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in his ears. Francine flinched. Her mouth fell open. She lowered her head and turned it as if trying to find the stain of something carelessly spilled. Dropping the shotgun, she lifted a hand and touched her sweater midway between her left shoulder and the top of her breast. She took the hand away, turned sideways and looked at her fingers in the light from the car. Then she looked at Trev. 'You shot me, you bastard,' she said. 'You . . .' She pitched forward and fell flat. Trev cringed at the sound her face made hitting the pavement. |
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Lisa rushed in, and he realized he'd forgotten about the women at his back. |
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He swung around. Sandy and the girl from the trunk, both hurrying forward, abruptly stopped. |
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Standing sideways, he was able to keep them covered and still watch Lisa. |
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He felt sick. He'd shot her mother. |
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The girl, on her knees, pulled Francine onto her back. She tore the sweater off the woman's shoulder, jerked the bra strap out of her way, sank down and pressed her mouth to the wound. |
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She ignored him. He heard sucking sounds. He rushed forward, kicked her sprawling, then crouched beside Francine. He pressed an open hand against the woman's chest, felt her rib cage rise and fall. |
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Keeping his eyes on the other three, he holstered his revolver. He grabbed Francine under the armpits and |
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