Joe stared at her. For a second, she saw something in his eyes … she thought it might be surprise. “You’ll have to write a letter to that pussy lawyer. I don’t want to have to deal with him while we’re picking up where we left off,” Joe said, carrying on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve got paper here and I’ve already written down what I want you to say. You get to work and then we can have dinner and get some sleep.”
Hope folded her arms over her chest.
“Write the letter.”
Curling her lip at him, she said, “Go fuck yourself.”
This time, when he came closer, she dodged away. She was small, couldn’t fight against him, but she was fast. She managed to avoid the first hit. Even the second. But the third time he reached out, he caught the side of her head, and she went careening to the floor, screaming.
Blood filled her mouth and she almost choked on it as he hauled her up, closing a hand around her throat. Rage glinted in his eyes as he glared at her.
“You sit your ass down and write that fucking letter, bitch,” he snarled.
She spat a mouthful of blood into his face.
It was his gut that led Nielson here. Just his gut, a hope, and a prayer.
He should wait for one of his deputies to get here, but they were spread thin as it was. They were already trying to cover too much ground and there just weren’t enough of them.
Besides, this was likely nothing. He’d check it out, then join the others.
Brody had been out in this part of the woods when he’d seen the guy in the camo and mask.
A guy who’d been awfully close to Law’s place.
Law. Maybe the weird shit had nothing to do with Law. And everything to do with Hope. A fucked-up ex-husband … maybe. Nielson wasn’t sure. But maybe.
Right now, worrying about the girl he’d let down, he was desperate enough to try anything.
Nielson heard the scream.
He took off at a run.
And although he didn’t realize it, he wasn’t the only one.
Joe squeezed, squeezed, squeezed … she was going to write that fucking letter, and she’d do it now, because he wanted that fucking pussy lawyer to know she was gone. Wanted him to know why she was gone, and who’d be between her legs now.
He even wanted Jennings to come after her, because then Joe was going to kill him. Cut him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Slowly … so slowly.
The same way he envisioned choking the life out of Hope just then. Her spit and blood dripped off his face, but he didn’t wipe it off. Her nails tore at his hands as he squeezed her throat.
As her eyes started to dim, he eased up. “You ready to write that damn letter, wife?”
“In … your … dreams,” she rasped.
The door busted open. “Put her down, Carson.”
He whirled around, jerked her body up as a shield. He stared at the sheriff. Shock, rage, they swamped his mind, made it hard to think.
What … how … no. Didn’t matter. He’d been seen. That was all that mattered now. He’d been seen.
By another cop. Using her body to keep Nielson from seeing his actions, he drew his weapon.
“You put your gun down, I put her down,” he said, stalling. Not that Nielson would believe him. That wasn’t the point. But this was how the game was played, so that was how he’d play it.
“You want me to lower my weapon, then you give me a reason,” Nielson said levelly. “Take your hands off her throat—”
Joe had his weapon in his hand. Ready. Smiling, he lifted it. “I’d much rather break her neck than let her go. Little slut. She giving it out to you, too? That why you so anxious to help her out? She’s my fucking wife, Nielson.”
“Ex-wife,” Hope rasped, her voice a broken, hoarse ruin.
“Shut up, bitch.” She drove her elbow back into his gut. It wasn’t much of a hit. The shock of it, though—she’d hit him.
She’d fucking hit him. The shock of it was enough that his hold loosened, ever so slightly. And that gave her the slight chance she needed to tear away from him.
That was when Nielson fired.
Joe fired back, dodging to the side. Neither of them missed … completely. Joe felt Nielson’s bullet tear through him even as he hurtled for Hope.
Fucking bitch. She’d fucking caused this. Fucking, fucking bitch …
Hope saw him reaching for her—saw the look in his eyes. She’d seen him angry before, but never like that. Never like that. She knew if he touched her now, she wouldn’t live through it.
Not if he had anything to say about it. Backpedaling away from him as fast as she could, keeping him in her line of sight, she stared at his reddened, enraged face.
“Stupid bitch,” he muttered. “All your fucking fault. All of it.”
“Hope. Come over to me,” Nielson said.
She could see him from the corner of her eye. Carefully, she made her way over to him, not taking her eyes off Joe. So it wasn’t any trouble to see the gun he leveled at her.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He was an excellent shot—always had been. Loved to brag about the trophies he’d won as a teenager. He wouldn’t miss. Not from here.
“You come to me, or I kill you,” Joe said quietly.
“Hope, that boy over there, he doesn’t want to die. And I can tell you, if he pulls that trigger, I’ll take him down.” Nielson’s voice was friendly, polite—could have been discussing the weather. “He might want to hurt you, but he wants to live even more—I can tell just by looking at him. Don’t go over there. Just keep on walking to me.”
“Hope.” Joe’s eyes flashed. Full of fury.
She swallowed. And continued to back away. She’d made herself a promise, damn it. She’d keep it. She wasn’t putting herself in his hands again. Not ever. If he shot her, then he shot her. She’d rather die than put herself in his hands again.
Remy.
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back.
No matter what, she wasn’t going to be sorry. She wasn’t. She’d had some happiness with him. Some peace. It was more than she’d ever thought she’d have … the knowledge that a man could touch her and make her feel something besides fear. That a man, a good man could want her.
He squeezed the trigger—ever so slightly. She could see it.
Her heart slammed into her throat.
“Don’t do it, Carson,” Nielson warned. “You can walk away from this. All of us can. But you pull that trigger, you—”
It was deafening. Hope screamed.
Those seconds stretched out into eternity and she waited—waited for the pain she knew was coming. Waited for the darkness.
And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw him. Nielson’s body.
Slumped on the ground.
No …
Joe lunged for her, grabbed the back of her head and slammed it against the counter. “Little cunt,” he rasped. “ ’Til death do us part, remember?”
Darkness exploded through her head. Just before she blacked out, she heard a crash. Bitter, desperate rage swamped her and she wanted to fight, wanted to scream.
No … it wasn’t going to happen like this …
She’d promised herself …
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
“ ’TIL DEATH DO US PART, REMEMBER?” JOE MUTTERED, letting go of her head and watching as she fell to the floor, her body limp.
He nudged her with a toe, watched as her eyes rolled back into her head.
Good. Out. He’d have to deal with her, fast, and get the hell out.
Shit. She hadn’t written the fucking note—
Her prints on his gun. Needed to do that—
He heard footsteps.
He looked up and the visage of a masked face filled his vision. For a few seconds, he thought he’d lost more blood than he realized, and was hallucinating.
Staring at that masked face, he blinked. Then lifted his gun and pointed. “Get the fuck out,” he
snarled.
Although all he could see was the man’s flat eyes, he had the weirdest feeling he’d amused him. When the man lifted one big, mean-looking Desert Eagle, Joe almost pissed his pants.
One bullet from that—just one—and he was off his feet, didn’t matter where the man hit him.
“I don’t think so,” the man murmured. “Back away from them.”
Joe curled his lip. “Why don’t you stick that up your ass?”
Instead, the man lowered the weapon. “How about I use it to blow your dick off?”
Joe backed away.
But the man didn’t go to Hope. He edged around the spreading pool of blood surrounding the dead sheriff and when he lifted the sheriff’s weapon in a gloved hand, Joe’s gut turned to ice.
Still holding the Desert Eagle in his right hand, the man lifted the sheriff’s service revolver in his left hand.
Joe didn’t have time to blink before he aimed and pulled.
His left leg went out from under him as the fiery pain tore through him. Screaming, he hit the floor, hot blood gushing from him. Icy shock followed, only seconds later and for long, wasted seconds, he stared at the blood fountaining from his leg.
Too … much. Too much blood. For a few seconds, he couldn’t think past the pain, and when he could, all he could think about was just how very much blood he was losing.
His tongue felt thick. Shock and adrenaline raced inside him, but they weren’t helping.
Bad hit. Very, very bad.
Still gripping his gun, he lifted it, but his hands were slick with sweat, and he was already weak. The blood he’d lost earlier, and now … oh, fuck. This was bad. Very, very bad …
He eyed Carson for a few seconds, making sure the man wasn’t going to be much of a threat. He didn’t have much time. Not much at all, if he wanted to get clear of the cabin.
Joe Carson had been squatting here off and on for the past few weeks, when he wasn’t staying at a hotel over in Maysville.
He knew … because while Joe had been watching Hope, he had been watching Joe. And thanks to Carson’s stupidity, he had a nice, neat little solution to his present problem.
As long as he was careful. But he had to get away. Fast. Before the people searching for Hope arrived. Before Hope awoke.
If she awoke—he didn’t know what was wrong with her. She was hurt—alive, but hurt. She’d been on the floor when he’d arrived, and no telling what had happened. He couldn’t linger, either, no matter how much he wanted to keep an eye on his little mouse. Hope lay sprawled on the other side of the room, blood slowly spreading in a dark pool from her head.
He paused by her and nudged her with his booted foot. When she didn’t stir, he sighed. He really hoped she woke up.
Little mouse … she was his brave little mouse. Unlike some of his girls, he didn’t want to watch her die. He wanted her to live. It was a weird little twist, one he hadn’t seen coming.
Turning, he focused his attention on Joe Carson, who had finally emerged from his dazed shock enough to try and stanch the blood gushing from his thigh. The blood was dark, pumping from him hard and fast.
“It looks like it might have hit your femoral,” the man said. Good. That had sort of been the plan. “If you don’t stop it soon, you won’t make it out of here alive.”
“Fuck you,” Joe panted. His eyes gleamed with madness and rage.
He smiled and came close enough to kick Joe’s weapon out of reach. “Oh, you’re the one who’s fucked.” Kneeling down in front of him, he said, “But I really should say thanks. You helped me out of a jam. I’ve been watching you, you know. Keeping an eye on you … and slipping in and out of here while you were gone.”
Joe’s lips peeled back from his teeth. His hands were slippery and wet, fighting to keep a tight grip on the belt he was using as a tourniquet. “Get … the … fuck … away.”
In response, the man reached out and grabbed the belt, jerking on it, deliberately trying to pull it away from the other man, make him lose his desperate grip. He didn’t really give a damn if he got it loose, but it was a lot of fun to watch the fear slip into the cop’s eyes, to see him realize just how easily he could die.
And he would die.
“You really should have left her alone, you know,” he said quietly. “Just walked away and left her alone. Stayed out of my town. You don’t belong here.”
Then he let go of the belt and stood up, watching as Joe all but sobbed as he tried to drag the belt tight once more. The blood flow was slowing down now. Slowing, and Joe was looking pale, almost glassy-eyed.
“You’re bleeding to death, you know.” He tugged a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped the blood from his glove. Then, just to be safe, he pulled the glove off, turned it inside out and tucked it inside his pocket and drew out a clean one. As he snapped it into place, he peered at Joe and smiled. “You’ll be dead in minutes, long before help arrives for Hope.”
“Help me, for fuck’s sake,” Joe snarled.
He laughed. “Why would I do that? I came here to watch you die.” He glanced at Hope’s still body, then at the sheriff’s. Both of them, almost lost because of this man. He had no sense of sport, really. He didn’t like it at all.
But he’d be dead, soon enough.
“Who the fuck are you?”
With a smile, he reached up and pulled his mask up. “I might as well let you see.”
Joe stared at him blankly and the man just sighed. “You really are a stupid fuck, aren’t you? Been coming in and out of this town for the past few weeks and never once looked at anybody but her.”
Letting his mask remain where it was, he went to the sheriff, eased him up off the ground. There was a small, almost neat hole in the center of Nielson’s forehead. But the back half of his head was missing. “He was a decent man, you know. And he probably would have found out something about me sooner or later. So thank you.”
“What are … you …” Joe’s words came thicker, rougher.
“Oh, just some games of mine that got interrupted. I had to take a break from them because of some mistakes I made. But maybe I can pick them up again in a while.” Then he patted around on the sheriff’s body, searching for another gun. Ah, yes.
Ankle holster. How … clichéd. And convenient.
Still kneeling, he pointed it at Joe. Aimed. Watched as the man’s eyes went wide.
Fired.
Joe slumped over backward. As the body hit the floor, he turned and put the gun into the sheriff’s hand and squeezed again, one single shot that went into the wall. There—that should do it.
Carefully avoiding the blood on the floor, he moved closer and stared at the body.
Yes. Joseph Carson was dead. Now that all of that was dealt with, he put Joe’s weapon back in his hand, pulled him to a half sitting position, fired off a few random shots. It wasn’t perfect.
But there were no witnesses.
None … because Hope was still silent, motionless.
He paused long enough to tug his mask down and then he moved to stand over her body. So very still. So very quiet.
He hoped she wasn’t too hurt. Hoped she lived.
Would be a shame for her to die now. After all, her ex-husband was dead now … and he couldn’t haunt her anymore.
She could find that peaceful, happy life of hers now. Before he left, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, tugged out a wallet and a pretty little gold watch.
It had belonged to his last girl. Jolene Hollister. Even had a J H engraved on the back. Jolene. The start of all this mess.
The start … and it seemed fitting to leave it here, where he had ended it. Inside the wallet was a picture of Jolene and her pretty cousin. He left the wallet and the watch tucked in with Joe’s things, but the picture … that, he wanted found on Joe.
It took some doing to tuck it into Joe’s pocket without stepping in the blood, but he managed. If it fell out, it could be assumed it had done so while Joe fought to stop the bleeding.
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Everybody would think that he’d tried to get one last shot off. It would be muzzled and hazy, yes. But he’d done a better job staging this scene, he figured. Learned from his mistakes.
He slid back outside, losing himself in the deepening shadows. The shots had been heard.
Before he joined the rest of the search team, he used the wipes from his pack, made sure his hands were clean. Stowed his gun, the mask. There … none would be the wiser.
Just as he fell into step beside a couple of deputies, thunder rumbled through the skies overhead. He smiled.
Rain.
He loved a good thunderstorm.
“What are we doing out here?”
Remy half-tuned the person out. But another part of him wondered the same thing. The sheriff had sent search teams crawling off all over the county, but why here?
Zeke Mulroney—one of the volunteer firemen and Sergeant Keith Jennings’s cousin, sighed and shoved a hand through his hair, glanced at his cousin. “You buzz the sheriff again? Ask him what we’re searching for?”
Keith grunted. “We already know what.” There was an odd look in his eyes as he said it, but he didn’t elaborate other than to add, “We keep looking until we find her.”
“Yeah, but not why here,” Zeke mumbled. But he sighed, and the men studied the map. “I’ll cover this spot. You with me, cuz?”
“Yeah. We can split up, cover a wide area once we get there. Remy?”
“I’ll hit this one,” Remy said, his voice strained and tight.
Behind him, Reilly and Ezra shared a look. “We’re with Remy,” Ezra said.
The rest of the men split up the area, going in groups of two or three, agreeing to meet back up in another few hours, keeping in contact through radio. Cell phones were useless out here.
Remy tried not to let a rush of hopeless anger swamp him. They were wasting time … he needed to be on a plane to Clinton, Oklahoma—so he’d be there waiting when that bastard arrived. He was trying to take her back home. That’s what he needed to be doing …
If You See Her Page 31
