Authors: Laura Morrigan
I started toward it on my hands and knees but stopped just a few feet away. The opening
was partly blocked by several pipes. I could never squeeze through the hole.
I felt another wave of panic. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic. The ground seemed
to be rising up—the crawl space shrinking.
I opened my mouth to sob or scream or something else pathetic, but choked back the
impulse. Crying and screaming wouldn’t do any good. The creak of a floorboard sounded
overhead. I held my breath, listening. Bo’s muffled voice traveled down through the
floor.
“There’s nowhere to run to. Stupid bitch. You hear?”
Footsteps echoed above me. I searched for another escape. Then I heard something that
made my heart stumble in my chest.
The ratcheting sound of a cartridge being chambered.
Bo Bishop had a shotgun.
I crouched motionless, straining to listen over the thunderous beat of my heart. Would
he shoot through the floor? I could hear Bo talking, cursing, walking. It sounded
like he was moving toward the front door.
I was frozen. Petrified. Where could I go? I stared at the opening I had come through.
I couldn’t go that way. Bo would be coming out of the cabin any second.
“Move,” I ordered myself in a ragged whisper.
“
Move if you want to live.”
My body obeyed. I began crawling furiously toward the back of the cabin. I slammed
my knee into a root and scraped my shins on an exposed cinderblock, but my mind barely
registered these things. I had to put as much distance as possible between me and
the hole Bo was sure to crawl through any second.
As I neared the opposite end of the cabin, I heard the front door slam. I glanced
back over my shoulder but kept crawling. My hand sank into something wet.
I looked down. Water. I had crawled to the far side of the cabin. The side closest
to the lake. My gaze shot up. I wasn’t looking at a wall. There was no wall. A thin
sliver of weak light danced on the water’s surface. What I’d assumed was a solid exterior
wall was an illusion. It was the underside of steps leading to a small floating dock.
The cabin went right to the water’s edge.
I crawled forward, fingers groping in the muck. After only a foot, I felt a steep
slope.
A few feet out it drops off.
Sucking in a deep breath, I plunged into the cool water.
My chest and legs scraped the ground as I wriggled under the steps. I swam hard at
a downward angle, kicking madly with my heavy, sodden tennis shoes.
A ghostly light materialized above me. I changed directions, knowing I was past the
floating pier.
Breaking the water’s surface, I gasped. The sound was muted by the driving rain. Treading
quietly, I looked back toward shore. I scanned the back of the cabin. There was no
sign of Bo.
I could still hear Jax barking like mad. He was desperate now. In a frenzy. I had
the feeling he could still see Bo. That meant he wasn’t crawling under the house looking
for me.
He was waiting.
Waiting for me to come out. Like a cat waits to pounce on his prey.
Swimming around the dock toward the side of the house closest to where I’d parked,
I pulled myself up the sharply sloped bank into the tall reeds. Though I knew the
rain concealed my movements, every crackle of the dry stalks seemed magnified in my
ears. I lay still for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. Rising slowly to my
feet, I crept along the side of the cabin.
I stopped at a window and peeked over the sill. Looking past the interior of the house,
I strained to see through the windows by the front door. Bo’s figure came into view.
He was standing with his back to the Suburban, pointing a shotgun down at the access
hole I’d crawled through.
Shaking from fear and exertion, I turned and flattened my back against the wall. I
was only twenty feet from Bluebell. But he had a shotgun.
No time to dwell on that.
Don’t think, run!
I surged forward and sprinted.
I had only gone a few feet when I heard the sound of boots, heavy on the ground behind
me. I willed myself to run faster. To live.
I was only steps from the truck now. I reached forward and clasped the door handle.
I pulled and felt the door begin to swing open.
An explosion of pain shot through my head as I was shoved forward into the door. It
slammed shut. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Bo pressed his weight against
me, penning me to the door. He clawed his hand into my hair and yanked. I cried out.
Snarling, Jax lunged at the window and dug frantically at the door.
A scene burst though my mind. Fast and violent.
A memory. Jax’s memory. Mark Richardson’s murder was played out in sickening clarity—
Mark holding up his hands, then backing away. Then shouting and a loud
pop
. Mark’s head snapping back. His body falling, slumping back on the white couch. The
murderer standing over him, a look of fury and disgust on his face. Speaking words
in the same voice I heard in my own ear.
“You broke my nose, bitch.”
I tried to fight off the nauseating terror that beat against the inside of my skull
like the tail of a caged alligator. But the memory had been so filled with desperate
emotion and crippling fear, I was paralyzed. I stood limp and defenseless as a rag
doll in the hands of a cruel child.
“You are gonna pay.” Bo slammed my face against the window. White light flared over
my vision. Blinding pain splintered across my cheekbone.
Broken.
I could feel a trickle of blood flow from my lip. It smeared on the glass and was
washed away by the driving rain.
Tired, beaten, and sopping wet
.
What a miserable way to die
.
I felt my breath shudder out in surrender.
Jax crashed into the window. I blinked, focusing through the glass on the dog. He
was frenzied. Snapping and snarling. The feral beast within him had broken free. Reaching
out, I latched onto it—let his rage burn into me.
I curled my fingers around the door handle, all my energy centered on holding on . . .
I only had to wait a second for the chance I hoped for.
Hand still fisted in my hair, Bo jerked me back.
I gripped the handle as if it was a lifeline. Maybe it was.
The muscles and sinew of my arm popped and tore as I was wrenched back to the ground.
But the door swung open.
A snarling blur leapt out of the Suburban.
Jax’s feet barely hit the ground before he lunged forward and slammed Bo sidelong
to the muddy earth.
I tried to scuttle back out of the way. My arm buckled, my injured shoulder unable
to take my weight.
Bo lifted the shotgun to aim at the dog. But Jax was fast. He sprang forward and sank
his teeth into Bo’s wrist. Screaming, he released the gun. It clattered out of his
hands.
Awkwardly, I lurched forward in the dirt, my hand outstretched, reaching for the gun.
Bo brought his knees up and kicked. Jax tumbled away with a sharp yelp. Bo twisted
onto his side and groped for the shotgun.
In an instant, Jax was on him again. This time he went for Bo’s face. Screeching,
Bo writhed and twisted, trying in vain to fend off the enraged animal. Snarling, Jax
ripped at Bo’s cheek, and then clamped down on his throat.
Bo let out a gurgled cry.
I scurried forward on my knees, grabbed the gun, and cradling the butt in the crook
of my arm, managed to point it at Bo. Jax’s feverish anger filled me. I was swept
away by it. I felt my own anger surge. I wanted to kill this man. He was a murderer.
But you’re not.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I was shaking violently. I had to bring myself under control.
Don’t kill him
. “Jax. Leave him. Come.” My voice was a quaking whisper. I swallowed and tried again.
“Jax.” My voice was stronger now. I couldn’t let him kill Bo. As much as he deserved
it. “Jax!
Heir!
”
The German command reached the animal’s febrile mind. Jax stilled and slowly obliged,
leaving Bo in a moaning heap. Blood was smeared on his face, he had one hand holding
the wound at his throat.
I would not be his executioner. Neither would Jax.
I kneeled in the downpour, shivering like a nervous Chihuahua, and knew I didn’t have
long. Shock could kill as surely as a homicidal maniac.
“Get up.” Though I said it to myself, Bo’s voice answered.
“I can’t. Help.”
The sound of his voice rebooted my survival circuits. He sounded way too healthy for
a guy who’d just had a Doberman use his throat as dental floss. I was way too close.
Dragging one foot under me, I was able to shift my weight and stand. I knew my phone
got little or no reception here. Factoring in the storm, my best bet to reach help
was the cabin phone. To get to the cabin, I’d have to walk past Bo. And then, I’d
have to leave him outside.
This shouldn’t have been difficult, but thinking about losing sight of him reminded
me of every slasher movie ever made. Where the girl turns her back on the dead or
dying psycho and he lurches back to life.
While I stood debating in the droning hiss of the rain, I became aware of movement
behind me. If Jax hadn’t been there, I don’t think I would have noticed the car at
all.
The sporty BMW splashed to a stop. Jennifer climbed out, her face flitting through
a bevy of emotions—confusion and fear being most pronounced.
Jax whined.
Jen.
No, Jax.
Fuss!
He heeded my command to heel. But whined again, confused.
“Oh my God, Bo!” Jennifer started forward, but I aimed the barrel at her and she froze.
“Grace . . . what?”
“Don’t move.”
She hadn’t, but I wanted to be very clear.
“Okay, I’m not moving.”
“What are you doing here?” She flicked a glance at Bo.
“Don’t look at him, look at me.”
“I came to see Bo. He called me and asked me to come by. What happened? What’s going
on?”
She seemed genuinely surprised, but what did I know? “He tried to kill me.”
“What?”
The shock was real. But I didn’t let down my guard. “Bo killed Mark. He admitted it.”
Jennifer stared at Bo, shaking her head. “No. He would never . . . Bo?”
The murderer was lying on his side, curled in a fetal position. He whimpered, “Help.”
“Did you . . . shoot him?” There was no accusation in her voice.
“No. But I will if he moves.”
Jennifer blinked and her eyes focused. She seemed to see me for the first time. “You’re
hurt.”
“Yep.”
“We need to call 911. Can I go into the cabin and call?”
I thought about it. I desperately wanted to call the cavalry, but I didn’t trust Jennifer’s
sudden appearance. I couldn’t stand there all day, so I nodded. “Come back out of
the cabin with your hands up.”
She nodded and walked inside. I could just see her moving through the windows. Within
a few minutes she came out slowly, her hands obediently in the air. The rain had slowed.
Soon the fickle Florida storm would be over. The sun would burst through the clouds
and we’d be sweltering under its bright rays.
Suddenly, I was unbelievably thirsty. My arm began to tremble under the weight of
the shotgun. I could feel my lip and cheek swelling.
I willed the ambulance to fly on Mercury’s wings.
“Grace.” Jennifer spoke calmly from the stoop. “The police and an ambulance are on
the way.”
“Good.”
Her arms still raised, she walked toward me the way someone would walk toward a spooked
horse.
“Stop.” I didn’t want her to get too close.
The shocked expression had vanished. Now she just looked worried. “Please tell me
what’s going on.”
“Bo killed Mark because he found out he was going to write a book. He thought killing
Mark would keep the world from knowing Mark was gay. He was going to kill me, too.”
“That doesn’t make sense. If Bo wanted to kill you, why would he ask me to come meet
him?”
“You tell me.” I swung the gun around to her, aiming it more pointedly at her chest.
“I don’t know.” She looked at Bo’s motionless form. He wasn’t dead. I could hear him
breathing. Every once in a while, he’d moan.
Jennifer sucked in a shocked breath and clamped her hand over her mouth. The sudden
movement startled me, and I felt my finger jerk against the trigger. Hard, but not
hard enough to make the gun go off. Thank God the gun didn’t have a hair trigger.
I really didn’t want to shoot anyone.
“Jennifer. Don’t—do that—again.”
She turned her wide-eyed gaze to me and lowered her hand from her mouth. “He was going
to kill me, too.”
Bo stirred. “Sorry, Jen.”
The shock was back. Her eyes flooded with tears. She looked at me, like a puppy that
had just been kicked. I lowered the gun to train it on Bo.
Far off, mixed with the sound of the departing thunder and whistling wind, I thought
I heard the wail of a siren. I let myself relax a fraction and white-hot pain speared
from my shoulder into my hand.
I flinched. My finger brushed the trigger again.
The police really needed to hurry up.
“Grace.” Jennifer moved closer toward me. “Here. Give me the gun. You can barely hold
it.”
I shook my head. Not because I really believed she’d shoot me, but because I wasn’t
sure I could move my injured arm.
Jennifer reached out with both hands and gently took hold of the shotgun.
“I don’t think I can let go with my hurt arm.”
“Can you support it with the good one?” Jennifer kept her gaze on Bo while she spoke.
Smart girl.
Cradling my arm, I eased away. The motion hurt, but not as much as I expected. Jennifer
kept the gun pointed at Bo, and I let out a relieved breath.
After I’d managed to call him off Bo, Jax had been standing sentinel next to me. Now,
sensing the release of my fear, he let out a happy whine.
She didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were locked on Bo.