“Interesting reading?” she asked as she combed out her wet hair.
He looked up. “Our interview with Jorst. I’m wondering if he knows more than he’s telling. And I’m also wondering what we might learn from Kate Ramsey.”
“If she’ll talk to us.”
“Right.” He yawned. “We’ll think about it tomorrow. Long day.”
Michelle looked at her watch. “It is late. I guess I better be going.”
“Look, why don’t you just stay here tonight? You can stay in the guest room where you just showered,” he added quickly.
“I have my own place. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’m a big girl.”
“I do feel sorry for you because all the junk that was in your truck is now in your room at the inn. Something might be alive in there. It might come and get you in the middle of the night.” He smiled and then said quietly, “Stay here.”
She graced him with her own smile and a look in her eyes that seemed very suggestive. Although that might have just been the wine he’d had.
“Thanks, Sean. I’m actually pretty whipped. Good night.”
He watched her go slowly up the stairs. The long, muscular legs slid into the nice, firm butt, and then her body continued into the Olympic shoulders and up the long neck and, well… Hell! As she disappeared into the guest room, he let out a sigh and tried desperately not to think about what he was so desperately thinking about.
He went around to all the doors and windows and made sure they were locked. He was planning on having an alarm company come out and wire his house. He’d never thought he’d need that here. Half the time he didn’t even lock his doors. Boy, that had changed.
He paused at the top of the stairs and looked toward the guest room door. Inside, a beautiful young woman was lying in bed. Unless he was seriously mistaken, if he opened that door and went in, he’d probably be allowed to stay the night. Then again, with the way his luck was running, if he opened the door, Michelle might just shoot him in the balls. He stood there for a few moments more, thinking. Did he really want to start something with this woman? With all that was going on? The answer, as much as he didn’t want to accept it, was pretty clear. He trudged down the hall to his own room.
Outside near the bottom of the road leading up to King’s house, the old Buick, lights out, stopped, and the engine was cut off. The rattling muffler had been fixed because the driver no longer desired to be noticed. The car door opened, and the man climbed out and looked through the trees at the silhouette of the darkened house. The rear doors on the Buick opened, and two more people emerged: it was “Officer Simmons” and his homicidal female companion, Tasha. Simmons looked a little nervous while Tasha seemed ready for adventure. The Buick Man just appeared focused. He glanced at his companions and nodded. Then all three moved toward the house.
36
King awoke from a dead sleep as the hand went over his mouth. He saw the gun first and the face second.
Michelle put a finger to her lips and whispered in his ear. “I heard some noises. I think someone’s in the house.”
King pulled on his clothes and pointed out the door with a questioning look.
“I think at the rear of the house, lower level. Any idea who it could be?”
“Yeah, maybe somebody’s bringing me another dead body.”
“Anything of value in the house?”
He started to shake his head and then stopped. “Shit. The gun from Loretta’s backyard. It’s in my lockbox in the study.”
“You really think…?”
“Yeah, I really do.” He picked up the phone to call the police but put it back down.
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “It’s dead?”
“Where’s your cell phone?”
She shook her head. “I think I left it in my truck.”
They slipped down the stairs listening for any more sounds that might pinpoint where the intruder was. It was dark and quiet. The person could have been anywhere, watching, waiting to pounce.
King looked at Michelle and whispered, “Nervous?”
“It is a little creepy. What do you do when it gets dicey?”
“Go get a bigger gun than the other guy has.”
The bang came from the direction of the staircase leading to the lower level.
Michelle looked at him. “Okay, I say no confrontation. We don’t know how many or how well armed.”
“Agreed. But we have to get the gun. You have your car keys?”
She held them up. “Way ahead of you.”
“I’ll drive. We’ll call the cops once we’re out of here.”
With her covering him, King slipped into his study, got the lockbox and made sure the gun was inside. They went quietly out the front door.
They climbed into the Land Cruiser’s front seat, and King put the key in the ignition.
The blow struck him from behind, and he fell against the horn, which started blaring.
“Sea—” yelled Michelle, but her voice was cut off, along with most of her wind, when the leathery garrote went around her neck and ripped into her skin.
She desperately tried to dig her fingers under the leather, but it had already sunk in too deeply. Very quickly her lungs were bursting, her eyes bulging in their sockets; her brain felt like it was on fire. From the corner of her eye she saw King slumped against the steering wheel, the blood running down his neck. Then she felt the rope twist and tighten and a hand reached over the front seat and grabbed the rusty gun. The rear truck door opened and then closed, and footsteps moved away, leaving her to die.
The garrote kept tightening, and Michelle put her feet up against the dashboard to try and arch her body, to get some leverage and separation from the person who was doing his best to kill her. She dropped back down, her breath nearly gone. The sound of the horn was exploding in her ears; the sight of the unconscious and bloodied King only added to her hopelessness. She arched again and slammed her head into the face of the person strangling her. She heard him cry out, and the rope loosened, but only a bit. Next she reached back, trying to seize hair to pull, skin to tear or eyeballs to gouge. She was finally able to grip her attacker’s hair and pulled as hard as she could, but the pressure on her throat kept up. She scratched and clawed at the face, and then her head was ripped back, almost pulling her over the seat. She thought her spine had cracked, and Michelle went limp and slid forward.
She could feel the breath of the person who was killing her, exerting every ounce of strength to finish her off. Tears of desperation and agony slid down her face.
The breath was right in her ear. “Just die,” he hissed. “Just die!”
His mocking tone suddenly revitalized her. With her last bit of energy Michelle’s fingers closed around her gun. She pointed it backward, against the seat, her index finger finding the slender bit of metal. She barely had any strength left, and yet she found the small reserve of will she needed to do it. She just prayed her aim was true. She wouldn’t get a second chance.
The gun fired, and the bullet ripped through the seat. She heard the impact with flesh and next the grunt, and the garrote immediately loosened and then fell away. Free, Michelle sucked in huge amounts of air. Dizzy and sick to her stomach, she pushed open the truck door and fell out onto the ground.
She heard the rear door open. The man climbed out, holding his bloodied side. She raised her gun, but he kicked the door fully open and it slammed into her, knocking her down. Beyond furious now, Michelle bounced back up and aimed her pistol even as he turned and ran.
However, before she could fire, she dropped to her knees and was violently sick to her stomach. When she looked up, her vision was so blurred, her head pounding so hard, that there seemed to be three men running away. She fired six shots; all were placed in a tight bunch at what she thought was the real flesh and blood of the man who had done his best to murder her.