Rachel was staring, horrified, as Beckard walked back to her. Then she looked over at her boyfriend, still struggling to right himself. Not exactly the most heroic pose to a girl who had always depended on her boyfriend to hide behind, Allie guessed.
Beckard crouched next to Wade and pressed the barrel of the Remington against the young man’s cheek. Wade went very still, as if afraid any sudden movement — or even breathing — might cause an accidental discharge. Rachel was crying, tears streaming down her face with the duct tape muffling any sounds she might have been making.
“I won’t kill him,” Beckard said to Rachel. “But I will, if you make me.” He pulled back the shotgun and laid it across his knees. Wade’s entire body sagged with relief. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t. It’s up to you. Do you want me to put him out of his misery right now and get it over with?”
Rachel shook her head with urgency.
“Good; so we understand each other. Don’t make me, and I won’t. You won’t make me, will you?”
Rachel seemed to consider the question. Maybe she didn’t really understand it. Or maybe she did and wasn’t sure about her answer.
“Well?” Beckard prompted. “Do we understand each other, missy?”
The girl finally nodded. That small movement seemed to take a lot out of her, and her body went slack afterward. Except for her eyes. They went to Wade, whose painfully constricted face said everything he couldn’t.
Beckard looked satisfied and stood back up before holding out a hand toward Rachel.
Rachel looked as if she was about to vomit as she hesitantly lifted both bound arms toward him. He grabbed her by one wrist and, with a grin, pulled her up from the floor.
“That’s a good girl,” Beckard said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be nice. I’m always nice.”
Until he’s done with you. Then he’s not so nice anymore.
I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m so sorry.
Rachel obviously didn’t believe him either, because her entire body was trembling.
Beckard caressed one of her tear-streaked cheeks with two of his knuckles. He looked almost sympathetic, but she knew that was a lie. Sympathy was a human emotion, and there was nothing human about Beckard.
“Don’t cry,” Beckard cooed. “You’re going to ruin those perfect cheekbones if you keep crying. We don’t want that, do we? Let’s be nice to each other—”
The sound of a barking dog shut him up.
Beckard spun around, suddenly forgetting that Rachel was there. Without Beckard to hold her up, the girl struggled in place for a moment before falling back down to the floor with a loud thoomp!
Outside the cabin, the barking was getting louder…because it was getting closer.
Chapter 12
He should have been pissed, but he wasn’t. How could he be? The continued throbbing across the entire length and width of his face notwithstanding, things were still going better than he could have imagined given how the night had started out.
He should have been dead, but he wasn’t.
Or arrested, but he wasn’t.
A lot of things should have happened tonight, most of it not in his favor.
All things considered, it was still a pretty darn good night.
No, Beckard wasn’t angry. He was a bit annoyed, though, but that quickly turned to curiosity as he stalked across the room and slid against the wall next to the window and peered out at the two figures approaching the front yard. A dog, mostly white with patches of brown fur, walked in front of them, barking up a storm. The animal looked like a shorter, skinnier version of a cow, one with long floppy ears. Its nose was pointed straight at the same window that Beckard was peering out of at the moment.
Both men wore camouflage hunting clothes, which made him wonder what they were doing out here at this time of the night. They both carried bolt-action rifles, and one was holding the dog by a leash and keeping the animal from bolting forward. Beckard guessed the little bastard could either smell him or had seen him peeking.
He glanced over at Allie. She was staring back at him, as if wondering what he was going to do next — and probably hoping it would lead to his death, no doubt. Rachel was still lying on the floor on her side, looking equally expectant. Wade had somehow managed to roll over to Rachel.
He turned back to the window.
The dog was still barking, though all three figures had stopped in the middle of the yard next to the minivan. The hunter with the cap was trying to look through the vehicle’s tinted windows, the same way Beckard had earlier.
“Hello in there!” the man with the dog called out. He was a few inches shorter than his buddy but looked a few grizzled years older. They were both wearing dirt-caked boots to complete their hunting ensemble. “We found your vehicles near the highway!” the man continued. “Wanted to see if anyone was hurt and needed assistance!”
A good Samaritan. Just my luck.
Beckard leaned away from the window and didn’t answer.
He looked over at Donnie’s corpse in the kitchen, half-visible behind the counter. Over to his right were Allie and the lovebirds, bound and gagged. Yup. There was no way he could let the hunters into the cabin. Maybe if he flashed his badge…and then what? They had come from the highway. They had seen the vehicles. And chances were they had tracked him by his blood, the same way Allie had.
So what did they know? Probably not much.
What did they suspect? Probably a lot.
The big question was: Why hadn’t they called the police yet?
“Hello?” the man called out again. “We can see the lights. We know someone’s inside.”
Beckard moved alongside the wall toward the front door. There was a peephole, and he used it now.
The older hunter was still in the front yard with his dog. The animal had ceased its barking and now sat obediently on its haunches, waiting for orders. Beckard couldn’t locate the second man, and that immediately set off alarms in his head.
Where’d you go, buddy?
Beckard changed his angle and spotted the minivan’s hood to the right of the hunter and his dog. He still couldn’t locate the second man. Where did the guy go? Was he trying to circle around the cabin? Maybe looking for a back way in? Was there a back way in? It wasn’t as if Beckard had checked. It had never seemed especially important because he had already achieved total control of the building.
Shit. There better not be a back door.
“Hello!” the hunter shouted again. It sounded as if he was starting to lose his patience.
Tough nuts, buddy.
“Look, I know someone’s in there,” the man continued. “I saw you moving next to the window.”
Beckard peered through the peephole again, looking left, then right, as far as the small opening would allow him. There was still just the wide-open yard and the man standing in the middle of it with his dog.
Where did the second guy go?
“I’m just looking to help!” the man shouted. “We have a phone. If you need it, we can call the cops for you.” He paused, then, “We’re not leaving until someone comes outside and talks to us.”
The problem was the door. It wasn’t locked. There was a chain lock, but it had broken when Allie busted inside like John Wayne earlier. If the guy really wanted to come in, he was going to come in.
Where the hell is the second guy?
Beckard ducked and went on his hands and knees and crawled back across the room, staying under the windowsill. He glanced over and saw Allie looking after him, and he couldn’t be sure, but she looked almost…amused?