by Lisa Jackson
Armed with a large flashlight, her cell phone, and the stun gun, she climbed out of the car and this time had the presence of mind to lock the door before making her way through the mud and patchy grass to the front door, which also was open.
Before heading inside, she ducked her head against the wind and walked to the back of the cabin. Parked close to the building was a BMW, the same make and model that had tried to run Nikki over. It was Effie’s, she realized as she tried the handle. It was locked tight, and she turned from it to look at the cabin. No one around, no flashlight glowing from inside.
So Effie was more dangerous than Nikki had thought.
Still, she wasn’t a murderer.
Right?
Nonetheless, it didn’t hurt her to let Reed know where she was. Deciding that safe was better than sorry, she texted Reed simply:
“Am at the cabin.”
Then she pocketed her phone and, with her uncle’s key, let herself in.
The door creaked on its rusted hinges, and once again Nikki was hit with the dead, musty smell of the place. Outside, the wind buffeted the walls, screaming and howling, rattling the few windows that remained.
Nikki swept her flashlight over the interior. “Effie?” she called, though once again she felt as if the place was empty.
Her stomach roiled a bit as she stood where she imagined Blondell had stood. Fighting with a stranger? She swept the beam of her flashlight over the area under the loft and thought again of her friend who had died here so long ago.
“Effie?” she yelled again. Where was she?
Slowly she moved the beam from the area where the sofa bed had been positioned to the wall where the kerosene lamp had shattered, still a bit of charring visible. She imagined the screams and the broken glass, the bits of fire dripping down the wall and onto the floor as the kerosene spread, miraculously not catching anything on fire.
There were so many unanswered questions. It seemed that the more Nikki learned, the less she knew.
She stared at the spot where Blondell had sworn she struggled with an intruder—in front of the fire—and claimed she’d struck her head on the mantel. The police had found bits of hair and scalp that confirmed that part of her story.
Nikki crossed in front of the cold hearth and climbed the staircase along the far wall. She saw where bullets had been pulled from the wall, where the spindles of the railing had been broken; once again, she saw the spattered bloodstains that were still visible on the wood. Her skin pimpled at the thought of that night, but she kept moving upward, one hand trailing the smooth banister.
On the second level, she had a view of the first floor, and she tried to imagine what the kids had seen.
The empty loft hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been here, of course.
No Effie.
Just her car.
What the hell was going on?
Nothing good.
She felt another chill and thought she heard a soft click, as if a lock were being turned.
She started to call out but held her tongue. What if whoever was opening the door wasn’t Effie, but the person who had left a snake in her car the last time out? Suddenly the stun gun in her pocket seemed like a small weapon.
As if a spider had climbed up the back of her arms, her skin crawled. Turning off the flashlight, all the while telling herself she was a ninny, she strained to hear over the rush of the wind and the scrape of a branch against the siding.
It’s nothing. Just a case of nerves.
Her finger hesitated on the button of the flashlight.
Creeeeaaak.
A floorboard groaned.
Her mouth turned to dust, her throat suddenly dry.
Squinting into the lower level, she thought she saw a shadow move, then realized it was that same skeletal branch near the window, casting an eerie shadow, dark on dark, through the living area.
Time to get the hell out, Effie or no Effie. Something just wasn’t right.
Walking as softly as she could, she reached the top of the stairs, still not turning on the flashlight, when she heard the noise again. Definitely footsteps. She stopped, ready to take another step, but held herself still. Frozen.
“I know you’re here,” a man’s voice called out, and she nearly fell through the floor. Definitely not Effie. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
The voice was familiar, and now she knew who it was: Roland Camp. Effie’s lover.
“You just couldn’t stay away, now, could you?” he said as she tried to melt into the shadows. Here, in the loft, she was trapped, couldn’t sneak down the stairs, and there was no window, just a sloping roof.
Darkness was her friend as well as her enemy.
“Oh, well, Nikki, there’s no need for you to expose yourself, I suppose.” He struck a match, scraping his thumb over its tiny head. With a hiss a little flame appeared.
If only she had a gun—her father’s tiny pistol he’d kept strapped to his ankle, which had come in so handy the last time she was in trouble, or even her uncle’s gun. But no. The stun gun required close contact, and she was going to avoid that at all costs.
She did have her phone, though, and if she could switch off the ringer and other sounds, she could call Reed and—oh, God, was that a knife, glinting in his other hand? The match’s flame was reflected on a long, shiny blade.
She swallowed hard.
“Let me guess. You’re upstairs,” he said, and her heart fluttered in fear. “Thinking you would find Effie.”
He knew her plan.
Panic threatened her, and her fingers fumbled, but she reached into her pocket and speed-dialed Reed without exposing the cell to the light, not taking a chance that its glow would expose her position.
He waved out the match, the smell of burning phosphorus floating on the air.
She heard him cross the floor to the stairs.
Backing up slowly, she tried to keep a clear head. The only way down was over the rail or down the rickety steps that he was steadily climbing, his footsteps slow and deliberate.
No. That wouldn’t work. He’d block the path to the staircase. Throat tight, she considered her chances of going over the rail once he was on the upper level. She could vault over the railing cap, then grab the balusters, lower herself, and drop to the floor below, which, considering the length of her body, would be less than four feet. She was athletic, always had been. If she didn’t land wrong and twist her ankle or, worse yet, break her leg, she might make it to her car. It was worth a try.
“Nikki,” he called, sending terror through her.
Don’t let him get to you.
“You couldn’t let it go, could you?” he taunted. “You had to dig up the past, bring it all out into the open again and fuck up my life. Just like that stupid bitch, Effie.”
She wanted to argue that she wasn’t the one who had started the avalanche of truth from becoming known, nor had it been Effie—it was Niall’s recanted testimony that had begun the events that had brought them here. But there was no reasoning with him, she knew that. She hadn’t believed it, but now she knew he was on a path, a deadly path, that led straight to her.
Edging closer to the railing, she heard him land on the top step, and when he did, he didn’t bother with a match for effect. This time he used a small, bright flashlight and swept the beam across the loft’s interior.
She didn’t think twice but dropped her own flashlight, grabbed the top rail, and, with a leap, vaulted the railing, grabbing two balusters with her hands on the way down, sliding her weight until she had gone as far as her straining arms allowed.
“Son of a bitch!” he hollered. Footsteps pounded above her, as she stretched as long as she could to minimize the drop. With a silent prayer, hoping the worst of her injuries would be bruises, she let go.
Thud!
She landed in a heap.
Hard.
Pain screamed through her right ankle.
“God damn it!” He thundered towar
d the stairs.
She kept moving.
Clambered to her feet.
The spotlight of Camp’s flashlight washed over her. “You little bitch, stop right there!”
She kept reeling forward, ignoring the dull ache pounding up her calf. Staggering, she threw herself forward, toward the door. Only a few more steps!
“Oh, no, you don’t!” he yelled, on the stairs, running down, his flashlight trained on her as she staggered toward the door. She grabbed the knob as he dropped his flashlight. It hit the floor and rolled, its beam wobbling crazily. Oh, Lord, he was close. So damned close! Yanking on the knob, she forced the door open, only to have it slammed back with the flat of his massive hand. “Gotcha!” He sounded so pleased, his breath hot against the back of her neck.
He grabbed hold of her hair, but she twisted, turning, and before he could use his damned knife, rammed her knee into his groin.
With a roar, he let go and doubled over.
She yanked the door open and ran outside, all the while fumbling for the stun gun and her keys.
Where the hell were they?
Wind was rushing over the lake, her hair blowing in front of her eyes as she half-ran, half-hobbled across the porch, all the while searching her pockets. The keys in her jacket pocket were her uncle’s; the other key was in her jeans.
Her ankle nearly gave way on the step, and she heard the door open behind her.
“No you don’t!” he yelled.
Across the yard she flew, her ankle throbbing, yanking the car key from her pocket, but he was behind her again, propelling himself across the porch and onto the yard.
He caught her at the hood of her CR-V, and this time when he grabbed her, he wrapped a meaty arm around her abdomen, and her keys slithered to the ground.
Oh, Jesus!
Before he could use the knife, she jabbed the stun gun against his arm and hit the button.
Electricity jolted through him, and he screamed, withering and flopping onto the ground. The stun gun slipped from her grasp.
She found her phone and hit the dial button, all the while skirting the big man, who flailed as he tried to grab at her ankles. His reflexes were off, and he was jerking uselessly in the moonlight, but she knew the effects wouldn’t last for long.
“Where’s Effie?” she demanded as he trembled at her feet. She grabbed his knife and stood over him. “Damn it, Camp, where is she?”
Reed’s phone went to voice mail. “Reed, it’s me,” she said, never taking her eye off Camp. “I’m at the cabin with Roland Camp and Effie, I think. It’s not good. Send a unit. ASAP!”
Camp was still muttering and shaking.
Slowly, with her eyes still trained on him, the knife in her hand, she crouched and felt on the ground for her keys or the damned stun gun. It was too dark to see much—even Camp was just a big, dark figure on the ground—but she knew they had to be here.
She felt blindly for the keys or the gun. Where the hell were they? Through the wet grass and the mud, her fingers scrabbled, nails breaking.
Camp had stopped flopping, but still he was groaning.
“Don’t move,” she warned, waggling the knife with her free hand, still searching the wet ground with the other. She felt the edge of sharp metal in the grass. Finally! Just as she grabbed the keys, he sprang. His huge body slammed into hers. Awkward but heavy, still twitching, he pinned her flat to the ground, her face driven into the wet grass, her nose squished with his weight.
“Y–yoou f-f-f-uckin’ bittttch,” he said, ripping the knife from her fingers. For a moment he lay breathing on top of her, gathering his strength. He was still feeling the effects of the stun gun; through his jacket she felt him move, his muscles seeming to writhe.
Desperately she tried to wriggle free. “I’ll cut you,” he warned, his voice low and deadly against her ear. “You fight me and I swear, I’ll cut you to ribbons.” She froze as she felt the blade of his knife against the soft tissue of her throat. He was still a little jumpy from the volts that had swept through his body; the knife in his hand felt unstable.
“You . . . you couldn’t leave well enough alone. You and Effie,” he said in disgust as he took in a long breath and, with what seemed to be supreme effort, hauled both himself and Nikki to their feet.
CHAPTER 31
Reed’s cell phone went off again. He’d ignored it for the first few minutes of June O’Henry’s ravings, but now he checked his messages as June was on her third rant about the violation of her civil rights or religious rights or whatever rights crossed her mind at the moment.
“I swear to God, I will take this all the way to the Supreme Court, if I have to! I’m going to sue the city of Savannah and the police department and both of you!” she declared, pointing a long finger at first Reed and then Morrisette.
“You do that,” he said as he stepped into the hallway, leaving Morrisette to deal with the indignant woman in the interview room.
As he closed the door behind him, Nikki’s message came through loud and clear.
His heart nearly stopped.
She was at the cabin? With Roland Camp?
He dialed 911 from his cell phone and took off at a dead run.
Nikki knew she had to fight Camp now, while he was still not at full strength, but the blade against her throat kept her from struggling.
He was unsteady, his steps halting, but he was determined as he marched her ever forward. Over the howl of the wind, she thought she heard a car’s engine.
Reed! Her knees went weak to think that he was close by and could help her escape the madman.
Was it her imagination, or had she seen the flash of headlights in the distance? Maybe Reed had received her earlier message. Oh, please! Hurry, hurry, hurry! There isn’t much time!
Slowly Camp turned her back to the house, and all the while the blade was pressed to the underside of her chin, its sharp edge beginning to dig into her flesh. Desperately, she tried to think of a quick way to escape.
If Reed didn’t reach her in time . . .
But he was close. She was certain that a car’s engine was roaring ever nearer.
Don’t react. Let him take you inside. Do not let Camp think that help is on the way.
With the knife digging into her flesh and his hulking body pressed hard against her backside, the smell of his sweat heavy in her nostrils, he drove her slowly forward, toward the cabin.
Come on, Reed, hurry!
She was thinking of another way to escape, any way, but she could scarcely do more than breathe shallowly. She could feel his rage and decided her best ploy was to appear to comply, to act as if he’d scared all the spit right out of her, that her injuries were worse than they actually were.
“You know,” he said, urging her forward, his body pushing hers over the wet grass, his knee at the bend of hers, his shin pressed into the back of her leg. Obviously he wasn’t quite in control of his body; nonetheless, they inched ever closer to what she knew to be her doom.
“You spent all this time tryin’ to figure out what happened that night, the night your friend was killed?” he pointed out, breathing hard. “You never got it, though, did ya? So maybe it’s time you had all the facts, huh, sweetheart?” His voice was becoming steadier again, the effects of the stun gun wearing off.
Nikki didn’t have to ask why he would finally tell her; it was obvious. Not only did he want to brag, but he already knew she wouldn’t be able to spread the story because he intended to kill her.
Hurry, Reed!
“What are they? Those facts?” she asked, trying to stall him, staggering on her weak ankle. Whatever his plans were, she had to keep him talking, delay him, give Reed time to get here.
“Stand up, bitch! I’ll tell you, since you won’t be able to share the story after this place goes up in flames.”
What? No!
Fear curdled through her blood, but she didn’t admit it, wouldn’t show that she was scared as hell, her body beginning to perspire in the cold ni
ght, her mind threatening to run away with all kinds of horrid scenarios of what he would do to her.
Hurry, Reed! Hurry. If there was just a way to get the jump on him, to turn the tables, but the wicked knife shoved hard against her throat kept her from doing anything rash.
“It was all because of Blondell,” he said. Now they were close to the cabin, to that gaping door where the tunnel of light from his dropped flashlight cut through the night. She couldn’t die like this, not at some maniac’s hand.
“It was her fault. She’s the one who cheated. I found out that she was fucking that high-priced lawyer, McBaine. Your uncle.” He jabbed the blade harder against her flesh for effect. “That’s why she insisted they come here. Because he owned it. This is where they got together to fuck. But that night she had the kids, and after they were asleep, she and McBaine were having it out in her car. A big fight. I heard ’em screaming at each other. About her losing the baby.”
They were close to the porch now. Too close, but Roland kept talking, and all the while, as he spilled his guts, Nikki sought for a way to escape, to save herself.
“It pissed me off, let me tell you,” he said. “When I found out, I saw red. I could’ve killed her with my bare hands. I thought we were good together, but it turns out she had ‘something special’ with McBaine and played me for a damned fool.” He was breathing harder now, his anger evident in the muscles tensing around her. “But no one gets one over on Roland Camp, especially not some crazy nympho whore!” His anger radiated from him in waves. “I decided to teach her a lesson, you know, scare the living shit out of her. That’s why I brought the snake. She hates ’em. So while she and McBaine are yelling at each other in the car, so mad the windows are fogging up, I wait and wait, until he’s gone and she’s on the porch, and then I sneak into the cabin, plan to leave the snake in her bed. Would serve her right, y’know.
“That’s when I saw Amity, there, on the pull-out. She was a looker too. Like her mama.”
Nikki thought she might be sick as she thought of Amity. Camp, however, seemed to revel in his sexual prowess as he propelled her up the steps. She tripped a little, but Camp’s arm around her middle kept her upright, his blade slicing into the skin, blood beginning to run.
