“You Mrs. Gillette?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be alarmed, ma’am. We’re sheriff’s deputies.”
Remembering Coburn’s instructions, she took the porch steps down to ground level. She knew he’d be watching from the window in Emily’s bedroom. His warning echoed inside her head, making her stomach pitch.
Trying to disguise her fear as curiosity, she asked, “Is something wrong? What can I do for you?”
They introduced themselves by name and produced their identification. “We’re searching for the suspect in last night’s mass murder in Tambour.”
“I heard about that. It was awful.”
“Yes, ma’am. We have reason to think that the suspect is still in the region.”
“Oh.”
The deputy gave the space between them a reassuring pat. “He could be miles from here, but we’re canvassing all the houses along this bayou, hoping someone can provide us with useful information.” He rattled off a basic physical description of the man hiding inside her house. Honor envisioned him standing over Emily with a pistol in his hand.
So when the second deputy asked, “Have you seen anyone fitting that description, ma’am?” she replied immediately. “No.”
“Anyone passing by here today in a small craft?”
She shook her head. “But I wasn’t paying particular attention. My daughter and I have been down with a stomach virus.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Honor acknowledged that with a bob of her head.
“Are you out here alone, ma’am?”
“Just my daughter and me.”
“Well, please be on the lookout, Mrs. Gillette, and if you see anything unusual, call 911 immediately.”
“Of course.”
“Best keep all your doors and windows locked, too.”
“I always do.”
One of the deputies was already tipping his hat. The other took a step back.
They were about to leave! What could she do? She had to do something! A hand signal?
I’m “prey” to them, so I’ve got nothing to lose.
“We won’t disturb you any longer. Have a good evening.”
They turned and started walking away.
She couldn’t let them go! For godsake, do something, Honor! But what could she do without putting Emily’s life in danger?
It’s up to you.
Yes, it was up to her. Up to her to save her daughter’s life. But how. How?
Suddenly one of the deputies did an about-face. “Oh, Mrs. Gillette?”
She held her breath.
“I knew your husband,” he said. “He was a fine officer.”
Her heart sank and along with it her hope of alerting them to the imminent danger she was in. She mumbled, “Thank you.”
Then he touched his hat brim again, turned, and continued down the slope toward the dock.
She turned, went up the steps, and reentered the house. Coburn was standing in the opening between the living room and the hallway, between her and Emily.
“Turn on the porch light. Stand where they can see you and give them a wave.”
She followed his instructions, doubting that the deputies were looking back toward her, but even if they were, it was unlikely they could see the tears sliding down her cheeks.
The deputies got aboard their boat, revved the engine, and made a slow U-turn in the bayou. In seconds they were out of sight. The drone of the motor diminished to nothingness.
Honor closed the door. She leaned into it and pressed her forehead against the smooth wood. She sensed Coburn moving up behind her.
“Good girl. Emily is safe and sound and sleeping like a baby.”
His smug inflection was the final straw. The emotions that had been building inside her all day reached a boiling point. Without even thinking about it, or pausing to consider the consequences, she spun around and glared at him.
“I’m sick of you and your threats. I don’t know why you came here or what you want, but I won’t go along with it anymore. If you’re going to kill me anyway, I had just as soon you do it now. If not…” Reaching behind her, she twisted the doorknob and pulled open the door. “If not, shut up and get out of my house!”
He reached out to close the door. Seizing the opportunity, Honor jerked the pistol from the waistband of his jeans. But she fumbled with its unexpected weight. He gave her wristbone a hard chop. She cried out in pain as the pistol fell from her hand onto the floor and slid across the polished hardwood.
Both of them went for it at once. Honor dropped to the floor at the same time he kicked the pistol out of her reach. She scrambled across the floor after it. All she needed to do was get hold of it long enough to pull the trigger once. The deputies would hear the gunshot.
Her knees and elbows banged painfully against the wood floor as she belly-crawled toward the handgun. She touched the cool metal, but instead of getting a grip, her fingers nudged the pistol farther away by a mere inch.
Coburn had straddled her back and was crawling over her, reaching beyond her, trying to get hold of the gun before she did.
Straining every muscle, she extended her whole body. Her hand closed around the pistol barrel.
But before she could retract her arm and take full possession of it, he pinned her wrist to the floor with fingers that seemed made of steel. “Let it go.”
“Go to hell.”
Trying to throw him off, she squirmed under his weight. He only pressed down tighter, squeezing the breath from her. “Let it go.”
Instead, she yanked on her hand hard, wrenching it free of his grip.
He cursed profusely as she drew the pistol under her body, clutching it tightly to her chest.
Then they wrestled.
Honor lay as flat as possible, but he worked his hands between her and the floor and tried to pry the weapon from her hand. It became a life-or-death struggle for ownership, and he outlasted her. She was gasping for air by the time he secured the pistol grip and worked it out of her weakening fingers.
He yanked it out from under her. Honor, moaning in defeat, went limp and began weeping.
He flipped her over onto her back. He was on his knees, still straddling her. His hands, one of them in possession of the pistol, were planted on his thighs. He was breathing hard, and his face was contorted with fury.
And she thought, This is it. This is the moment I die.
But to her astonishment, he tossed the pistol aside, then placed both hands on her shoulders and leaned down on her heavily. “Why the fuck did you…? It could have discharged and blown a hole right through you. Stupid, idiotic thing to do, lady. Don’t you know what…” Seemingly at a loss for words, he gave her shoulders a hard shake. “Why’d you do that?”
Her reason for doing it should have been obvious: She’d been fighting for her life. Why was he asking such a dumb question?
Her breath coming in pants, she said, “Just tell me—and please make it the truth—are you going to kill us?”
“No.” His eyes bored into hers, and, in a rougher voice, he repeated, “No.”
She wanted desperately to believe him, which is perhaps why she was close to doing so. “Then why should I pay any attention to your threats? Why do anything you say?”
“Because you have a vested interest.”
“Me? I don’t even know what you’re looking for! Whatever it is, this thing you’re after—”
“Is the thing that got your husband killed.”
Chapter 11
It was well past the dinner hour when Tom returned home. He found Janice in Lanny’s room giving him his sponge bath, which they performed each evening before changing him into pajamas. In the morning, they dressed him in a track suit. Of course it made no difference what he wore, but changing his clothes was a much-needed nod toward normalcy.