The Ford Explorer is parked at an odd angle, his approach probably as hurried as mine. The door to the shed stands open, and he appears in the doorway at the same moment that I step out of the truck, my hands tucked into my sweatshirt, one palming the knife, the other my gun.
I step forward fluidly, a grin stretching over my face, giddiness spreading through my body at the task before me. He hesitates, the friendly expression confusing him. He steps out of the barn, and as our distance closes, he stiffens. I stop two steps from him, close enough that I can feel his presence, but also his panic. Not panic at me, or my presence, but at the prize he has lost. He looks at me warily, his eyes running up and down my body, dismissing me as a threat. His beady eyes pass over my face and then freeze, returning to my features, his face hardening as recognition dawned.
“What are you doing here?”
He is unarmed—his fat, soft body stiffened only with his newfound anger. My confidence grows at the same time that his brain processes the possible reasons for my presence. He steps back, looking toward the shed, his eyes studying the broken window, the empty shed. Understanding hits, and he turns to me quickly, eyes furious.
“You. Little. Bitch,” he grounds out, stepping toward me. I move quickly in response—learning from my mistakes with Jeremy. I cannot let him grab me, must catch him off guard and unprepared. My stiletto moves, a smooth arch that instantly satisfied every wet dream I have ever had, sinking into his skin just under his ear and sliding in a wet arc across and down his neck until it reaches his opposite collarbone.
Time stops, a heart stopping second when I worry that I didn’t cut deep enough, that the knife slid too easily, a superficial wound that will do nothing but infuriate my adversary. His eyes meet mine, fury against fury, strength against weakness.
Then he sinks.
He falls to his knees, a hand reaching up to the cut, blood gurgling through his fingers as he tries to speak, tries to communicate the hatred and frustration that blazes through his eyes.
I drop to my knees beside him, my hand twitching around the blade. I bring it up again, his eyes following it. His other hand reaches out and grabs my shoulder, gripping it tightly, the force behind his grasp surprising me. I need to finish him. I need to take the life that has been offered up so easily. But my hand betrays me, falling harmlessly, and I stare at it, useless and quickly going limp around the knife. I reach down into my overfull reservoir that I always avoid, the one perpetually full of evil, the one that scares the ever-loving crap out of me. But it is empty. Drained. I look at him, despair in both of our eyes. His for his future, mine for my inability to complete my mission. His hand goes limp on my arm and he slumps backward, blood streaming down his neck and pooling on the dirt and pavement beneath him.
I stand, trying to retain my grip on the knife and stride to Ralph’s car, yanking open the door and grabbing the keys from the ignition. Then I jog to Jeremy’s truck, climb in and start it up, the only thought in my head being Annie. I need to get back to her.
CHAPTER 52
Her mommy had always said that angels existed. Angels watch over us and keep us safe. Annie had prayed for an angel, and now she prayed for her angel to return.
The brown-haired girl pulled up in her grey truck when there was still five minutes left on the timer. Annie stood, waving excitedly, seeing the smile on the girl’s face through the truck’s windshield. The girl waved, gesturing Annie to come, and she jumped down the stairs, running up to the truck and climbing in.
“You came back!”
The girl smiled, her eyes normal again, all traces of the scary flashes gone. “You bet, sweetie. Thanks for following directions. Ready to go home?”
“What about the kitty?”
There was a moment, when the girl’s eyes changed, like she was thinking about something. “Okay. We can stop and get a kitty first. But I know your mom is ready for you to come home.”
Annie bounced in the seat, excitement radiating from her core. She squealed, clapping her hands, and the girl laughed, pleasure filling the car ‘til she thought it would explode.
When you are on the lam, finding a kitten can prove to be difficult. It is also ridiculous, something we shouldn’t be wasting time on, especially considering that her family is no doubt going through hell. But I can’t say no, can’t give up the opportunity to spend a little more time with her, offer her one tiny bit of happiness that she deserves.
We park in a drugstore parking lot, and I grab my iPad. I avoid conventional routes and pull up Craigslist, finding thirteen listings for kittens in the surrounding area. “Annie, do you know anyone in Vidalia?”
She thinks for a moment, and then shakes her head. I open my cell phone and start calling numbers on the ads. The first four numbers I dial either go unanswered or aren’t available to meet until later. I hit pay dirt on the fifth call. They have four kittens, and are home right now if we want to come by. I scribble down their address and flash Annie a smile.
“Okay sweetie, do you know your parents’ phone number?”
She recites it dutifully, and I jot it down. Then I take a deep breath, leaning my head back on the seat and try to think, try to figure out the best way to go about this. I open the phone again, block my number, and dial Annie’s home.
CHAPTER 53: Henry Thompson