Chapter Twenty-Six
Zoe huddled on the couch in the living room. The image of Jacob, beaten and bloody, played in a continuous loop in her head. Hugging her knees, she rocked back and forth.
He’s dead. He’s dead he’s dead.
Tim had only been out of prison for a few weeks. He’d already killed Jacob. She was next.
The temperature had dropped. The cold and shock had chilled her to the marrow, but she didn’t dare build a fire.
Someone would see the smoke. Rain beat a relentless rhythm on the roof.
If the bridge washed out, she’d be safe for a while.
There was no way she’d get down the driveway in the van, let alone make it all the way to the main road until the storm passed and the roads dried out.
She was stuck—trapped.
Jacob had refused to leave town. He’d always said it was pointless. Tim had vowed revenge—that he would track them down like a wolf following a wounded elk.
How long would it take him to find her?
The only person who’d known her escape plan had been Clarice, and she was dead.
Zoe’s getaway vehicle was registered in her name too.
Harold might be able to guess she would go to the cabin, but he didn’t know for sure.
Because of the podcast, Tim would go looking for her in Scarlet Falls first. But when he learned she wasn’t there, he would have come to Summerton and found Jacob.
She would have to leave this area as soon as the storm passed.
Would Tim go to Harold? Would he kill him?
Tears welled in her eyes, and sorrow closed her throat.
She couldn’t bear it if Harold died because of her.
Clarice and Harold had been so good to her.
Harold wouldn’t give her up intentionally.
He’d die before he helped Tim find her. But Tim could be persuasive.
He knew how to inflict pain—and he reveled in it.
Even if Harold didn’t give her up, he might have tax records or the deed for the cabin at the house.
If Tim learned about the cabin, he’d come here directly.
Jacob’s face flashed in her mind again, her imagination superimposing Harold’s face behind the blood and bruises. She wanted to check on him, but visiting or calling him was too risky for both of them. Tim could be watching Harold, waiting for Zoe to make contact.
Zoe reached for the bottle of whiskey she’d found in the cupboard and poured a small amount into a tumbler. She couldn’t afford to get drunk. She had to be coherent—to be aware—to listen.
Tim would never stop until he killed her.
She wiped a tear from her cheek. She hadn’t seen Jacob in many years, but their bond could never be broken. The trauma they’d endured together connected them for life. His was over now. Would she follow him to an early grave?
Glass shattered downstairs. Zoe froze. A scuffling sound floated up the stairway.
The bear?
Tim?
She’d have a better chance with the bear.
She rose to her feet and wiped her damp palms on her thighs.
She was dressed to run in warm hiking pants and thick socks.
She eased her feet into her hiking boots and laced them.
Her backpack and parka waited by the door.
If she had to go, she’d have to escape on foot.
She put on the jacket now, just in case.
The van would never make it down the driveway.
Where could she even go? The storm would make foot travel miserable and dangerous.
With the temperature dropping and the rain pouring, she’d have hypothermia in no time.
She could head up to the ski resort. No one would be there. It wouldn’t open for months yet.
She strained to listen through the roar of the storm. Thunder boomed. Lightning flashed, brightening the interior of the cabin for a second, like a strobe light. Maybe she’d just heard branches falling or brushing up against the house.
Something scratched. Her heart sprinted, echoing in her ears.
No.
That was inside the house.
Glancing around, she picked up the only handy weapon, a fireplace poker.
Panic knotted her belly. She walked to the top of the stairs and stared into the darkness.
Her whole body trembled from her toes to her face.
She should have left a light on downstairs.
But that would have given away her location.
She drew the poker over one shoulder like a baseball bat.
Lightning flashed again.
And she saw him. In the fraction of a second of illumination, she registered his tall, burly shape.
A black parka, the hood up. Giant shitkicker work boots.
Had he always been that big? Was her imagination enlarging him, or had he beefed up in prison?
She’d never met anyone as frightening as Tim Brown.
Evan had been scary as fuck too, but he was dead. Everyone could be killed. Tim wasn’t some sort of supervillain.
She tightened her hands on the poker as the cabin went dark again. She heard his boots on the steps. She counted, one, two, three. He wasn’t rushing, nor was he trying to sneak up on her. He was taking his sweet time.
Four, five . . .
There were, what? Twelve steps?
Six, seven, eight.
Lightning pulsed.
He was right there. Just a few steps away and already almost as tall as her. In the brief staccato of light, she saw him lower his hood.
And smile.
Like a predator staring at its dinner. No, animals didn’t kill for the enjoyment of it.
But Tim did.
Her insides turned to water. Her fear became palpable, radiating from her like a sour odor. She was sure he could smell it.
He stopped an arm’s reach away.
Terror paralyzed her. Her feet locked in place. Her hands still clenched around the handle of the poker, but she couldn’t muster the courage to swing it.
She couldn’t summon the guts to run either. She would just stand like a deer in the road, waiting to be mowed down by a fast-moving pickup.
“Hello, Zoe. I told you you’d pay for what you did.”
Zoe broke from her fear-trance, turned, and ran. He was right behind her. She spun and swung the poker. It connected with his shoulder but didn’t even slow him down.
He yanked it out of her hands and tossed it aside.
“You can’t fight me. You know it. Just lay down and take what’s coming.
That’s what you should have done thirty years ago.
” He stepped between Zoe and the back door, cutting off her exit.
She glanced longingly at her backpack, still waiting for her. She’d have to run without it.
Then she turned and sprinted out the glass door onto the deck.
The storm slapped her in the face. Wind whipped her hair around her head.
She backed to the railing and looked over her shoulder.
The drop was significant, at least twenty feet to the ground.
The grade was still steep enough that she’d tumble all the way to the road.
If she climbed over, hung from the base, and dropped, the fall would be five and a half feet less. She’d have to risk it.
She’d jump to her death before she ever allowed Tim to torture her. She wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction, and she knew he would enjoy every minute. He wouldn’t just kill her.
Zoe climbed over the railing and stood, facing him, balancing on her toes on the edge of the deck. One step backward was all it would take. His shadow appeared in the doorway. Rain poured over her head. Water ran into her eyes. Lightning split the sky.
She had no time to dangle from the base of the railing.
Dead end for Zoe.
Or maybe just dead.
A flicker of brightness gleamed on something metal in his hand.
A knife.