Before I could get my bearings, the lights flickered on and I suddenly found myself just as blind as I’d been before. I raised a hand to block the blast of light and squinted into a stark whiteness. That’s when a beefy arm came into view with a knife much longer than my own. It rocketed toward me so fast, my one and only thought consisted of probabilities. If my calculations were correct, taking into account the weight behind the swing, and the length and glistening sharpness of the blade thrusting toward me, this was going to hurt.

Chapter Twelve

YEAH, BUT WHAT IF LIFE HANDS ME PICKLES?

—BUMPER STICKER

At the very moment I was supposed to die from a razor-sharp blade rushing toward my heart, a spike of adrenaline coursed through my veins, and the world seemed to slow around me. I looked at the knife as it inched closer. I looked at the man’s face, thick and furious, a snarl twisting his features. Oh yeah, he wanted me dead. Which sucked, ’cause I didn’t even know him. Then I glanced to the side. My father sat gagged and bound on the kitchen floor. Another dose of adrenaline spiked when I saw the blood streaming down the side of his head, his eyes wide with fear, but not for himself. For me.

The knife was closing in. I looked back just as the tip broke the skin over my heart. Before I could second-guess myself, I ducked and the world came rushing back. The man, unable to stop his forward momentum, flew toward the wall behind me. As he flew past, I raised my own knife, and between his own lumbering weight and the force of my upward thrust, I sliced into his throat.

He stumbled over some boxes and launched headfirst into the wall, knocking himself senseless and dropping the knife. I kicked it under the stainless steel prep tables and rushed to my father’s side, all the while keeping a wary eye on my would-be murderer. The man grabbed his throat as blood spewed through his fingers. He made gurgling sounds, too.

I felt kind of bad, but he started it.

About that time, I heard sirens. Maybe Dad had been able to trip the silent alarm before the man disabled him. I tried to get the gag off, but there were just so many layers—the man liked him some duct tape—and I realized I was coming down off an incredible high when the world darkened and I lost my balance, falling into the cabinet beside me. I took in a lungful of air, righted myself onto the balls of my feet again, then went in search of the end of the duct tape, which was apparently as elusive as the end of a rainbow. It didn’t help that my fingers were shaking uncontrollably.

I heard a couple of uniforms burst in through the back door. “We’re in here,” I called out, studying my attacker. He was flailing like a fish on dry land, trying to squirm over the boxes and hold on to his severed jugular at the same time.

The cops entered the kitchen cautiously before one of them rushed to my side to help. The other one called for backup and an ambulance.

“That man tried to kill me,” I said to the cop, appalled. I didn’t know the officer. He was young, probably a rookie.

He glanced over his shoulder as he unwound the duct tape from my father’s head, then back at me. “I think you won,” he said with a wink.

For a moment, pride swelled within me. “Yeah. I did win.” I refocused on Fish Man. “Come at me with a really pointy blade, will ya.” The other cop had handcuffed the man and was now applying pressure to his neck with a dish towel. I hoped he wouldn’t bleed to death. I’d never been the direct cause of someone dying.

The rookie managed to get the tape unwound.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” my dad said, his voice hoarse.

I hugged him to me as the cop continued his quest to release my dad. Duct tape galore decorated almost every inch of him. Dad and I were both shaking and teary eyed.

“Are you hurt?” I asked him just as Uncle Bob stormed into the room, an EMT team on his heels.

“Leland,” he said as he knelt down. He leveled a long, cold stare on Fish Man, then turned back to us. “We didn’t get the signal.”

“What signal?” I asked, becoming very wary.

My dad glanced at the floor as Ubie explained. “Caruso has been threatening your dad for a couple of weeks now, which is pretty much in direct violation of his parole. We’d placed men to keep watch, but we’d also worked out a signal if he should show up.”

“He sort of surprised me,” Dad said, his voice sarcastic.

“Oh, me, too,” I said, confirming Dad’s statement. “He totally surprised me, too.”

“I knew you would come out of this okay,” Dad said as the rookie cut his arms free. His expression turned to one of a wary awe. “How did you do that?”

I glanced at Ubie self-consciously. “Do what?”

“The way you moved,” he said, his voice airy, “it was … inhuman.”

“Okay, let’s get him something to drink, shall we?” Uncle Bob said to the rookie.

“Absolutely, sir.” The rookie glanced at me with a frown as he left. Great. Half the police force already thought I was a freak. I guess it was time to recruit the other half as well.

“Leland,” Ubie scolded as he helped him to a chair, “you can’t say shit like that in front of other people.”

“You didn’t see it,” Dad said, and I suddenly felt like the ugly duckling again. I thought I had shed that persona years ago. Apparently not. “The way she moved, it was like—”

“—like a well-trained private investigator?” Ubie offered.

Dad blinked, tried to focus on something else, but his gaze kept coming back to mine, a million questions in his eyes.