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So don’t call him.
“I won’t,” she promised herself. But even as she made the vow, she knew she was lying to herself.
CHAPTER 15
“You’re an idiot!” Myra’s voice echoed through his brain as he drove to the cabin. The van bounced over a pothole, warm night air whistling inside through the broken window. His arm still hurt from where he’d smashed the glass. Oh, hell, he hurt all over from Zoe’s sneak attack. Little bitch!
Of course he had to report what had happened and now with his cell phone rammed against one ear he was taking the brunt of Myra’s wrath. He had known Myra would be angry, and he’d considered not telling her, but he’d let the truth slip and now she was furious with him.
“I’ll find her.” He made the promise aloud though Myra seemed to be seething and didn’t immediately answer. He almost thought the wireless co
Finally, he heard her. “You bet you will. If you don’t, what do you think will happen?” She was nearly screeching now, her rage propelled by her own fear, her anger bouncing through his brain. “The police will come, you know. And you won’t get away.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
He imagined her lips, full and red, the color of Christmas ribbons, pulled down at the corners, her sharp white teeth flashing between them.
“I’ll use the dog,” he said. “I’ve got her clothes. Old Red, he’ll catch the scent.”
“You hope! For all you know, she could be miles away by now. What did you say? She floated downriver? For the love of Christ, how do you know she hasn’t been found? She might be at the police station even now.”
“She’s hurt.”
“Hurt?”
“Something was wrong with her leg.”
“But she got away,” Myra pointed out, and he nodded, as if she could see him, then nearly missed the turnoff from this backwoods road to the cabin. Wrenching on the wheel, he swore under his breath and nearly dropped the damned phone. His van skidded, narrowly missing a fence post.
“Look, I gotta go,” he said.
“Find her.”
“I will.”
“And don’t kill the other one until you have the first,” she reminded him, disgust evident in her dulcet voice. In his mind’s eye he saw those ruby-colored lips curled in repulsion. “There has to be order.”
“I know. Don’t worry. I’ll fix things.”
“You’d better,” she said, and it was nearly a threat. He felt his blood begin to boil, the way it always did when she pushed him too hard. “You don’t have a choice.” And then she was silent. As she was so often.
“Bitch,” he whispered, not caring that he hadn’t actually heard her click off. Tossing the phone onto the seat, he felt the familiar storm roil within. This is how it had always been with Myra, for as long as he could remember, and yet he loved her, had always loved her. That was the sick thing about their relationship. She took him and his love for granted. If he were smart, he’d get rid of her, too. She knew far too much, pulled his strings much too tightly.
He slowed, left the van idling in Park, and climbed out. The scent of the river and forest was strong here, climbing up his nostrils, burrowing deep in his chest. Pausing for a moment to look for stars and spying only a few, he took a couple of deep breaths, shook off Myra’s tirade, and unlocked the twisted gate. He’d have to fix it. Before Myra got a peek at the nearly ruined bars.
It took a little effort to force the bent latch into place, but he managed, locking himself in and climbing behind the wheel again.
Myra’s words still stung, hot as a bald-headed hornet’s bite. Jesus, he should just off her. She made him crazy. Even now, driving along the ruts leading to the cabin, the dry grass bending and scraping the undercarriage of his van, he felt sweat collect on his hands. With an effort, he tried to turn his thoughts from Myra. He couldn’t let her get under his skin, not when he had so much work to do.
Not only did he have to find that fucking Zoe and deal with her sister, but he also had to fix the window on his van before anyone started asking questions. He hadn’t been completely honest with Myra. The truth was, he was worried about Zoe. That little twit had tricked him. He’d spent a good part of the day searching for Zoe. Of course, he’d taken the dog, who had followed Zoe’s trail to the river. But from that point on, his hound could find nothing other than a couple of squirrels and a nasty raccoon that had bared its teeth, dark eyes glaring from the lower branches of a tupelo tree.
He and the dog had walked more than two miles downstream, searching the banks on this side, but the truth was that bitch might have floated to the next town. If that happened, it was all over. She’d seen him. Could ID him to the damned cops. And then it wouldn’t be long before they’d find him.
“Son of a bitch.”
Or she could be dead. Drowned. Killed by an alligator or snake or a damned bear. Anything is possible.
He told himself that her demise would be a good thing; she wouldn’t be able to identify him. But that would leave him with the mess of the other one. Should he kill her? Assume the older twin was already dead and end the younger one’s life? It would disrupt his routine. Not good. Even now, just thinking about the order being upset caused his chest to tighten and his scalp to itch with anxiety. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.
He knew it.
And so did Myra.
She was just pissed, that was all, and she’d get over it. Maybe. If he could rectify the situation and find that damned Zoe. He’d made a big mistake the night before. He should have taken the time to release the dog, put Red on the scent right away, but he’d been ru
That was what happened when you allowed things to spin out of control.
That was why there needed to be order and precision.
As he rounded a final corner, the right front tire hit a pothole. The entire van shimmied, agitating him further.
There are others. You have to finish this business and go after the others. You ca
He was sweating profusely now, and as the beams of his headlights played over the peeling paint of the small cabin, he tried to calm himself. He slowed and guided the van to the far side of the structure. Though the cabin was settled deep in these woods and it was highly unlikely that anyone would spot his vehicle, he took every precaution.
You couldn’t be too careful, he decided as he cut the engine. There were always hunters and poachers in these woods, nosy types who might catch a glimpse of something out of the ordinary. Then there were the squatters, people who came in and made old shacks and cabins their homes until they were rousted out. All the warning signs in the world wouldn’t keep the squatters at bay. He’d posted NO TRESPASSING, PRIVATE PROPERTY, KEEP OUT, and even BEWARE OF DOG signs all along the perimeter of this scrap of land, but did everyone abide by them? No fuckin’ way. There was always someone willing to break the damned rules.
And that was the problem.
No order.
“Fuckers,” he growled under his breath. Hopefully now, with the dog, people would stay away.
In life, there were rules.
You had to play by them, he thought as he reached into the glove box and grabbed his flashlight.
That’s why he couldn’t kill that whimpering, whiny Chloe first.
Angry, he climbed out of the cab, kicked at a clod of dirt, took two steps toward the building, then stopped. He returned to his vehicle, reached inside, and yanked the keys from the van’s ignition. That’s where he’d made his mistake yesterday. Well, one of his mistakes. Leaving the keys in the damned van. Yesterday’s plan had turned into a major clusterfuck of errors.