Chapter 1 #2
“You fired a shotgun at his motorcycle. What did you think he’d do?” Tears glistened on her cheeks as she glanced down at the dead man. Her hand rose shakily to cover her mouth. Horror reflected in her eyes. “You crazy bastard. You finally did it this time. You crossed a line you can’t uncross.”
She stumbled toward the door.
“Michelle…”
“You’re finished, Glenn.” Her voice rose hysterically. “You finally hit rock bottom, and everyone will see what I’ve been saying all these years is true. You should make a run for it while you can.”
“Michelle.” He slowly raised the barrel of the shotgun. “I said stop.”
She looked over her shoulder. Blood streaked her pale skin. Eyes red from bawling. “Why?” Her voice trembled the way he hated. “You’re not gonna shoot me—”
He pulled the trigger and watched her face twist into a mask of pain and destruction.
His heart squeezed in his chest as she crumpled across the threshold of the home he’d built for his family. The threshold he’d carried her over on their wedding day. The threshold he now had to drag her over, leaving a bloody trail in her wake.
The scent of violence curled up and hit him like a heavy-weight punch to the gut.
She was dead.
He’d killed her.
She’d had to push him. Push, push, push. She’d never stopped.
He refused to go to prison. The idea of being locked up in a cell all day…
He clenched his jaw. He would not go to prison.
He’d rather die.
He went outside, pocketed the Beretta, and dragged the biker along the same bloody trail.
Maybe the cops would buy a murder-suicide. He needed to create as much doubt and confusion as possible. He needed to give himself time to get somewhere no one would ever find him.
He hauled both the bodies up onto the unmade bed.
He grabbed a couple more cartridges from the truck, wiped them down along with his beloved shotgun.
Donned a pair of kitchen gloves that were two sizes too small.
He pressed the shotgun trigger into Doug’s still-warm fingers, fired into the bedstead, blasting buckshot into the pillows and wall.
His ears rang as he cracked the barrel and placed a second spent cartridge inside.
Snapped it shut and placed it so the end of the gun was tucked close to what was left of Doug’s ruined chin.
He stared out the window at the surrounding peaks, eyed the snowpack with an experienced gaze. He rubbed his jaw. The acrid stink of gunpowder teased his nostrils and made his stomach clench, but his pulse had calmed. His wrath had morphed into something calculating and honed.
He knew what to do.
Find Michelle’s phone.
Obscure the blood trails.
Wipe off his fingerprints from any of the surfaces he’d touched.
Act normal.
He closed the drapes. Went into the bathroom and checked his reflection.
There was blood on his face and plaid shirt.
He washed his face. Searched the wardrobe and found a pair of pants and boots that should fit.
He had another shirt in the car and would burn everything he wore including the rubber gloves and his good boots.
He needed to go to town.
Needed to get supplies.
Needed to leave.
First, he needed to get Summer.
“Papa?”
“Hey kiddo.”
A frown clouded Summer’s guileless blue eyes, and she scrunched up her freckled nose as she hesitantly climbed into his truck. “Why are you picking me up from school? Where’s Mommy?”
Glenn’s fingers clenched the steering wheel at the reminder of what he’d done.
It wasn’t his fault. That asshole had come at him with a loaded gun. What had he expected?
“Mommy’s gone on a surprise trip to visit Grandma,” the old bitch, “and I thought we could go on a little camping adventure.”
Her eyes gleamed with excitement and then dimmed. “Are you sure Mommy said it was all right?”
“That’s what I said, ain’t it?” he snapped.
Summer pulled back against the seat and stared into her lap. “Okay.”
Shit.
He reached over and put his hand on her knee. This was going to be tough on the kid, but he needed her to trust him and do as she was told. “Sorry, honey. I wanted this to be a fun surprise—just you, me, and Trapper.”
At his name, the dog raised his head from the console between the seats and gave Summer a doggy grin.
She smiled and ruffled his fur. “Where are we going?”
“That’s a surprise, but I got all your winter gear because it might get cold.”
“We’re camping in the snow?” Doubt filled Summer’s expression, and he felt the anger rise again.
“We need to be prepared for any eventuality. I taught you that already.”
He had to get off the grid. Disappear. Contact a friend who’d know where to get them some new documents.
It would be expensive. He knew that. He’d pulled all his cash out of the bank in readiness.
A red-flag, but he needed that money, and better him than the government using it to line their fat-cat pockets.
He was already gonna lose the house and his business.
But a man like him didn’t need much. His trusty rifle, a knife, his dog, and his child.
Summer was the weak link. Without her, escape would be simple, but Summer didn’t even have a passport, so they were going to have to figure out another way.
“Papa?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m hungry?”
She was going to be a hell of a lot hungrier before this was over, but the least he could do was feed her now.
“Let’s hit Micky D’s for a burger.”
Her eyes lit up. He didn’t usually allow her to eat fast food because it was full of crap, but this one time, he’d allow it. They’d need the calories.
He didn’t know how long it would be until someone found the bodies. Could be an hour. Could be next week. He’d texted the teacher from Michelle’s phone to tell her that Summer wouldn’t be in for the next few days.
Maybe he’d get lucky and have time to cover his tracks and disappear. Start a new life away from Michelle’s constant bitching.
Summer grinned up at him from the passenger side and ruffled Trapper’s fur. “This is going to be a grand adventure, Papa.”
He looked away. Squeezed his fingers around the steering wheel and pulled into the drive-through. “Sure is, sweetheart. Sure is.”