Harley watched her fingers curling around the heavy rock in half time, lived the moment it took for her to swing the lichen-covered stone over her head for a hundred frantic beats of her heart, and felt the clench of her gut as she reversed direction—slamming her makeshift weapon down at a slight angle—for so long it felt like her abdominal muscles were going to pinch in two and squeeze the life out of her. And then the rock hit Clay’s head, a gush of blood burst from the pierced skin at the base of his skull, and time jerked back to normal speed. Harley cried out as he collapsed, splashing into the pool just ahead of her. Water sprayed into her face and the waves caused by his collapse rocked against her thighs, but Clay didn’t jump back to his feet, prepared to take his revenge. He remained facedown in the water, his long arms trailing down to brush the smooth pebbles beneath the surface, his torso rocking gently as the pool rediscovered peace, clearly not overly disturbed by a murder being committed near its banks.
