Chapter 13
Quin charged through the mud toward the front of the house, the closest entry.
How long had he blacked out for? Couldn’t have been long .
. . a few minutes, tops. A fuzzy gray ring circled his vision and his feet slipped and slid on the wet ground.
Warmth throbbed on the back of his head and he didn’t doubt he was bleeding. Not that it mattered.
He grabbed the front railing and hauled his ass up the stairs, not bothering to be quiet.
If the man was inside, Quin sure as shit wanted him to know he was coming for him.
He kept the gun at his side—never should have fucking tucked it away to begin with.
Then again, if he hadn’t, the dude might have taken it when he passed out.
His boots skidded over the wet porch.
A shriek ripped through the cabin, turning his blood to sludge.
“Josie!” He shoved the front door. It didn’t budge.
Fuck!
Standing back, he slammed his boot into the wood.
The door shook on its hinges. The wood splintered at the jamb.
No, he couldn’t be stuck here while she was inside being murdered or god knew what.
He took five paces back, braced his shoulder and rammed it into the wood.
The door burst open and he stumbled into the front foyer.
Pain shot through his neck and back, but it didn’t compare to the terror slicing through his heart. “Josie!” He ran through the house, shining the flashlight as he went. He checked the bedroom first then the bathroom.
Gone. She was gone.
He shined the flashlight at the floor. Wet footprints covered the hardwood, and not just from his boots. He followed the tracks to the back door. He’d heard her scream. They couldn’t be far.
He ran for the door and his foot hit something hard that went skittering. What the? He moved the beam of light. A stone bigger than his fist lay in front of him. One of Josie’s crystals. Had she used it as a weapon? If the dude was hurt, Quin might have a better chance of catching him.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the one number he never thought he’d call. The line rang in his ear as he bounded down the steps.
“Whistlemore Sheriff’s Department,” a tired-sounding woman said by way of greeting.
“Yeah, I need to speak to Hank. Now.”
She tsked. “He’s off-duty.”
“Call him and tell him it’s Quin.” He rushed across the backyard and reached the field he’d chased Frasier into. He swung the beam of the flashlight along the ground. Tire tracks ran west. “Tell him I’m west of Josie’s. In a field. He’s gonna need backup.” He disconnected.
There was no way he’d catch them on foot. He ran back to the house and snagged his keys from the kitchen counter.
Panic twisted inside his chest. He might be too late.
* * *
The heavy scent of pine filled Josie’s nostrils, rousing her from the in-and-out slumber that tugged on her consciousness.
She peeled her eyes open. She lay in the back of a van on her side, her wrists bound in front of her.
A scream scratched at the back of her throat, but she didn’t dare alert the driver she was awake.
Moving her tongue through the dry cavern of her mouth, she came up with some saliva and swallowed.
The vehicle bumped over uneven terrain and the sound of tools clanking near her head made goosebumps attack her flesh.
Oh, God. He’s going to kill me.
She’d be buried somewhere in the woods and no one would find her. Except maybe a bear or other wild animal. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t let fear consume her or she’d really be screwed. There was no one to save her. Even if Quin was alive, he wouldn’t be able to find her.
She had to do this herself. She blinked in the darkness. If tools were nearby, she had a weapon. He’d been stupid to tie her hands in front of her.
The tire hit another pothole and she rocked forward before the back of her head bumped against the wall of the vehicle. Blood pounded against her temples, but if she had a headache, she was too darn terrified to feel it.
Loud music blared through the speakers. She winced as the bass shook her insides.
Noise was good. It would cover up any sounds she made.
She brought the tape at her wrists to her teeth and tugged on the waxy material.
Her teeth screamed in protest, but she didn’t stop.
Wetting her lips, she angled her arms so she could try to tear the tape.
No use. He’d bound her hands a good two or three times and the tape was too thick to bite through. She’d have to focus on something else.
She scanned the floor of the van until her eyes found a red toolbox. After using her feet to slide her closer, she felt along the smooth metal lid. She stuck her fingernails underneath the lip and the top lifted. Shit. If she flung it backward it would bang on the floor and make a huge noise.
Sweat rolled onto her lips and salt hit her tastebuds. Her skin prickled, her internal body temperature sharply contrasting the external temperature. Frustration mounted in her chest. If she didn’t get out of this she wouldn’t survive. Quin wouldn’t survive.
A stab of pain twisted her gut.
She sucked back the tears that dared to fall. Not now.
The driver hit something hard. The vehicle banged into the ground. Seizing the opportunity, she flung open the lid and it smacked the floor, the loud ping lost in the other sounds.
“Fuck,” cursed the man up front. The voice was swallowed by the music before she could place it.
Moving her hands as delicately as if she were touching a snake, she dragged her fingers over the contents of the box.
Hammer. That would be useful but maybe too heavy to swing given her restricted mobility.
Duct tape. She sure as heck didn’t need more of that.
Crowbar. Easier to swing than a hammer—she’d come back to that one.
Her thumb bumped something smooth and round. She drifted her fingers over the plastic handle of a screwdriver.
Yes, that could work. Small enough that he wouldn’t see it right away.
She rubbed her index finger over the tip.
It was a flat head. That could do some damage if she could get him in the right spot.
She moved her hands awkwardly until the handle was nestled between her palms. She clutched the screwdriver in a death grip.
The vehicle slowed to a stop. The engine shut off and the music died, blanketing the vehicle in silence.
She clamped her lips shut, stilling her lungs from taking another breath.
The keys jangled and the driver’s side door opened with a rusty squeak and then slammed shut. The van shook with the force.
Her body trembled. She clenched her abdominal muscles to keep herself from moving.
Crunch, crunch, crunch
The sound of gravel grinding beneath her attacker’s boots reached her ears as he circled the vehicle. This was it. She only had one shot.
Hit and run, Josie. Just hit him and run.
She rolled onto her belly so that he’d have a view of her back and the screwdriver would be hidden. Her heart collided with her breastbone, threatening to beat through her chest. She focused her attention on her breath, slow and steady. If he sensed she was awake, everything would go south.
The van door rolled open. Rough hands seized her ankles, and he slid her to the opening. She bit her fingers into the handle of the screwdriver. Adrenaline set fire to her veins, ordering her to leap into action.
Not yet.
He grabbed her elbow. She kept her body limp as he sat her up against his chest. With her eyes closed she couldn’t identify him. But his scent, heavy with mint and Scotch, filled her nostrils. He circled his hands around her hips and lifted her to his shoulder.
Her body turned stiff.
“You’re awake,” he said, his tone triumphant.
Using all her strength she braced her feet on the edge of the van door, raised her hands in the air, and brought the sharp end of the screwdriver down into his neck.
His head jerked back and he gasped. His body fell into the van door then sunk to the ground. The moon caught his tousled blond hair. Shock made his face paler than the white van.
Cody.
Questions burned through her mind, but not as fast as realization. He’d tried to kill her.
Wild, angry eyes found hers. In one movement, he jerked his hand up and ripped the handle of the screwdriver from his collarbone. “You fucking bitch.”
Josie backed away, terror nearly paralyzing her muscles. He locked his gaze on hers, his irises almost black in the night. She turned and ran.
Her bare feet pounded against the wet, puddly gravel. Rain came down in a steady pour, soaking her clothes and chilling her to the bone. She scanned the property as she sprinted.
They were at the lumberyard.
The place Liam had died.
“You think you can run from me?” Cody’s voice carried over the wind.
She threw a glance over her shoulder as he stalked behind her, his movements determined. Her arms were still bound in front of her chest. If she fell, she’d be a sitting duck.
Trees surrounded the perimeter of the property. She had to get to the woods. Wet strands of hair plastered themselves against her face, blocking her vision. She shook them away as her feet skittered over the grass.
“You can run, but you can’t hide! I have cameras everywhere, Josie.”
Her breath squeezed its way through her windpipe.
Each inhale more painful than the last. He was probably right.
Of course he’d have cameras around his property.
He’d lied when he said he didn’t have footage of Liam’s death.
Or maybe he’d ensured there was no evidence. Nothing to tie him to the accident.
Fury collided with grief inside her. She’d kill him for what he’d done. But if she didn’t get her hands free, she didn’t stand a chance.
Crack!
The blast of a bullet echoed over the forest. She ducked and covered her head as she dove for cover in the trees. Birds scattered away from their homes.
Oh, god. He’d gun her down. She’d never escape.
I have to try. For Liam.
She ran over tree roots. Branches beat her face. But she didn’t stop moving.