A Bullet to the Heart by Kathy Wheeler (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

Wyn tossed the gun aside and held out both hands in surrender then tucked them into his pockets.

“Why did you do it, Kingsley? There was no reason to tell Jo you were her father. Why lie to her?”

“Why wouldn’t I? How else could I get hold of the money? I needed it. I had no choice. The mob is after me.”

“But how did you know about the inheritance?”

“I knew Claudia would never have let her granddaughters go hungry. But I never figured on the codicil or Victor’s special twist in the will.”

Jo stilled. “The will?”

Another blast of his madness filled the air. “I learned all their little secrets, and then they belonged to me.”

Jo’s brain cells were frozen. They must be because she had no idea what Bobby was talking about. The wind was picking up. The tips of her ears, her nose, numb.

“But killing Mary? What purpose did that serve?” Wyn spoke calmly.

Bobby’s arm tightened around her chest. “I went to see Eleanor. At the asylum. I thought I could talk some sense into her, but she was insensible. All doped up on something. Mary was there. She saw me. She heard me. Told me about the will. She knew Victor planned to keep her on a short leash. She had a plan. Mary Montgomery was a bitch.”

“What? What plan?” Jo was stymied. Cold and stymied.

“Mary hated Victor, wanted the bastard dead.” Bobby’s mirth was maniacal. Jo’s chill went bone deep. “Mary’s the one who gave me Guthrie’s secret from fifteen years ago.”

“Guthrie? My attorney, Simon?” The confusion was mounting. “What does Mr. Guthrie have to do with any of this?”

“His kid. Mary believed Guthrie’s kid raped that Knox girl. Killed her.”

Jo gasped.

“And Styles?” Wyn’s voice took on that hypnotic quality Jo forced herself to focus on. It was her only hope.

Behind her, she felt Bobby’s entire demeanor shift to something ominous. It wrapped her in glacial layers. Her eyes fell on the gun lying between her and Wyn.

“His father practically bankrupted their shipping business. He was after the money too.”

“You mean Styles did need the money,” Jo bit out. “He doesn’t need it now, does he? Because he’s dead. Because you killed him.” With a violent struggle she broke his hold, dove from him, plummeting to the ground on her bad ankle, smacking her cheek on the butt of the pistol.

Bobby landed on top of her, grabbing up the gun before she could get her frozen hands on it.

“Jo!” Wyn’s frantic cry blistered her ears before the blast.

The icy sensation that began in her shoulder quickly fanned out in a blazing furnace despite the arctic air, blackening her nerve endings with pain. She was going to die. Right there on the bluff. She wondered if this was what Uncle Victor…

Bobby’s scream sliced through her last coherent thought before the ice-cold bleakness swallowed her whole.

“God. Jo.” Wyn slammed his fist in Kingsley’s face, sent him staggering back. He hit him again. This time the bastard staggered to the edge. His arms flailed and Wyn dove for him. He liked the idea of letting the mob get to him instead, but Wyn was too late. Kingsley’s screams were lost over the crashing sea as he plunged below.

Wyn wanted to rush to the cliff’s edge to see the man’s head crash against a rock. He didn’t wait to watch the sea sweep him out. If not for the blood gushing from Jo’s shoulder, he would have.

He crouched beside her, checked the pulse in her neck. It was steady. He wished he could say the same for his own. He took the knife from his belt and cut away the bodice of her dress. The shot looked clean. How fortuitous that she’d fainted. He lifted her from the ground, pulling her shirt away to see the back. No exit wound. She needed a doctor… yesterday. He drew the tie from his neck, folded it, and pressed it to her wound. He wrapped her coat securely about her and lifted her from the cold ground.

He’d never made the hike to town so fast, not even the night he was running from Penelope Knox. Thank God he knew the path so well. The canopy of trees sheltered them from the harshest of the sleet. The trick would be keeping his balance through town—

Jo groaned.

“Hold on, darling,” he said. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” If he said it often enough it would be true. Please, be fine.

Wyn broke through the trees, and the sleet hit him with the full force of the Atlantic winter wind that had blasted the island. He hunched over to protect Jo from the worst of its abuse. He was two blocks from the doc’s office. It might as well be two miles.

Melinda stepped out of the Cobblestone. “Wyn, what the hell?”

“She’s… been shot. Call… Max,” he huffed out. “Tell him… I’m coming.”

“Oh, my God. Of course.” She grabbed the door but turned back. “Is she—”

“Just… hurry, Mel. Hurry.”

21

W

yn kept his vigil the next day. He sat in Jo’s room camped in the most uncomfortable chair available, his hand gripping hers, welcoming his discomfort. He couldn’t seem to let go of her. Her skin was so clammy, so translucent, he worried she would slip away if he weren’t there to will her back. She’d been unconscious for hours.

“I’ve given her a sedative for the pain,” Dr. Max had told him yesterday. “She’ll be out the rest of the day into tomorrow.”

Well, it was tomorrow, and she was still out. He felt sick. He lifted his fingers and brushed the blonde strands back from her forehead. Her lips were chapped. He traced the vein at her temple. It pulsed against the tip of his finger.

Her lashes fluttered and opened. “Wyn?” She moved and let out a squeak of pain.

Wyn rose quickly to help her sit up. “Finally,” he breathed. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Her voice croaked like