“Then why were you spying on me? And don’t give me any more of your bullshit this time! I’m not stupid!”
“I wasn’t spying. I swear it. I just needed some help.”
Richard couldn’t stop his body from shuddering as he thought again about Nicky, sitting at home, waiting for him to return, with no clue where he was. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the last place on earth she would ever think to look for him was in a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. He was truly all alone, with no help coming, and home seemed like a million miles away.
Peter clicked the gun’s safety catch. “You’ve got three seconds…”
“Please—it’s the truth!”
“One…”
Richard fought hard with his tied hands and ankles, trying desperately to loosen them. “Please. For God’s sake. Just put—”
“Two…” He rested the butt of the shotgun against his collarbone and closed one eye as if to take aim.
Almost sick with panic, Richard decided that it was time for another lie, another story. He really had nothing left to lose. One last stab at convincing Peter why he was there. The truth just wouldn’t cut it—and time was fast running out. “All right, I’ll tell you the truth!”
Peter pointed the gun to the floor. “I’m listening.”
“I came here…” He hesitated, unable to believe what he was about to say. “…to steal your car.” Shaking his head, he looked down at the floor, as if ashamed. What a stupid lie, he thought. He’s never going to buy it. What’s wrong with you? You’re going to get yourself killed. You idiot!
The room fell silent.
“You came to steal my car?” Peter asked, suspicion in his tone.
“Yes. And I’m sorry. Please don’t call the police. It was a stupid mistake.”
Clearly still wondering whether or not to believe his story, Peter sat back down on the sofa chair, glancing at the sleeping baby. He reached into the cot and caressed the boy’s head. “The last thing I want to do is shoot you,” he said, eyes still fixed on the child. “I wouldn’t want to hurt this little one’s ears.”
Richard, still fighting to loosen his restraints, kept his eyes on the shotgun, which was still firmly in Peter’s grasp. “Thank you.”
He turned to Richard. “Don’t thank me yet—I said I didn’t want to shoot you—doesn’t mean I won’t.” Taking his hand out of the cot, he sank back in the chair, making a clicking sound with his mouth, as if mulling over what to do next. “Whether you’re telling the truth, or whether you’re here for some other reason doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you trespassed—on my land, and spied through my windows.” He scrutinized Richard up and down. “You don’t look like a car thief. Car thieves are usually scummy teenagers, wearing baseball caps and gold chains. But you look at least thirty. And you’re reasonably well-spoken and dressed.” He shook his head. “So I’m stumped. Something about you just doesn’t add up.”
“Please Peter,” Richard said, sounding worn-out, “can we just forget about—”
Peter stood, his eyes wide with fury. “How do you know my name?”
Richard’s heart sank deep, unable to think of a fast response. How could he have made such a foolish error? After all the quick thinking, all his lies, trying to hide his true intentions, how could he trip up on such an obvious thing? Of course a car thief wouldn’t know the victim’s name. And even if he did, Peter was in no way going to advertise his presence after what he had done to Christina.
Aiming the shotgun again, Peter walked forward, stopping about a meter from Richard’s helpless body. “Well—talk!” Suddenly the sound of a baby crying made him look over his shoulder at the cot. “Now look what you’ve done!” He turned his attention back to Richard. “You woke him up!”