Chapter Twenty-One
“Your wife?” Bailey Rae struggled not to wince at the painful pressure on her arm. Wind from the incoming storm swept dust and grit through the open door and into her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Panic welled inside her. Frantically, she weighed her options, his grip tight on her arm. Heaven forbid that he might shove inside with her. So she pushed forward onto the porch, reaching behind her to close the door.
She’d been so careful all these weeks since Gia showed up at the market clutching the cookbook.
Bailey Rae had activated her security system religiously.
She’d kept Skeeter nearby at home. She’d had people stay over.
And she’d reached out to Martin so often she feared today would prove one time too many.
Although another part of her feared what might happen if he showed up after all and challenged the man snarling down at her, his fury barely caged.
“Stop moving or I’ll have to use this knife.” Ian pressed a blade tip into her side and yanked her arm up harder with his other hand. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want my family back. Now where are they?”
Fear sank into her, deeper than the knife. Skeeter pawed at the window from inside the cabin, letting out a couple of alert woofs that only served to make Ian’s grip tighten.
“I can’t help you,” she gasped out.
He slammed her against the porch post while he ran his oily gaze over the yard as if searching for any hiding place between the overgrown azaleas and juniper thickets.
“You mean you won’t.” He smelled of sweat and something darker. Insidiously evil. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know you helped my wife run away from me with my kid. You and that cop friend of yours.”
Now didn’t seem the right time to correct his mistake about Martin’s profession. Bottom line, he wore a uniform and a gun, and she desperately hoped he would arrive soon. She tried to ease away from the knife blade at her side. “Mr. Abernathy—”
“So you admit it. You do know who I am, who my wife is,” he hissed, a dark smile tugging at his mouth. “I saw you visit her at the hospital. I’ve been tailing you for a very long time. Now tell me where you hid my family, and I’ll be on my way.”
Thank heaven he hadn’t mentioned Gia’s recent visit to the cabin. Bailey Rae suppressed a shiver. “Mr. Abernathy, I truly do not know where your wife and daughter are now. They have been relocated, and I’m not privy to those details.”
“Privy?” He sneered. “Now aren’t you all high and mighty? You better figure out how to find Gia or I’ll have no reason to keep you alive any more than I did that traitor brother of mine who’d been banging my wife.”
His words turned the blood ice cold in her veins.
The man who held her was a killer.
But she couldn’t afford the distraction of thinking about that murder. She scrambled for something, anything, to get away or at the very least buy a little time in hopes Martin would arrive. Or so that she could get her hands on a weapon.
Maybe she could send another SOS to Martin. She inched her fingers toward the cell in her pocket. “Let me make some calls and see what I can find out for you.”
“Do not touch that phone.” The knife pressed deeper, the tip piercing her Pink Floyd T-shirt, stinging her skin just enough to strike terror.
A squeak of pain slipped past her lips.
“Shut. Up,” he shouted, backhanding her across the face.
Pain exploded behind her eyes as she stumbled down the steps and slammed into a tree. Thunder cracked overhead. Skeeter nosed through the doggie door onto the porch.
A feral growl swelled as the hound launched off the steps.
Skeeter hit the ground running, closing the gap between them and sinking his teeth into Ian’s jeans leg. Snarling, Skeeter held on, paws planted. He swung his head back and forth as he tugged on the denim.
Ian’s knife sliced at the air. Glinting. Bailey Rae let out a cry of denial as Skeeter yelped. But the dog’s jaws stayed clamped on the man even as blood trickled down his brown fur.
Heart pounding, she brushed through the pine needles littering the ground, crawling.
Not to run away. But to find a weapon. She couldn’t leave Skeeter behind with this monster.
Desperation and adrenaline seared through her.
Fueling her. Her hand curled around a wrist-thick branch, and she prayed it would be enough.
She launched to her feet and swung at Ian.
Again and again, pummeling his back. He made a grab at the branch, and she dove forward, jabbing him in the gut.
The wind howled, showering pine needles over them.
Skeeter still hung on, dragging Ian lower.
The dog held his ground despite the wound in his side.
Then a low whine sounded in the distance, growing louder into sirens. The police? A fire truck? Even as she heaved the tree branch down on Ian, she prayed her text to Martin could net a result this large when, in the past, he’d shown up on his own.
Ian thrashed and dodged, swiping the knife in a wide arc. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m stopping you,” she screamed back, possessed by the need to stand up for herself. For Gia. For Skeeter.
Decades of pain poured out of her in a shout just short of feral.
The child inside her who’d once fought to mask fear now harnessed every last drop of it to save herself and her beloved companion.
She wasn’t curling up under the covers to make herself small.
She wasn’t lashing out at her loved ones. And she wasn’t waiting to be rescued.
She was doing what Winnie would have done. Taking a stand. Leveling that righteous rage at a very deserving target.
A pop split the air. Ringing in her ears. Another firecracker?
And then just past Ian’s shoulder, she saw Martin, gun in his hands.
Since she didn’t see his truck, he must have approached through the woods, his professional familiarity with the land giving him an edge. Her teeth chattered, and relief rocked through her so hard the branch fell from her grip.
“Freeze, Abernathy,” Martin shouted with unwavering authority. “Or the next shot won’t be in the dirt by your feet.”
Ian went stock still—only his eyes darting around. Assessing his options? Then he raised his hands in the air, tossing the knife to the side with a flick of the wrist.
Still jittery, Bailey Rae kicked the blade toward Martin just as Skeeter lurched to his feet with a massive shake-off. Blood still oozed from his side, but he was standing and steady, ambling his way over to Bailey Rae to lean against her leg. She stroked his head, reassuring them both.
Later, she would ask Martin for details. Right now, though, she was just so very thankful he’d seen her text.
“Bailey Rae,” Martin said softly without looking away from his target, “take Skeeter and move aside.”
Touching her dog’s collar lightly, she backed up until coming flush against the trunk of an oak. Only once she had that support did she realize how her legs trembled in the aftermath.
Sirens grew louder as two cop cars sped down the driveway toward them.
No doubt called by Martin, who still stood with his sidearm trained on Ian.
Abernathy wouldn’t be able to slither out of the charges this time, not after the attack here and the one on his wife.
Gia would be safe from her husband for years to come once Ian was in jail for murdering his brother.
She wouldn’t need a new identity like Winnie had.
Cricket, who’d already suffered enough trauma, wouldn’t lose everything familiar to her.
How many times had Winnie faced down a similar threat for the good of others? Putting herself at risk to save others. A life lived with purpose.
For the first time, Bailey Rae not only understood Winnie’s commitment, she embraced it on a soul-deep level. Pride filled her for the life Winnie had led, never needing recognition to do the right thing. How fortunate Bailey Rae had been to have such a role model.
At last, she understood exactly how to honor the woman who’d raised her. The woman who’d given her a sense of home.
The woman who’d given her a family.
The wind whipped harder, and tapping echoed overhead as rain pattered along the leafy branches, some drops trickling through, faster and faster.
Bailey Rae tipped her face into the shower, feeling Winnie’s presence in this place, in the memories they’d made together, all urging Bailey Rae to make the most of this washed-clean, fresh start.
Bailey Rae had barely found time to breathe all day, but not for the reasons she’d expected when rolling off the mattress this morning.
Yet she couldn’t think of a better end than this, sitting with Martin in the back of his truck, leaning against the pickup’s cab while the fireworks arced overhead.
The residue of adrenaline still tingled through her veins, but slowly peace and happiness were taking over.
Even if she hadn’t spent hours giving her statement to the police and taking Skeeter to the emergency vet with Martin, she wouldn’t have made it to the market.
The daytime Fourth of July celebrations had been rained out.
Luckily, the storm had passed in time for evening fireworks over the river at sundown.
The air hung heavy, thick with humidity and sulfur. Roman candles exploded in the inky sky while children skipped along the shore with sparklers. Girandoles spun upward with a shriek before exploding in an umbrella of sparks. A bonfire had been lit for attendees to roast hot dogs and marshmallows.
Just as the day had been marked every year since Bailey Rae had arrived in Bent Oak.
Except in the past, she’d watched Independence Day displays with Winnie or Russell at her side.
Their absence was bittersweet, but today had reminded her to cherish every moment, a lesson Winnie and Russell had stressed often after welcoming her into their family.
A great big family bonded by love, if not blood.