Beau guessed, it makes sense.

There's no way they can hear us creeping on the hardwood floors over the ruckus of their fight. We pause outside the kitchen threshold, Beau checking his watch with an impatient expression. It would be best, and smartest, to wait for the police. Nothing good can come of us barging in playing the vigilante heroes, but I'm not going to stand here and let him kill her.

"Let go, Jake, you're hurting me. Think about the baby." Her voice is a sliver, barely audible through the razor wire of pain.

Jake's voice drops, too, barely above a whisper now. "I'm going to kill you, Amelia. Do you want to know how?"

She sobs almost silently, and Beau's eyes meet mine. They say we won't let that happen, not without a fight. Talk to him, I mentally urge my cousin. Buy us some time.

"Your stupid, meddlesome cousin and that fancy boy she's spreading her legs for will come sniffing around, so we've got to have a good story. Here's what I think. You'll kill yourself. It's believable after that pathetic display you put on for them tonight."

"Think about it, Jake." Her voice trembles but works at being conversational. "Why would I kill myself?"

"You won't want to live after you lose another baby, sweetheart."

His words, so calm and sure, leave no room for doubt that he would do it. Kill his own child. Whether he's convinced himself that it might not be his, or he's so insane that getting rid of Amelia takes precedence over everything else, or voodoo spirits have taken over his body, it doesn't matter.

He's going to kill them both.

"What do you mean, lose the baby?" She's keeping him talking now, which means he's not hurting her, at least not at the moment. I wonder if she heard me.

"You're so clumsy, lovebug. A fall down the stairs should do it. Or some more of those herbs. Everyone, including Graciela, knows that nothing means as much to you as being a mother. You've failed at that, too. Like everything else."

Beau tenses beside me, a frown making use of every muscle in his face. I can tell it really chaps his ass that Jake ignored his warning about mentioning my name, even though he can't know we're listening.

Without warning, a hard slap echoes off the walls, rattles my skeleton. It's followed by the spine-chilling sound of fingernails scrabbling against the floor, or maybe the drywall, and without warning, Beau rushes into the kitchen.

I follow, almost skidding into him where he's stopped just inside the room. Around his bulky form, I see Amelia crumpled on the floor, curled protectively around her belly. The hardwood and wall behind her are spattered with bright red blood, bringing to mind the splattered spaghetti sauce on the stove.

Jake whirls at the sound of our entrance, his eyes gleaming almost yellow, giving his whole face an otherworldly appearance. I'm sure it's the words from the diary swirling thoughts of curses and witches through my mind, but holy shit the guy looks possessed. Even for him.

My gaze falls to my cousin, who pants hard, watching us from the floor. Her face is a mass of flesh and blood, her eyes swollen like muffins bursting from a pan. Blood cakes her hair and face, and the nose that had been slightly cracked earlier now sits off to one side of her face. A gasp sucks the air from my lungs, but Beau puts out an arm, stopping me from going to her.

I look up in anger, ready to shove him out of the way, but his eyes are locked on Jake. The two men stare each other down, but Beau puts his hands up, showing that we don't have a weapon. I get the sense that the otherness of Jake unnerves him, too, and we don't have to fight. Help is coming.

"We called the police. They're going to be here any minute, and Gracie and I heard everything you just said. Give it up, man."

Jake wanders toward the counter, then puts it at his back, looking as though he hasn't a care in the world. From the corner of my eye, I see Amelia drag herself toward the other doorway, the one that leads into the formal dining room. With Beau blocking one exit, it's as though she means to block the other. Her fight impresses me, but she won't be able to stop him.

Now that Jake's picked a side of the room, I duck under Beau's arm and skitter across the floor to my cousin, holding on to her as tight as I dare. Together, we'll at least be able to slow him down.

"You're a Drayton," Jake comments. "You know how this works. No one's going to believe you, and even if they do, me going to jail is a laughable prospect. You can't win. She's my wife, and she's mine to dispose of as I see fit."

He leans forward and reveals an open drawer behind his waist.

And a gun. In his hand.

It glints under the kitchen lights as he taps it lightly against his thigh. Beau starts, backing up and keeping his hands up in front of his chest.

"Are you going to play the tragic hero, tough guy? I'll be more than happy to explain to the cops how you and your little slut invaded my property after I asked you nicely to leave."

Beau's gaze slides to me, and in that split second, Jake yanks up the gun and pulls the trigger.

The sharp report deafens me, muffles the scream that rips from my lips. A red splotch blooms on the mayor's arm, up near his shoulder, and the look of surprise on his face is anything but comical.

Jake goes pale, making me think it was an accident, but takes advantage of the moment of confusion to bolt into the foyer, toward the front door.

"Beau! Oh my God. Oh my God." I leave Amelia and fly across the kitchen, dropping to my knees at his side and pressing a hand to the side of his face. There's a towel beside the island, the strawberry-printed one Amelia had been holding when we left, and I press it to his wound, babbling. "You're going to be okay. No big deal. No big deal."

His face is white, so white it looks like chalk, and I think I'm going to pass out.

"The police are coming, and I bet they're bringing an ambulance. They are, I'm sure."

The cops should be here by now. They should be here.

I cry out with relief when he puts a freezing cold hand over mine. "I'm okay, Gracie. Stings like hell, but it just nicked me."

He sits up, eyes cutting toward the foyer, reminding me that Jake's getting away. Jake will find a way to spin this entire situation, and we are the one's trespassing. In South Carolina, that gives him every right to shoot him full of holes.

He'll say that Beau beat up Amelia, and I helped, and that he came home to find her bleeding and miscarrying and did everything he could to save her. I glance back toward my cousin, needing her help, her reassurance, her advice, and find her missing from the doorway. From the kitchen.

Another gunshot—deafening, heartbreaking—rings out from the front of the house. My mouth falls open but no sound comes out, and the noise pries Beau's pained eyes wide open. I look down at my hand, helping staunch the sticky flow from the mayor's arm, then back at the spot where Amelia should be, stuck in place with no way to win. I'm torn in two, needing to know if Millie needs help but not wanting to leave Beau, when she appears in the doorway. Her face is a nightmare, but under the blood and the bruises, she's vacant.

The pistol, the same one that shot Beau, hangs from two fingers.

"Millie. Millie, what happened? Where's Jake?"

She lists from side to side, then falls to her knees, staring at the silver weapon as though it holds the secrets to the universe. Tears fall from her eyes, but mine are glued to her thighs, bare under her sundress.

Spotted with blood.

Then her eyes are closed, and no matter how loud I scream, she doesn't respond. Her chest rises and falls, Beau shivers, and I can't move. There aren't any other sounds, and whether Jake is dead, injured, or gone I have no idea, but he's the least of my problems at the moment.

The wail of sirens slump me forward, relief mingling with my wild panic over these two people who mean so much to me. I press my forehead to Beau's. "The police are here. I hear the sirens, just hold on."

"Police! Open up!"

Beau's hand finds strength, presses against his own arm. "Go let them in, Gracie."

I hear the heavy door burst open before I take two steps and a handful of cops, EMTs, and even a couple of firemen pour into the kitchen; it's the sweetest thing I've ever seen. The flurry of activity blurs before my eyes, and their questions jumble in my ears. A policeman settles me in a chair at the kitchen table.

"He's been shot. You have to help...help him. And she's bleeding. She's pregnant. My cousin." I hope the string of words makes more sense to them than it does to me.

The EMTs work on Beau, but he's sitting up, calmly answering questions. Even the fact that the EMTs cut his shirt off to display a tanned, muscled chest can't make me feel okay.

Knowing Beau's going to be fine does nothing but double my concern for Millie. One of the EMTs gets on the radio and asks for a second ambulance, asks them to hurry. The request echoes in my brain, bounces off the walls of my skull and amplifies again and again. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

"Ma'am?"

I look up into the kindly eyes of an older, graying officer with a belly that says he's spent more time eating donuts than catching criminals.

The rest of the day's events swoop in, clutching me in eagle talons of panic. "Did you catch Jake? Jake Middleton, he's the one who did this."

"He the dead guy in the foyer?"

"He's dead?" I'd be relieved if my boyfriend and my cousin weren't bleeding. "What happened?"

"I'm rather hoping you'll be able to tell me."

"I...he...we didn't mean...she never..." I can't get anything out. The fact that Jake's dead won't make sense.

The EMTs help Beau into the chair beside mine, and his ice-cold hand covers mine.

"Plenty of time for that," the cop says, ever gentle. "I'll get you a glass of water and send you along to the hospital in one of the ambulances. You're not looking too good."

I don't tell him the injuries aren't from today, because I don't want them to make me stay here and answer questions instead of going with Millie. There are more people in the kitchen, more shouting as they load her up on a stretcher and roll her away.



This hospital is different, but it looks the same. Smells the same. They have tried to cover up the drab starkness with stupid paintings that are abstract smears of pastels, but it's all hopeless, inside and out. I'm waiting for the doctors to tell me if Amelia's going to be okay, and Beau's still squirreled away somewhere getting checked out. He's been gone too long, and the worry that it isn't just a scratch bunches my muscles into leaden balls.

I hate the sense of déjà vu, mostly because it's not a figment of my imagination. In a similar room, in a similar place, Mel waited for good news about Will that hadn't come.

I've been worrying about him, too.

A doctor walks in and over to me. I clutch the wall, desperate for good news but knowing better than to expect it. "Can I see Beau now?"

"Your cousin, Amelia Middleton?" I nod, my heart in my throat. "She's going to be fine, though we are going to bring in a plastic surgeon to consult on her facial trauma."

"And the baby?" I cringe away from him, as though space will make the news easier.

"He seems to be handling the stress, at least for now. We had to perform some emergency procedures to stop the bleeding, and she'll need to stay on bed rest for some time. There may be permanent damage."

He's alive. I cling to that, instead of the pebbly drywall. "Can I see her?"

"Of course. Follow me."

Amelia's alive, breathing, and even awake, though she looks even more hideous now than she did earlier. I sit on the side of her bed and grab her hand, tears gathering in my eyes at her weak smile.

"You look like shit, Millie."

"I'm afraid to look in a mirror. On the plus side, I never liked my nose, anyway." Her voice is nasally, all wrong.

"Amelia, the police want to talk to me. What happened?"

"I tried to stop Jake from leaving. He came after me again, and then I had the gun. I...I killed him." Her eyes meet mine, incredulous but not sad. "I killed him."

"What are we going to tell the cops?"

"The truth. I'm not living the rest of my life looking over my shoulder." Her hands flutter over her stomach. "I'll be like Anne Bonny, pleading my belly to the court."

"Don't talk like that. Beau and I will back you up."

"Of course you will. We stick together."

"To the end."

"To the end."

We fall silent, listening to the beeping of machines. A nurse hustles in later, waking Millie when she's just nodded off, and we both straighten our backs.

"One of you asked to be updated on Beauregard Drayton's condition?"

"Me," I squeak, fighting the urge to cringe again.

"He's going to be fine. The bullet went straight through but tore up some muscle. He's asleep, but I can take you to him if you want."

"Go, Gracie," Millie urges when I glance at her for approval.

I pull the second half of the diary from my purse and leave it on her bedside table. "Read it. You'll understand why I had to come."

"I'm glad you did."