Honor cooked the small pizza in the microwave. As she set it in front of Emily, Coburn asked, “You got any more of those?”
She heated him a pizza, and when she served it, he ate as greedily as he had at lunch.
“What are you eating, Mommy?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Coburn looked at her and arched an eyebrow. “Stomach virus?”
“Spoiled appetite.”
He shrugged indifferently, went to the freezer, and helped himself to another pizza.
When it came time for Emily’s cupcake, she insisted that Honor also have one. “So that it’s a real party,” she chirped.
Honor placed cupcakes on Dora the Explorer paper plates and, to please Emily, served them ceremoniously.
“Don’t forget the sprinkles.”
Honor brought the jar from the counter and passed it to Emily. Coburn was about to take a bite of his cupcake when Emily tapped his hand where it rested on the table. He jerked it back as though he’d been struck by a cobra.
“Company first. You need sprinkles.”
He looked down at the extended jar of sprinkles as though it was a moon rock, then said a gruff thanks, took it from Emily, and shook the candies onto his cupcake before passing the jar back to her.
He was jumpy, his nerves rubbed raw by exhaustion, the signs of which had become more apparent. The ceiling light above the dining table cast shadows on his prominent cheekbones, making the lower half of his face appear all the more lean and taut. The set of his shoulders and the heavy quality of his breathing were evidence of his weariness. Honor caught him several times blinking rapidly as though trying to stave off sleepiness.
Reasoning that fatigue would slow his reactions and dull his senses, Honor determined to watch and wait for an opportunity to make her move. She needed only one nanosecond of weakness, one blink when his guard was down.
The problem was, she was exhausted too. Emotions ranging from terror to rage had been supercharged all day, leaving her totally depleted of energy. Emily’s bedtime came as a relief. Honor changed her into pajamas.
While she was using the bathroom, Honor said to Coburn, “She can sleep in my bed.”
“She can sleep in her bed.”
“But if she’s with me, you can watch both of us at the same time.”
He gave one firm negative shake of his head. Arguing would be futile. She wouldn’t leave the house without Emily, and he knew that. Separating them ensured that she wouldn’t try to escape.
While Honor read the compulsory bedtime story, Coburn searched Emily’s closet, pushing aside the hangers and tapping the back wall. He removed her shoes from the floor and knocked on the planks with the heel of his cowboy boot, listening for a hollow spot.
He squeezed every stuffed toy in Emily’s menagerie, which caused Emily to giggle. “Don’t forget to hug Elmo,” she said, and trustingly handed the toy up to him.
He turned it over and ripped open the Velcro on the back seam.
“No!” Honor cried.
He shot her a look filled with suspicion.
“That’s just access to the battery,” Honor said, knowing that Emily would be traumatized to see Elmo disemboweled. “Please.”
He examined the inside of the toy, even removed the batteries and checked beneath them, but, eventually, satisfied that the toy wasn’t concealing anything, he closed it up and returned it to Emily.
Honor continued reading. The bedtime story reached its happ’ly-ever-after conclusion. Honor listened to Emily’s bedtime prayer, kissed both her cheeks, and then hugged her extra close, prolonging the embrace because she feared that this might be the last time she would tuck her daughter in for the night.
She tried to preserve the moment, seal it inside her heart and mind, memorize the smell and feel of Emily’s sweet little body, which felt incredibly small, fragile, and vulnerable. Maternal love pierced her heart.
But eventually she had to let go. She eased Emily back onto her pillow and forced herself to leave the room. Coburn was lurking in the hallway just outside the door. As she pulled it shut, she looked up into the unfeeling mask of his face.
“If you… do something to me, please don’t let her see. She’s no threat to you. No purpose would be served by harming her. She—”
A cell phone rang.
Determining that it was hers, he took it from his pocket, glanced at the readout, and passed it to her. “Same as before. Put it on speaker. Find out what you can about the hunt for me, but don’t make it obvious.”
She answered with, “Hi, Stan.”
“How are you feeling? Emily okay?”
“You know how kids are. They bounce back from these things quicker than adults do.”
“The party still on for tomorrow night, then?”
“Of course.” Looking into Coburn’s bloodshot eyes, she asked, “Any news about the fugitive?”
“He’s still on the loose, but it’s only a matter of time. He’s been out there going on twenty-four hours. He’s either already dead or weakened to the point of being easy prey.”
He told her about the stolen boat and the place at which Coburn had launched it. “Dozens of boats are searching the waterways and will be through the night. The whole area is crawling with lawmen.”
“But if he has a boat—”
“Not a very reliable one from what I understand. Nobody thinks it will get him far.”
“It might have sunk already,” Honor ventured.
“Then unless he sunk with it, they’ll pick up his trail. They’ve got excellent trackers and dogs going over solid ground.”
He urged her to rest well, then they said good night and signed off. As Coburn took the phone from her, she felt disheartened. Stan’s news didn’t bode well for her and Emily. As Coburn’s chances of escape dwindled, so did theirs.
But rather than reveal the desperation she felt, she played up the hopelessness of his situation. “Instead of tearing into the walls of my house, why don’t you get out of the area while you can? Take my car. Between now and daylight, you could cover—”
Her words came to an abrupt halt when she heard the throaty growl of a small motor, getting closer, growing louder. She spun away from Coburn and bolted toward the living room.
But if Coburn’s reflexes had been slowed by exhaustion, they were boosted by the sound of the motorboat. He was on her before she got halfway across the room. One arm closed around her waist like a pincer and hauled her up against him as his other hand clamped down hard over her mouth.
“Don’t go stupid on me now, Honor,” he whispered in her ear. “Get out there before they reach the porch. Talk loud enough for me to hear. If I sense that you’re trying to send them a signal, I won’t hesitate to act. Remember that I’m ‘prey’ to them, so I’ve got nothing to lose. Before you get cute, think about me standing over your daughter’s bed.”
The boat’s motor was now idling. She saw lights dancing through the trees, heard masculine voices.
“You got it?” he repeated, shaking her slightly.
She nodded.
Gradually he released her and withdrew his hand from her mouth. She turned around to face him. She gasped, “I beg you, don’t hurt her.”
“It’s up to you.”
He spun her around and prodded her lower spine with the barrel of the pistol. “Go.”
Her legs were shaking. She gripped the doorknob and took several deep breaths, then pulled the door open and stepped out onto the porch.
Two men were coming up the path from the dock, sweeping her property with their flashlights, the bright beams penetrating the shrubbery. They wore badges on their uniform shirts. Gun belts were strapped to their hips. One of them raised his hand in greeting.
“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.