He wanted to hold his friend longer, but his priorities kicked in. He didn’t have much time to finish things here. When this deputy didn’t report in, they’d send others. He estimated he had an hour before anyone else came by. Trinity County was big, and the police force was small. He had time.
“I’m sorry, Brando. You deserved better.”
He pushed himself to his feet, looked down at the dog, gone but not forgotten, then over at the deputy. He wasn’t conscious, but his chest rose and fell shallowly. An ever-expanding pool of blood circled him. There was no saving him. It was just a matter of time.
There was just one more thing left to do before he could go. He strode back to the stable. What had happened here wasn’t Zo?’s fault, but she would pay the price for it.
When he reached the stable, Zo? was nowhere to be found.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The gunshots had jerked Zo? awake from her chloroformed daze. Gunshots were a good sign. Beck didn’t have a gun. It had to be the cops.
I’m safe, she thought, but the screaming that followed made her thought fleeting. She couldn’t see anyone outside the stable, but she knew, just knew, it was the policeman who’d screamed.
She’d almost lost hope, but the arrival of the cop had changed things. People would know he was here and follow up when he didn’t report in. How long before that would happen? Twenty minutes? An hour? It wasn’t worth speculating on. She needed to focus on staying one step ahead of Beck, and he’d given her the opportunity.
He’d been sloppy when dealing with the cop’s arrival. He’d left the stool in front of her. It wasn’t underneath her, but it was within reach. Arms and shoulders screaming in pain, she stretched her leg out, hooked her big toe under the seat, and pulled it back. She had to be careful. The dirt floor was soft and uneven. If it toppled, it was over. She was dead. She inched the stool toward her and its feet cut into the soft dirt, making it list to one side. She froze, keeping it upright with her other foot.
“Please don’t fall,” she murmured.
The stool listened, staying upright until it was under her. It was a small victory. While she could get her feet flat on the stool, it wasn’t tall enough to help her clear the top of the hook. She stood on tiptoes and was an inch too short.
Just a small jump to freedom, she told herself.
She jumped up with everything she had, swinging her leaden arms forward, and swung free of the hook. She landed awkwardly and toppled forward, hitting the ground with a thud.
The sudden rush of blood back into her arms was both exhilarating and excruciating, far outweighing the sensation of hitting the ground. She wanted to revel in the moment, but there was no time. Hands still shackled together, she pushed herself to her feet and darted over to the stable door.
She peered out. She’d heard gunshots, so she expected to see Beck dead. Not this. The cop lay on his back, blood everywhere and not moving, while Beck slumped over his damn dog, sobbing. Her rescue was in tatters. It was all down to her now.
Beck had screwed up by killing a cop. That screwup might have just saved her life. They’d sent the cop for a reason. When he didn’t report back, they’d send more. With any luck, they’d be here soon. She just had to stay out of Beck’s clutches until then.
That wasn’t going to be easy. She was naked, alone, and unarmed, but she had one thing going for her—hope. A rescue had to be a half hour away at most. She could survive that long.
“You can do this,” she murmured. “You won’t die today.”
She looked past the scene at the dirt road to freedom. A straight run for it was the simplest answer, but she’d never make it. Escape wasn’t the answer, hiding until the cops arrived was. One thing this place had in spades was places to hide.
Beck climbed to his feet, wiping tears from his face. She had to act now, or her reprieve would be over. She backed away from the door, tore through the stable, and out the back entrance. Tall grass covered everything except for a horse trail leading to the tree line on the far side of the property. If she kept to the path, he’d spot her, but she could hide in the grass.
She took off left toward the paddock Beck had marched her through earlier. She ran with her shackled hands pressed to her chest. It helped her balance and protected her naked body from the sharp, dry blades of grass.
“Zo?,” came Beck’s bellow from inside the stable.
She stopped running and dropped to her knees, letting the foliage conceal her. She looked back at the stable. Beck emerged, knife in hand.
“Don’t think you can escape me again, Zo?.” He paused as if waiting for an answer.
Sweat ran down her back into the open wounds. She winced but bottled a moan.
He scanned the landscape for her. Her breath was fast and ragged, but she remained as still as she could. The grass was her greatest friend and her worst enemy. Any movement, and it would give her away.