Chapter 55
Clint sat up.
Emily didn’t rouse.
He heard the thud again. Some distance away from what used to be his house. Sound carried out here, especially in the dark.
He shook Emily’s shoulder, leaned close, and whispered, “Stay put. I think we have a visitor.”
She sat up. Grabbed his arm as he got to his feet. “You can’t go out there alone.”
“You just stay put. I’ll be fine.” He gave her his cell phone and picked up the tire iron he’d rounded up and eased to the front of the barn.
“Be careful,” she whispered.
“It may just be one of Turner’s or Baker’s friends. If you sense there’s trouble, call for help.”
Clint slipped out of the barn. No point in waiting until the trouble came out here looking for them. He took his time, thankful that the clouds hadn’t lifted. The breeze picked up, bringing with it the first scattered droplets of rain. Finally. Maybe it would cool things off.
And wash away some of the ugliness from the past few days.
He stayed in the shadows until he reached the well house; then he hunkered down to wait out the intruder.
At first there were only small sounds. The occasional brush of a shoe sole across gravel. Another soft thud. The sweep of footfalls across grass. Closer now.
Something sloshed.
He inclined his head and listened.
More sloshing, an occasion shuffle. His pulse reacted.
The sound was coming from the front side of the trailer, facing the road.
If he waited on the back side of the trailer he could nail the bastard when he rounded the corner.
Moving quickly, Clint reached the back of the trailer just in time to flatten against it as the sloshing sound came around the end. He braced for a struggle.
He frowned as a strong odor assaulted his senses. Gasoline. Holy hell.
He lunged away from the wall, ready to swing the tire iron.
“Don’t move!”
He froze. A lit match illuminated the face of the intruder.
Misty Briggs.
“You come any closer and I’ll drop it.” Misty wagged the gas can. “I swear.”
Sweat popping out across his brow, Clint dared take a step toward her. He had nothing to lose. The way she was waving that can and that match, there could be an explosion any second. “You’ll die first.”
“As long as you die with me, that’s all that matters.”
He lunged for her, driving his shoulder into her waist. The tire iron slipped from his grip. The gas can flew from her hand, splashing the remainder of its contents across his torso.
The whoosh of flames around the trailer sent heat searing after him. The match had hit its target.
Clint rolled to douse the blaze that streaked across his sleeve. Misty hung on, scratched at him like a wildcat. He rolled again, this time to escape the roar of the inferno eating at the metal walls of the trailer.
“Die!” she screamed as she fought him, tried to jab her fingers into his eyes.
Clint pinned her body with his own. He blocked the jab from her left hand with his left forearm. His right arm burned like hell from where his sleeve had caught on fire.
Screaming vile curses at him, Misty tried to buck him off. He pressed his full weight down on her.
She reached for something with her right hand. He tried to deflect with his injured arm.
Too late.
Metal connected with his skull.