Angie did as she was told. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice came out shaky.
Raynor found the fear swimming in her eyes to be almost hypnotic. He rarely wounded his quarry, and so rare was the opportunity to see a living creature process death. It was a thing of profound beauty. He respected Angie greatly for her courage. But she had to die. He turned Bryce around and forced him onto his knees next to Angie. Blood continued to pour out of his body, as well. Bryce could barely lift his head, and he might have been in shock.
Raynor gritted his teeth to stave off the stabbing pain as he searched them both for any hidden weapons. He found none. They had no recourse, nothing left to do but die. He backed up three steps and aimed his Glock at Angie’s head.
“You shot me,” he said, breathing hard, staring Angie in the eyes. With his left hand, he unsheathed the bowie knife from a holster strapped to his boot. “Nobody hurts me. If they do, they pay for it. So I’m going to shoot you both, but I’m going to kill him quickly. You, I’m going to work on slowly, make it hurt as much possible. Any last words?”
Raynor’s vision was dimming. He wasn’t sure he could make Angie’s suffering last as long he wanted. He needed to get to a hospital and come up with some way to explain this mess.
Angie had no last words. She refused to avert her gaze. Hatred had replaced much of the fear Raynor had seen in her eyes. He admired her even more at that moment.
Raynor adjusted his aim. “Then all that’s left to say is good-bye.”
A gunshot sounded with a cacophonous bang and the smell of blood succumbed to the overpowering stench of gunpowder.
Angie heard the bang, but instead of pain, she saw blood rise up from behind Raynor’s head in a great red wave. His legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, where she could see how a gunshot had taken apart much of his skull. Her gaze moved away from his inert form and onto the figure of a man who stood ten feet away, holding a hunting rifle in his hands.
Walter Odette.
Angie felt weightless in her body. A feeling of incredible, profound relief tempered the pain of her many injuries. For a moment, all she could feel was the joy of still being alive. Walter had come to her rescue. Of course it would have to be him. All her life, he had been there for her, playing the role of her entire extended family. He had protected her by putting her into witness protection, and here he was, all these years later, protecting her once more.
Walter had two guns on him—the hunting rifle in his hands, and slung over his right shoulder was the Remington Raynor Sinclair had used to murder her father. Angie needed to get up off her knees, desperate to hug Walter close to her. Somehow she found the strength in her legs to begin to stand.
As she started to rise, Walter set the hunting rifle on the ground and took Raynor’s Remington into his hands. Then he aimed the barrel of the Remington at Angie’s head and said something she simply couldn’t comprehend. “This isn’t the first time I killed for you.”
CHAPTER 59
Angie sank back to her knees. Electric currents of pain like nothing she had ever experienced surged through her body. Bryce, also wounded, also on his knees, teetered beside her. He was too weak and dazed to speak. Though bleeding profusely, he somehow managed to keep upright and conscious.
“Uncle Walt, what are you doing?” The strain in her voice was matched only by the strain showing on Walter Odette’s face.
“I’m so sorry, Angie,” he said, his voice cracking, sputtering his words. “It was never supposed to have ended like this. Never. I love you and I’m so very sorry. But I have no choice.”
Walter took aim once more. He had gloves on, and was going to use Raynor’s gun to kill them. It was obvious Raynor would take the blame for all the murders, except for his own. Walt would get credit there—a hero neighbor who came just a little too late to prevent a tragedy. Whatever motive he would invent for Raynor’s rampage didn’t much matter.
Angie covered her head with her hands, expecting a bullet that didn’t come. She uncrossed her arms to look at Walter, who stood ten feet in front of her.
“Please Walter, don’t do this,” Angie pleaded from her knees.
Walter’s finger trembled against the Remington’s trigger. “May God forgive me.”
Those words—so familiar to Angie—hit her like a bolt of lightning. She expected to hear a shot, and again braced herself for a pain that didn’t come. Walter had hesitated once more.
She sensed a blur of motion to her right.