She then stood on it to reach the top shelf and moved the still-damp clothes in order to retrieve the .357 she’d hidden there. Holding the weapon in her hands again brought back every nuance of guilt and regret. A part of her wished that the gun weren’t there; then perhaps she could convince herself that her last days in Atlanta had never happened. At the knock on the door, Julia nearly jumped out of her skin. “Just a minute,” she called out. Her heart hammered in her chest while she hurried to put the gun back in its hiding place, but it was when she turned to get off the footstool that she stumbled and crashed to the floor. The next thing she knew, the bedroom door flew open and Carson had rushed inside. His eyes darted to her as she struggled to get up from the floor. “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching her side. An awkward laugh tumbled from her lips, and a surge of embarrassment gripped her. With Carson’s help, she got to her feet with only a few aches and pains in her hands and legs.
