Watch Me (32 page)

Ducking, she grabbed a handful of whatever her hands came up with—dirt and rocks and leaves—and threw it to the left. Then she cut immediately to the right and hunkered down behind the wide base of a tree.

Owen was still coming. She could hear his footsteps drawing closer and squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to smother the sound of her own labored breathing.

Please, God. Help me…

He slowed, then stopped. She imagined him listening for her, trying to determine what direction to take. But he didn’t fall for her ruse. He started batting through the trees nearby, feeling his way….

Sheridan was tempted to move. He was too close. Fear insisted he’d find her if she stayed, brought to mind what he’d done to her last time. The club…the digging…the rain…

But as much as she wanted to scramble away, darkness was her only protection. Darkness and silence. She couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound.

“Sheridan…” He tried to regain his breath. “Don’t be stupid. This doesn’t have to be so hard.”

She clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip. He was
so
close. Barely two feet away. Could he see her somehow? It felt like it, even though she couldn’t see him.

“If you don’t come out right now, I’ll have to kill Cain. And I don’t want to do that. Contrary to how the rest of my family feels, I’ve always been fond of him.”

She hunkered lower, praying that something would frighten him away. The movement of an animal, the flashlight of a neighbor. She kept seeing Karen Stevens’s sightless eyes staring up at her.

“Sheridan? Do you
want
me to shoot him? You’re forcing my hand, I hope you know that.”

Thump, thump, thump
… Each heartbeat vibrated through her whole body.

“Fine. Have it your way,” he said and stalked off.

Sheridan waited until she could no longer hear him, then rested her head against the tree as her tears fell. The hoot of an owl sounded somewhere overhead, an eerie call in the darkness, but at least Owen was gone. She was safe as long as she stayed where she was. But it was too easy to imagine what Owen might do to Cain. Cain wouldn’t be expecting it. He’d open the door to his stepbrother and then…

She whimpered at the image of a bullet hitting him the way a bullet had struck Jason. She’d watched Jason
die.
She couldn’t let Cain die, too, regardless of the risk to herself.

Relinquishing her hiding place, she began limping back as carefully and quietly as possible. If only she could find one of Cain’s neighbors so she could call his house and warn him. But what few neighbors he had up in these mountains were so spread out. She didn’t even know which direction to travel. She was so turned around, so confused….

Help. She had to find help.

But she didn’t get the chance. She’d gone about twenty feet when Owen jumped out of the darkness. He’d been waiting for her all along.

J
ohn was right—Owen had come to the mountains.

Cain could see the light inside Owen’s truck glowing through the trees as he raced to the old cabin. In the backseat of Sheridan’s rental, his dogs barked and stepped over one another in an attempt to reach the open window, which Cain had lowered to allow for the muzzle of his rifle. They could sense Cain’s nervous energy, his absolute focus and intensity, and were responding to it, shivering and shaking in their eagerness to get out and do their job.

Had Owen already found Sheridan?

Cain knew the answer to that question as soon as he turned into the clearing. Of course he’d found her. The front door of the cabin was wide open.

“Shit!” He threw the car into Park, grabbed his gun and jumped out. He opened the back door so the dogs could scramble out, too, but instead of heading for the cabin or the forest, they immediately surrounded a limp human form that appeared to have fallen from Owen’s truck and barked as if to say they’d found what he wanted.

The metallic taste of fear rose in Cain’s mouth, but as he drew close, he could tell it wasn’t Sheridan. It was Karen. Dead.

“No,” he murmured, but mourning would have to wait. If he hurried, he might be able to get to Sheridan in time. And right now that was all he cared about.

He had his dogs smell Sheridan’s car to pick up her scent, then ordered them to find her. They began to track, going to the cabin first. Cain knew her scent was strong there, but she wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Killers often return to familiar ground
. John’s words seemed to reverberate in Cain’s head as he called her name. If only he hadn’t left her; if only he’d stayed here….

But he didn’t have time to berate himself. He had to find her, had to reach her before it was too late.

Charging through the house, he ducked into the woodshed and shone his flashlight down the stairs. But he couldn’t see anything except one of Sheridan’s shoes. He must’ve dropped it when he carried up their clothes.

Just to be sure, he sent Koda down, but the dog came right back up.

“Nothing?”

Koda whined and led him to the front door. So Cain whistled to stop Quixote and Maximillian from searching the cabin. If Sheridan was there, they would’ve found her already. Which meant she had to be in the forest.

With a whistle, he sent the dogs into the trees and ran behind them.

Only a few seconds later the report of a gun echoed against the night sky.

Sheridan was hit, but she’d knocked Owen off balance and the bullet had merely grazed her arm. She felt the sting as she shoved him. She wanted to run, but she
couldn’t see well enough to avoid the trees. Her only chance was to stand and fight. Knowing she couldn’t stop him with her bare hands, she sank to her knees and groped for a weapon.

Owen fired again, but it was a random, desperate shot. She couldn’t tell where the bullet had gone. She could sense him aiming lower, however, and knew the next one would hit her if she didn’t somehow get out of the way.

Covering her head, she somersaulted to the right as the gun went off. The sound, so close, made her ears ring. But her hands finally landed on a broken branch and she came up swinging.

He stumbled and fell when she hit him. She heard him cry out as he sprawled on the ground. But she didn’t back off. As long as his breathing or movement gave her a target, she swung her club and managed to hit him one more time.

He must’ve dropped his gun in the scuffle because the next thing she knew he was wrestling with her. But she could hear dogs in the distance. Cain was coming. She was going to live, she told herself. She was going to make it—if she could hold out long enough.

Owen noticed the beam of light before he heard the dogs. That was strange. Sheridan must’ve hurt his hearing when she hit him with the club he’d finally wrested away from her. Or he was hyper-focusing again. Now that she was lying limp on the ground, however, he couldn’t miss the dogs.

They circled and yelped and had no trouble seeing in the dark. Owen thought it might help that they knew
him, thought he’d be able to talk to them, calm them down. But it didn’t help as much as he hoped. He’d never been good with animals, and they were more riled than he’d ever seen them—probably because of Cain’s panic when he’d found the cabin empty. And the blood, the blood they could smell on Karen and on his clothes.

Dogs were so damn smart, especially Cain’s dogs.

Owen shouted for them to get back and began swinging the club Sheridan had used on him, but the aggression worked against him. The lead hound—was it Quixote?—lunged and latched on to his ankle. But he didn’t bite very deep. Even though the dog’s senses told him to fight he was confused; he’d been familiar with Owen for years—and he didn’t yet know what Cain wanted him to do.

Kicking free, Owen scrambled to find his gun. He was going to need it to go up against Cain.

Cain was close now, the beam of his flashlight brighter, more blinding. Once again Owen couldn’t hear the dogs, even though he knew they were still barking. He’d found his gun and all his attention was focused on moving it slowly behind his back.

“You’re too late,” he said as soon as Cain reached him. Actually, he was guessing it was Cain because of the dogs, but he couldn’t see the looming figure well enough to identify him.

The beam of Cain’s flashlight swept over the ground, and stopped at Sheridan. Then, for the first time in Owen’s life, he heard a sound of true agony from his stepbrother—and grimaced. Cain was usually better at hiding his feelings. Owen had always admired that about him. This grief was distasteful, made him seem so…weak.

“Sorry,” he said. “But she was a problem.”

The muzzle of a rifle appeared in the light. But Owen wasn’t worried. He
wanted
Cain to shoot. He’d known it might come down to this, because there wasn’t any way he’d let them take him alive. He wasn’t going to prison; he wouldn’t last a day there.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Shoot. I strangled her with my bare hands. I killed Karen, too, in case you didn’t see the mess back at the cabin. You wouldn’t believe what she did. I had to shoot her while I was driving. Crazy, huh? We spun around and nearly crashed down the mountain. But I got everything under control.”

He knew the pride in his voice would provoke Cain, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“Pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you, Owen?”

“Most people would’ve gone off the cliff. Or let her get away.”

“You’re not as clever as you think,” Cain said. “Dad knows.”

This bothered Owen. He told himself it shouldn’t. His father had never really loved him, not like he’d loved Jason. But it’d been a lot of work establishing his reputation. And now it was gone. Just like that. “I’m sure you’re happy he knows it wasn’t you,” he said. “It makes you look oh-so-good by comparison, doesn’t it? But he’s never going to love you. Jason was the only one of us who mattered to him. And that didn’t change after he was gone.”

“You need help, Owen,” Cain said.

“I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?” Lifting the gun, he managed to squeeze off a round. Cain was
close enough that it should’ve killed him—and would have, if not for Koda. The dog had leaped toward Owen the moment he sensed the threat, and the bullet struck him instead. He fell to the ground with a whine. And, almost simultaneously, Cain’s rifle went off.

There was a deep hole, and she was at the bottom of it. Sheridan could hear Cain calling her name, but she couldn’t seem to rise to the surface, to break free of the darkness.

“I love you. Come back to me,” he said. And she fought harder. She could make it. She was a survivor.

With supreme effort, she opened her eyes to see him standing over her. She was in the hospital again; she recognized the wallpaper.

“Oh, no,” she murmured. “What happened to me this time?”

Cain looked pale beneath his tan, but he smiled. “You were out doing your superhero shit again. You’ve really got to stop that.”

She tried to laugh, but her head hurt too much. “Am I as badly beat up as the last time?”

“No. The doctor says you should be able to go home with me tomorrow.”

Surprised, because she felt as banged up as ever, she managed to lift her hands to her face. “What are these bandages hiding?”

“All superficial wounds that have just been cleaned. A bullet passed through the flesh of your arm—that was the worst of it. And the cuts and bruises on your feet.”

“My throat hurts.”

“But it’s not seriously injured. The doctor thinks you passed out before Owen did much damage. He certainly didn’t do what he thought he did.”

She remembered the dark forest, the barking dogs, the bouncing light coming toward them. She’d been trying to hold out until Cain arrived, but Owen had overpowered her at the last minute.

“Where is Owen?”

“He’s in a different hospital, in a room with an armed guard.”

“So I hurt him that bad?” She grinned weakly.

“You definitely left a few marks. But that’s not why he’s in the hospital. They’re taking out the bullet I put in him when he shot Koda.”

“What?” Alarmed, she struggled to sit up.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Cain rubbed her arm in a reassuring manner. “I’ve got him patched up. He’s going to be fine. But if John hadn’t arrived when he did, I doubt either Koda or Owen would’ve made it.”

“That must’ve been quite a scene.”

“It was, but it showed me something.”

“What?”

“As much as I love Koda, you were all I cared about at that moment.”

Their eyes met and Sheridan felt a tightening in her chest. She’d had strong feelings for Cain for so long she almost couldn’t believe he loved her back. “How’s John dealing with the truth?” she asked.

“He’s struggling. He’s lost two sons and Karen.” Cain closed his eyes for a moment. “Her funeral’s in two days.”

“Why’d Owen do it?” she whispered.

“He wasn’t just ‘different’ as we’ve always assumed. He has no conscience. Jason was the golden boy. He had the position Owen wanted in the family—so Owen killed him. I provided a convenient scapegoat. All the suspicion swirling around me kept the focus off him, so he lived with minimal fear of discovery. Until you returned. Then Ned started shooting off his mouth about how you were finally going to solve the case, and it spooked him. He didn’t know what you might’ve remembered, whether something around here would trigger a memory, or what you were capable of doing now that you have experience working with the police.”

“That’s why he tried to kill me. I get that part. It’s sick, but understandable, you know? It’s the reason he killed Amy and Karen that mystifies me.”

“They got in the way. According to Robert, Karen had found the shovel Owen used to dig your grave.”

“How does he know it was the same shovel?”

“Someone had attempted to wipe it clean, but if you looked closely enough you could see blood.”

“
My
blood?”

He nodded, and she swallowed to ease the soreness in her throat. She was probably pushing herself too hard, but she had to have answers before she could rest. “Why wouldn’t Owen have put it somewhere safer?”

“He thought he was being smart by hiding it in plain sight. He didn’t expect anyone to notice it. And if it
was
found, he figured people would think I put it there.”

“So why didn’t he try and blame you? Why’d he kill Karen?”

“She came out of the garage screaming that John had attacked her and you, and murdered Amy. With her pointing a finger in another direction, I’m guessing Owen panicked.”

Sheridan closed her eyes for a few seconds, but her mind was still whirring with questions. “What about Owen’s wife and kids?”

“I think he must love them, as much as he’s capable of loving. But they’re the ones I really feel sorry for. Lucy was completely clueless. I don’t think she believes he did what he did, even with all the evidence.”

She opened her eyes again. “She needs grief counseling.”

Cain gave her a quirky smile. “Maybe you could start up an outpost of The Last Stand in Tennessee and take care of that.”

His words reminded her that she had a difficult decision to make. She loved him, but giving up her job wasn’t going to be easy. “We need to talk about that.”

He slipped his fingers through hers. “Don’t worry, I’m just kidding. After everything you’ve been through, I wouldn’t expect you to live here.”

What did that mean? Was he saying they should part? She was afraid to ask. Her work was important to her, but she didn’t want to give
him
up, either. “I can’t see you living anywhere other than where you live now,” she admitted. “You belong in the forest.”

“There are forests in California.” He reached over to the counter and showed her a magazine he’d picked up somewhere.
California Dreamin’
. “We could live in the Sierras.”

Sheridan was excited that he seemed open to the possibility, but there were things he needed to know. “It’s different there, Cain. If you wanted to be a vet, you’d have to go through all the schooling and licensing.”

“I could do it. But I’m actually considering becoming a dog breeder and trainer.”

Sheridan liked the idea. “In the Sierras, huh?”

He turned to a beautiful picture of Emerald Bay. “Right here.”

She couldn’t help laughing. Obviously, he didn’t know how far Lake Tahoe was from Sacramento. “That’d be a three-hour commute for me each day. Would you consider someplace in the foothills?” she countered.

He studied the picture wistfully. “Would it be anything like this?”

She took the magazine and thumbed through it. “It’d look a lot like
this.”
She tapped a page showing Apple Hill in Placerville.

“I could live with that,” he said, his eyebrows raised in interest.

Sheridan relinquished the magazine as her exhaustion edged closer. “I want plenty of babies, too,” she told him.

“How many is plenty?”

“Four, five, six.”

He laughed. “Good thing kids and dogs go together.” He showed her a picture of a cabin with a great view and lots of glass. “Maybe I’ll build us a home like this one to house our brood.”