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stupid party.”
    Jillian couldn’t stand sitting there. She got up and paced to the window and looked out. The sun crawled down the horizon. She turned back to Colton. “As the house emptied, I finally realized you weren’t coming, and I headed for the front door. As I approached your uncle’s office, he and another man were arguing.”
    “Who was he arguing with?”
    Jillian licked her lips. “At first I couldn’t tell. They were really going at it. I stopped because I had to pass by the door to get out of the house. I figured I’d wait until the other man left, then I would sneak on out.”
    Colton rubbed his chin. “But that didn’t happen.”
    “No.” She shook her head as the memories slipped over her. Turning back to the window, she stepped to the side and parted the blinds to glance at the backyard. Quiet. Peaceful. A mirage? She flipped the blind closed and rubbed her arms as a chill washed over her. “Your uncle yelled that he’d worked too hard to have everything destroyed and grabbed one of those guns off the wall—”
    Colton’s gaze sharpened. “One of his antique collectibles?”
    She waved a hand. “I didn’t exactly have time to study it, but it was one of those he kept on the wall behind his desk.”
    “Locked and loaded,” Colton whispered.
    “What?”
    He looked at her. “It’s always been one of his sources of pride. He keeps those guns in prime working order. I remember him cleaning them all the time.”
    “He leaves them loaded on his wall? That’s crazy!”
    “And dangerous. Nevertheless, he did it. Still does it as far as I know. And everyone knew it.” He shook his head. “My dad used to harass him all the time about it. What happened next?”
    “The man he was arguing with vaulted over the desk and knocked your uncle into the wall. They both landed on the floor, but the man was quick. He jumped up and grabbed one of the other guns, held it to your uncle’s head, and said he’d have him arrested if he ever threatened him again—and if he ever pulled a gun on him again, he’d better be prepared to pull the trigger. Then he threw the gun on the desk, turned, and walked from the office. I hid real quick behind the door that led to the patio. Unfortunately, that’s where the man went, through the sunroom and out onto the patio, and your uncle followed, furious and spewing threats. But he was acting . . . weird . . . too.”
    “Weird?”
    “Yeah, like he was drunk. He was slurring his words and stumbling around.”
    Colton frowned and shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
    “All I know is what I saw.”
    Jillian noted Colton’s hard fists and white knuckles. He said, “Go on.”
    She rubbed her palms on her thighs and pulled in a steadying breath. She had to finish this. “They started arguing again. I peeked through the crack in the door and . . .” She bit her lip as the horror of that moment swept over her once again.
    “And?”
    “Your uncle said something insulting about your aunt, lifted the gun, and pointed it at the other man, who looked scared andsaid, ‘I’m walking away. I suggest you do the same.’ And then your uncle started to walk forward, made a weird sound, stumbled—and pulled the trigger.” She raised a hand and covered her mouth. Behind her hand, she said, “He just pulled the trigger like he didn’t care that he was taking a life.” Confusion flickered as it did every time she thought about the next part. “And then they both fell.”
    “Both?”
    “Yes. I didn’t have a good view of your uncle from where I was hiding, but the man he shot fell immediately. Then your uncle cried out and sank to his knees.” She closed her eyes tight, picturing the moment. “He still held the gun in his hand.”
    “He wound up in the hospital that night with a mild heart attack,” Colton muttered. “I found out the next day. He had all kinds of tests run and came home late the following night.”
    Jillian raised a shaky