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D.J. hit the floor, pain shooting up her injured shoulder and clouding her brain for a second. Blood trickled down her chin from the cut her teeth had made in her lip when Rich struck her. |
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She shook her head and the fog cleared from in front of her eyes. "No!" she screamed and lurched to her knees. She stopped there, frozen, as Chris launched himself toward Rich, and Rich pointed the gun at Chris's head. Small details imprinted themselves on D.J.'s mind: Rich's thin smile; Christian's face, calm as death, as he rushed toward danger. |
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Her ex-husband's fingers tightened on the gun's grip, and D.J. glanced up. She'd do anything, say anything, believe anything, if Christian could live. They needed a miracle. |
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