Chapter Seventy Raine
Chapter Seventy
Raine
Molly and I returned to Hale House after I promised—again and again—to take her back to the little house she’d shared with her parents. The only home she’d ever known.
Dinner was nothing more than peanut butter sandwiches, but it was nice to listen to Molly chat. Later, I coaxed her into the bath. As she splashed in the water, I sat cross-legged by the bathtub and read one of the books salvaged from her old bedroom—Clifford the Big Red Dog.
She cupped water in her hands, letting it drip over her face, then asked softly, “Do you think they followed us back here?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you think one will find me tonight?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s going to be tonight,” she whispered with certainty.
My chest tightened.
When she finally finished, I wrapped her in a towel, brushed her teeth and hair, and guided her into her pajamas. She climbed into the tall bed, where the blankets dwarfed her small frame.
“Can you stay here?” she asked.
“Sure. I have the monitor from your old bedroom. I can always see you.”
She glanced at the camera on the dresser. “Okay.”
I settled in the chair by her bed and reread her book. It wasn’t long before her eyes drifted closed. After a few more minutes, I rose quietly and eased out of her room, leaving the door cracked. Avoiding the step that creaked, I made my way down to the kitchen.
At the kitchen window, the cemetery loomed beyond the rise. Flashlight in hand, I slipped on a coat, tucked the monitor in my pocket, and moved out the back door. The back lawn was slick with cold drizzle. Something rustled in the woods; an animal—likely more deer—dashed through the underbrush.
The edges of the wrought iron fence appeared in the beam of my light, a section on the north side gaping open. The backhoe loomed silent, hulking, waiting.
Inside, the graves stretched before me. My beam skimmed over the headstones of grandparents and great-grandparents. Once they’d all been fixtures on the land. And now they were almost forgotten.
My light settled on my parents’ stones. My mother’s grave gaped open, discarded dirt tossed on my father’s site.
Seventeen years ago, I’d stood right here with Judson, his hand locked over mine, and watched Mom’s white coffin as it was lowered into the earth. Sadness had merged with relief.
I didn’t want that kind of relationship with Molly. I didn’t want her to resent me or count the days until my death. I wanted better.
Maria’s and Gabe’s graves waited, the freshly tilled earth heavy, sticky, muddy. Sadness spiraled in my chest.
The monitor crackled. My breath caught, but the screen confirmed that Molly was asleep. I turned back toward Hale House, the glow of a few lights—kitchen and upstairs hallway—burning.
A sense of unease rippled over my skin. As I walked briskly back toward the house, the monitor hissed again.
I peeked at the screen. Molly was still sleeping. But shadows shifted in the corners of her room. My stomach lurched. The image flickered, warped. No intruder appeared.
I ran. Twigs and wet leaves snagged my feet, sending me tumbling twice. On the monitor, Molly’s body still lay curled. But the shadow swelled around her small frame.
Two at a time, I bolted up the stairs. The top step groaned as I landed, loud enough to make me flinch.
Breathless, I opened her door. A scan revealed only shadows. Molly’s soft, even breaths reverberated in the silence.
In the hallway, I closed the door partway. I exhaled—and then froze. I saw him.
At the top of the stairs stood Pete Miller, a gun gripped in his right hand. His grin was jagged, wolfish.
“What are you doing here?” My voice barely carried—a whisper frayed by fear.
“I came for you.” His yellowed teeth gleamed in the dim light.
“How did you get in?”
He took a step closer. “Old houses like these are easy to break into.”
The flashlight trembled in my hands. “Leave. Now.”
“Not yet.”
“What do you want?”
His fingers twitched—the same restless tic I’d seen before he’d grabbed my throat. He inhaled deeply, as if breathing me in, and his smile widened. “I’ve been thinking about you. Every day.”
Fear clawed. “I tried to help you.”
“You didn’t take my case for me. I was another scalp in your belt. Another rung up the ladder.”
“Who told you that?”
He snarled. “I’m not stupid. I figured it out all by myself.”
“How did you find me?” I demanded.
He ignored the question, his gaze flicking toward Molly’s door. “That little girl is cute. Been watching her sleep while you poked around the graveyard.”
Ice slid through me.
Keep him talking. My fingers tightened around the flashlight. Could I hit him and reach the gun in my nightstand? And if I did, could I shoot him?
“How did you get out?” I demanded again.
“You’re not the only one with friends.”
“What does that mean?”
He stepped toward me, the gun at his side. Only inches separated us. “A lot of people don’t like you. They’ll be better off when you’re dead.”
“What are you talking about?”
His gaze wandered down the dark hallway, lips curling. “Big house. A lot of land. I didn’t know you were that rich.”
“I’m not. This house is falling in on itself.”
He laughed. “Even Hale scraps are worth more than I’ll ever see.”
“Pete, what do you want?”
His gaze roamed over me, lingering on my lips. “First, we go into your bedroom while that little girl sleeps. Then we’re getting to know each other.”
My heart stilled. My mind scrambled.
The bedroom. The flashlight. The gun—unloaded—was in the nightstand. He didn’t know that. Could I make it matter?
His hand shot out, crushing my wrist. “I don’t want to hurt her. But I will if you don’t listen.”
My limbs locked. My body tightened.
“It’s a nice big bed. Four posters.” He leaned forward, his voice a sharp edge against my skin. “I won’t have to tie you down, will I? You’ll lay real still, won’t you?” His hand trembled as he pulled a rope from his pocket. The movement was subtle. But . . . he was nervous.
Before a jury, I’d have argued that men like Pete needed to feel powerful, seen. The more he felt ignored, the more dangerous he became. “Finding me couldn’t have been easy.”
Eyes narrowed. “Not too hard.”
“It’s hard. I live in the middle of nowhere.”
Fingers bit tighter into my flesh. He dragged me toward the bedroom. “You like ’em smart, don’t you?”
Always answer a question with a question. “Why do you say that?”
“You have a type.”
“What’s my type?”
“Rich. Smart. Pretty.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
He jerked me closer. My breasts brushed his chest. His scent, a toxic mixture of cigarettes, booze, and sweat, swirled around me. He leaned forward, captured my lower lip in his teeth. Clamped.
I winced. Whimpered. Tasted blood.
He released my lip. “You talk too much.”
His rap sheet was littered with assaults.
Women mostly. One beaten so badly he’d smashed her orbital socket and dislocated her shoulder.
None of his victims had pressed charges until the last. When I’d been assigned the case, I’d refused.
My boss had insisted, pointing out that the law tested all public defenders.
I licked the warm blood from my lips. Concentration, through the fear.
“I can make the girl watch.” He moistened his lips.
“No!” I swung the flashlight wildly. He dodged. But I managed to strike his shoulder. A glancing blow.
He grabbed the light, twisted it from my hand, and threw it aside. “Aren’t you brave?”
I wasn’t brave. I was terrified.
My fear pleased him. “Into the bedroom, Raine.”
The gun might still give me a chance.
“Who told you how to find me?” I demanded. “You didn’t make it here alone.”
He shoved me forward. “I did it alone.”
It would’ve taken a lawyer. A cop. Someone with connections to secure his release. “What do you want with me?”
“I been dreaming about you for months. My heart races when I think about my fingers around your neck.”
My panic bucked, but I struggled to control it. Think, Raine.
A lawyer. Connections.
“Ken,” I said.
He grinned. “Who?”
Ken had been at the hospital first. He’d taken care of all the details: doctors, driving me home, feeding me.
The lights in the upstairs hallway snapped off. Darkness swallowed us whole.
Pete’s grip crushed my arm. “What the fuck—”
Shadows slithered over his face. I welcomed them. I knew this house. He didn’t.
He pulled me toward the bedroom door. “I don’t need light for this.”
I stumbled forward, scanning the room’s contents. Books. Crystal vases. Brass candlesticks. Anything I could use.
Then the front door slammed open. Light flared. A silhouette filled the doorway.
Pete’s grip faltered. I tore free, hurrying toward my bedroom into darkness. My foot caught on the carpet as I rushed toward the shadows. I tripped and fell. The bed frame grazed my shoulder.
Feet thundered behind me. Hands clamped my ankles. Yanked me down hard. My fingers clawed at the carpet.
He rolled me on my back, pinning me. Instantly, he was on top of me, his hands crushing my throat. His breath was foul. I gripped his hands.
“Someone’s coming,” I gasped.
His face inches from mine, he whispered, “I’ll snap your neck before they get here.”
I lifted my head a fraction, straining against his grip. The air was trapped in my lungs. I bit his bottom lip, just as he’d done mine. But I was prepared to tear flesh.
He howled, tried to pull back. I clamped down. His fingers slackened.
His weight lifted. His grip tightened as if holding me would save him. A fist from the shadows pounded the side of Pete’s head. He released me.
My breath shuddered as I scrambled up and backward. His blood skimmed my lips. Rage tightened Ken’s face as he glared at the monster he’d created.
Ken drew back his fist and slammed it into the side of Pete’s head. Pete’s grip on his gun loosened, and Ken twisted it from his grip. Ken struck Pete with the butt of the gun with a ferocity that laid bare Ken’s savage nature. Pete’s face was bloodied as he staggered to his feet.
Ken had saved me from Pete. But instead of being grateful, I was terrified of Ken.
“I should’ve done this before,” Ken growled.
He hauled Pete out of the room and shoved him down the stairs. At the bottom, he dragged a semiconscious Pete up and out the front door.
Digging my phone from my back pocket, I called Judson. My call went to voicemail. I begged Judson to hurry.