by Debra Webb
“Beautiful.” He sighed. “This might be my best work yet.”
The rip of Velcro echoed in the cold air, and then there was a soft splat on the floor. She cracked her eye open just enough to see what he was doing. He had withdrawn a hypodermic needle and was about to plunge it into her hip.
She screamed bloody murder.
His attention snapped to her face.
Bobbie lunged upward, the tattoo instrument held like a stake, and stabbed it deep into his chest.
The hypodermic needle hit the floor as he tried too late to jump back.
The chair overturned. He sprawled across the floor.
Bobbie grabbed the chair and slammed it down on his head. She hit him again and again. “Die you son of a bitch! Die!”
When he stopped flailing his arms, she stumbled back, the air surging in and out of her lungs. A crimson stain spread from the brass tool she had jammed in his chest. Shuddering at the charge of adrenaline, she wished she had matches so she could burn the place down and send him to hell where he belonged.
She rushed to the door, grabbed his coat and ran. In her haste, she stumbled down the steps, falling flat on her face on the cold wet ground. Pain screaming through her, she staggered to her feet and dragged on the coat. She felt in the pockets and found the keys. Thank God.
Shaking so hard she could hardly hold onto the keys, she climbed into the vehicle that was at least as old as she was and turned the ignition. When the engine roared to life, she cried out in relief.
She shoved the gearshift into reverse, turned the SUV around, and took off along the narrow dirt road.
“I’m coming, Jamie!”
Bobbie Gentry was not going to die today.
Chapter Six
Hurry! Hurry!
She had to get away. The last vestige of good sense she possessed restrained the urgency. She drove as fast as she dared. Though it was daylight, the narrow and crooked road was hard to navigate.
She fought the steering wheel, taking the curves with the SUV’s back end fishtailing.
He’s dead. He’s dead.
Uncertainty trickled into her thoughts. Had she killed him? If she hadn’t killed him, she had come damned close.
I’m free! Bobbie glanced around the gloom of the woods. She had escaped. She’d stabbed him. He’d been bleeding.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her breath came in big, rushing gulps. She was free. She was going home!
She needed a phone. She glanced around the interior of the SUV.
The steering wheel jerked to the right as the passenger-side tires bumped off the shoulder of the narrow road. She corrected, pulling the vehicle back in line.
“Pay attention.” She had to get as far away from that cabin as possible—as far away from him as possible.
“Find the main road. Drive to the nearest town.” She drew in a deep breath and let it go slowly. “Good plan, Bobbie.”
Did she have enough fuel?
She glanced at the gauge. Three-quarters of a tank. Of course the monster wouldn’t take any chances. He was too careful, too organized. He would never be so incompetent as to run out of gas.
There was no way to know where she was. Another state, for sure. The Storyteller always selected a victim from one state and then disposed of that victim in another.
Would he be coming after her? She checked the rearview mirror. Even if he wasn’t injured, he couldn’t run this fast.
She had stabbed him in the chest...close to the center. She’d seen the blood. She’d beaten the hell out of him with that rickety old chair.
Was he dead?
She should have checked his pulse. Maybe injected him with whatever he’d intended to shoot into her veins. She shook her head. No way would she have gotten that close to him. She had to get away. Her son was waiting for her. She could only imagine how much he had cried the past few weeks. Had he attended his daddy’s funeral?
Bobbie swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “We’ll be okay, baby.” Her lips trembled. Would she ever really be okay again? Could she be a good mother after what Perry had done to her?
Would Jamie be safe with her?
A deer leaped across the road.
Bobbie hit the brakes. The SUV slid on the muddy road. The rear end fishtailed. She tried to straighten out. Couldn’t. The vehicle bulldozed into a tree.
Her head hit the steering wheel.
Bobbie felt paralyzed for a moment. She blinked.
Her head ached. She touched her forehead. No blood. Thank God.
She assessed the rest of her body. No worse than when she’d climbed into the vehicle. She scanned the area. Nothing but trees and that narrow road. She twisted around and looked back the way she had come. No sign of Perry.
“Okay.” She moistened her dry, damaged lips. “Just get out of here.” The engine had died. She tried restarting it. When she turned the key there was nothing but a click click click.
“Shit!”
She had to get moving. She looked around again. If he had survived, could she walk without him catching up? Her muscles were weak and her leg was broken for sure, but adrenaline made her stronger than she had a right to be.
What she really needed was a phone. She searched the vehicle. In the back floorboard she found a tire iron covered in blood. He’d bragged about hitting James with his tire iron. A moan tore out of her. He’d used this to kill her husband. She grabbed the heavy tool. The urge to run back to that cabin and bash his head in with the damned thing was nearly overwhelming.
No. She threw it down. She had to get to Jamie. The tire iron would only weigh her down.
The boots he’d worn in the snow stood in the passenger-side floorboard. She grabbed them and tugged them on. No weapons. No flashlight or communication device.
She climbed out of the vehicle and listened. Silence swallowed her up. She zipped the coat and followed the road. “If this is as good as it gets, so be it.”
Pain vibrated up her right leg with every step. She ignored it. She tried to judge the time of day. How much light did she have left? The sun was high in the sky. Noon or one o’clock, maybe. Which meant she only had three or four hours before dark. She had to move faster. There could be miles between her and civilization.
Bobbie lost count of the number of times she fell. She tried to pinpoint a part of her body that didn’t hurt. Everything hurt. The pain in her leg steadily worsened. Didn’t matter. She had to keep going. She would keep going.
The sun had dropped considerably. She could scarcely see a slice of it hovering above the treetops now. She was cold as hell. How long before hypothermia set in? You’re okay as long as you’re moving. Keep going. The sky was clear. No worry about snow or rain, but the temperature would drop dramatically as night fell.
Surely she’d find a road before dark.
The adrenaline was receding now and her body trembled. Her muscles didn’t want to work right. She felt uncoordinated and as weak as a kitten. Over and over she looked back, but there was nothing but the encroaching gloom.
She was so tired. Could she risk sitting down just for a moment to catch her breath?
No. She had to keep moving. Her feet were numb. She thought of all the people Gaylon Perry had murdered and she kept walking.
Her son’s sweet laughter and her husband’s sexy smile urged her onward. She missed them so much. Her life would have so many empty places without James. But she had Jamie. Her baby would fill her life with happiness. She and James had promised each other that if one of them died, the other would make sure Jamie had the best life possible. He would always come first.
“I’m coming, Jamie.”
She felt guilty for having given up for a while. Giving herself grace—maybe that had been the only way to survive the h
orrors she had endured.
By the time dusk crept through the trees, the cold had seeped deep into her bones. The road seemed to go on and on. She walked in one of the ruts to ensure she didn’t veer off and hit another tree.
How much farther?
Nausea had begun to churn in her belly. She had tuned out much of the pain, but it was there, pulsing and radiating beneath her skin. Her right leg was numb. By now whatever bone he had broken would be on the way to mending, not necessarily the way it was supposed to.
A sound hummed in the distance. Bobbie staggered to a stop.
A vehicle...? She had to be close to a road.
She hobbled faster. The too-big boots made her stumble again, but she dragged herself up and kept going. Her heart pounded so hard she worried it would burst.
She was going to make it. Soon she would hold her baby.
A surge of strength filled her and she moved a little faster. The road took a sharp turn and the trees gave away to a broad expanse of asphalt that split through the woods in either direction like an endless black river.
She cried out with relief.
Her body trembled so violently she could hardly stay vertical.
She picked a direction and started walking. Another vehicle would come along eventually. All she had to do was keep moving and try to maintain her body heat. She hugged the coat tighter around her. The disgusting smell of the monster she’d left bleeding on the floor made her sick. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she had beaten him.
She could scarcely walk by the time twin beams of light topped the rise in the distance. Bobbie perked up. She couldn’t really feel her lower body anymore. Her bare legs and sockless feet were freezing.
This was the first vehicle to come along since she found the road.
As the headlights neared she moved into the center of the road and forced her arms over her head. She started to wave.
The car would either stop or it would run her over.
Chapter Seven
Paramedics had arrived first. They’d patched Bobbie up as best they could under the circumstances. The noose around her neck had been removed, the wound cleaned and bandaged. One of the paramedics had rounded up an extra uniform for her to put on, along with long johns, thick socks and sneakers. It felt good to be warm again. The Mississippi State Police were on the scene within half an hour of Bobbie’s call. An agent from the Meridian FBI field office had arrived minutes later along with the Lauderdale County Sheriff’s Department. Bobbie’s partner and chief, as well as the FBI agents who had been working the Storyteller case, were en route. All personnel on site were preparing to move in on the cabin, save one deputy who would stay behind to escort the late arrivals.
“Detective Gentry, you really should be at the hospital,” the paramedic named Thad insisted. “You’re dehydrated and your blood pressure is way low. That leg is in bad shape. You have numerous lacerations that appear to be infected and at least one toe that’s frostbitten.”
She shook her head. “Not until this is done.”
Thad exhaled a big breath. “I wish I could give you something for the pain. It has to be bad.”
She waved him off and headed toward the sheriff’s SUV. The plan was to go in via the county’s four-wheel-drive vehicles. Before they reached the cabin, a group would unload, continue through the woods on foot and surround the cabin. If Perry was still alive and heard them coming, he would make a run for it. She had not seen a firearm and she hadn’t found one in the SUV. Still, she couldn’t confirm that he was unarmed.
Bobbie had him figured for dead. He would have come after her if he’d survived. With her bum leg, she felt confident he could have caught up with her even with the meager head start she’d managed with the SUV.
He was dead. She repeated those words over and over in her head as she loaded into the passenger seat. She wanted him to be dead.
As soon as she had identified his body—since she was the only person who could ID him—she was going home to her baby. The hospital could wait until she was home.
“You’re sure you’re up to this, Detective?” Sheriff Dorning asked, his face reflecting the same concerns the paramedic had voiced.
Bobbie lifted her chin and met his assessing gaze with lead in her own. “I’m not going anywhere until this is done.”
Dorning nodded. “Can’t say as I blame you.”
Two other SUVs moved ahead of the sheriff’s. Bobbie’s heart rate picked up with every mile they drove. She couldn’t wait to see that son of a bitch’s face, pale with death and twisted in surprise. She hoped he had felt every drop of warm blood draining from his body, leaving him cold and dying. She hoped he had shit his pants while the last moments of life drifted from him.
When they reached the SUV she’d wrecked, getting around it proved a challenge. The Lauderdale County SUVs barely squeaked between its rear bumper and the trees on the other side of the road.
The cabin wasn’t far now.
She pushed aside the uncertainty that threatened to resurrect during the final mile or so of the dark journey. Under no circumstances was she going to allow the fear to best her. She hadn’t survived the bowels of hell to fall apart now. As the headlights bounced against the log exterior of her prison, her heart thudded harder. Uniforms had already fanned out around the small building.
“You should stay in the vehicle until it’s safe to get out,” Dorning offered.
“Not a chance, Sheriff.”
When they’d both emerged and rounded the hood, he put a hand on her arm. “At least stay behind me.”
Bobbie acquiesced. He was armed and she wasn’t. No point putting herself in unnecessary danger. She wanted to see that this guy was dead, and then she wanted to get home to her baby.
Her chest hurt with the renewed realization that home would never be the same. James was gone.
“Clear!” The single word echoed through the darkness.
Uniforms had entered the cabin.
She hurried to keep up with the sheriff. Her heart started that fierce rush as if she were running a marathon. She needed to see the body, to confirm that the stake she’d wielded had hit its mark.
She wanted him in hell where he belonged.
The sheriff walked through the door; she was right on his heels. The smell of urine and feces instantly hit her.
When the sheriff stalled a few feet inside the cabin, Bobbie moved around him.
There was no body.
The Storyteller was gone.
Her heart plummeted to her stomach. “He was right there.” She pointed to the blood on the floor and the shattered chair.
Sheriff Dorning moved closer. “Judging by the amount of blood he lost, he likely didn’t make it far.”
Bobbie drifted into a trance of disbelief and despair as the sheriff barked orders to his men. They were calling in the search dogs. The FBI agent was on the phone relaying the news.
She heard someone say that the Montgomery chief of police had arrived. The pain she had been ignoring abruptly roared back to life. The room started to spin and Bobbie crashed to the floor.
Someone called her name. She tried to focus on the face. Newt, her partner, was coming toward her...or was she imagining him?
“We’ve got you now, Bobbie,” Newt’s voice said.
She couldn’t see his face anymore. Her eyes refused to stay open.
“We’re getting you out of here.”
Yes... I’m ready. The words trapped inside her.
“Don’t worry about anything else,” he said gently. “We’ll find that son of a bitch. You’re going to be fine, Bobbie. Just fine.”
Her partner was right. She stopped fighting and let go, drifting into the darkness. She was going to be fine.
She was going home to
her baby.
* * * * *
Follow Detective Bobbie Gentry in the first Shades of Death title, NO DARKER PLACE, coming from Debra Webb and MIRA Books in March 2017. Read on for an excerpt of NO DARKER PLACE.
About the Author
Debra Webb is the award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels, including reader-favorite series Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and Shades of Death. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra’s love of storytelling goes back to her childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com.
Books by Debra Webb
MIRA Books
Shades of Death
The Blackest Crimson
Harlequin Intrigue
Faces of Evil
Dark Whispers
Still Waters
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for the complete list of titles by Debra Webb.
“Debra Webb is a master storyteller.”
—Allison Brennan, New York Times bestselling author
Looking for more suspenseful reads from award-winning author Debra Webb? Make sure to continue your journey with the electrifying:
No Darker Place
Detective Bobbie Gentry now has one objective: to stop the serial killer who robbed her of her husband, her child and her life. Nick Shade understands Bobbie’s pain—and her desire for vengeance. He’s on a mission of his own, and the murderer known as the Storyteller is next on his list.
As the two work closely together in order to better their odds at finding their target and lure the Storyteller out of hiding, both of them are about to learn whether or not two broken people can save each other.
“Webb keeps the suspense teasingly taut, dropping clues and red herrings one after another on her way to a chilling conclusion.”
—Publishers Weekly on TRACELESS
Order your copy today!
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