Страница 47 из 79
Crreaaak. The wood and metal resisted, but started to give.
He tried harder. Pushing. Prying. Forcing the bar to move the door. And sweating. Oh, man was he sweating. In the dank cement room, one of the few basements in this area, the air was still and warm. Salty perspiration ran down his face, irritating his wounds.
But he didn’t stop.
With each straining thrust of the metal rod he thought of the De
That thought burned in his gut and inspired him.
Harder he pushed, screaming with the effort.
He’d become complacent, felt as if he could control the situation, and he’d been lulled into a sense of security, of his own infallibility. Stupid. Stupid. Fucking stupid! Was it possible that his bitch of a mother and Myra, sweet know-it-all Myra, were right about him? “No way!” he yelled through gritted teeth.
Again he threw his weight on the bar.
Metal groaned, bending.
Good.
He figured the screws holding the plate with the lock, or maybe the plate itself was giving way.
Once more!
All his force!
Hard on the damned crowbar!
Clenching his teeth, he drove all his weight against the crowbar. His muscles screamed, sweat poured down his face and, inside his gloves, his fingers clutched so hard he was sure the bones were showing through his skin.
Again the door moved, metal twisting.
His entire body was trembling with the effort, pain rocketing through his muscles. His legs shook, but he resisted the urge to give up. No, damn it, no!
Another eerie moan of twisting steel.
“Come on, you fucker! Open up!” With a final wrench, wood splintered and the door quit resisting; he almost fell forward but caught himself before he shot off the table.
“Son of a bitch.” Dropping the bar, he stood straight, pushed hard on the door and felt it give.
Three seconds later, he’d moved the table, set the ladder, and climbed to freedom.
Barely catching his breath, he found his keys in his jeans and raced outside. The blast of night air was a relief, and he doubled over, hands on his knees, and took the time to fill his lungs with fresh air. He had to clear his head.
Chloe had gotten a head start, yeah, but she was barefoot and naked, didn’t know the area. He had a vehicle and weapons, as well as his night goggles locked in a metal box in the van. He would use technology, knives, and guns to prod her back to submission. This time he’d make sure she was submissive. And then he’d go hunt down Zoe.
Tricky little bitches.
Straightening, he listened for sounds of Chloe over the rasp of air going in and out of his wounded throat, but there was only the hum of insects and the whir of bat wings overhead. His eyes skimmed the night-draped property to the trees just visible in the starlight, to the sheds that surrounded the old house listed under Myra’s name. It had become the perfect hiding spot.
Until those damned twins had outfoxed him.
Eyeing his property, he wondered which way she went. Would she take off through the fields and woods, head toward the river in search of Zoe? Tough as she’d turned out to be, he didn’t see that happening. It was too tricky and unlikely she’d co
He figured she would try to get as far away from here as fast as she could, get to civilization and call the authorities, if she already hadn’t with his damned phone.
Hell.
He had to get moving!
He swung toward his van and frowned at its shattered passenger side window. He knew the damage would attract notice. He could fix it himself, given enough time, but he had to get going now.
“Woof!”
Looking up, he spied old Red loping down the lane from the direction of the main road. He’d bet his last dollar that Red had chased after Chloe, followed her right to the gate. Red knew her smell. The dog would be able to track her down! He whistled to the dog, pulled out the keys to his van, and felt that maybe, just maybe, his luck had turned.
Chloe finally reached the road. It seemed to have taken forever, but at last she’d come to this isolated ribbon of country asphalt. Which way? She’d searched for lights, any sign of illumination, but if there was another farmhouse nearby, they were in bed for the night. No distant squares of light glowed from windows, no security lamps burned as beacons in the darkness.
Damn it all to hell.
Her euphoria at having escaped had withered as the night closed in on her. Alone and naked except for the lousy T-shirt, she was once again aware of her aching bones and her raw feet, now scraped and bleeding. The road was eerily still, with no sign of a car or human in sight. She imagined what lurked in the Louisiana forest surrounding her. Night predators came to mind, and she shivered, only to remind herself that she’d just escaped the worst predator on the planet, so she should count herself lucky.
But were there wolves? Or bobcats? Maybe cougars? She wasn’t sure. But there were alligators and snakes. That much she was sure of. She’d better stick to the road and hope to high heaven that someone would come along and save her.
Again, her thoughts turned to Zoe.
Was she alive?
Or injured somewhere?
Or . . . could she have suffered and died?
No, don’t go there. She’s alive, you know it. You would know if she were dead. You would feel it because of that special twin co
Sometimes her internal monologue made her crazy.
God, she missed Zoe. At least their conversations, jokes, and even fights were out loud. None of this internal voice, head-games crap she’d been playing with herself ever since Zoe had escaped.
Please keep her safe. And me, too, she silently prayed as she kept moving.
Far in the distance, she heard the sound of an engine. Her heart leaped. Was it coming this way? Was it? She turned, searched for headlights, and thought she saw the misting illumination of dual beams.
Finally!
Now what? How to get their attention?
The car, or whatever it was, seemed to be coming fast, the engine whining. She realized she needed a weapon, just in case the driver wasn’t friendly. It was late at night. Very late. Who would be out?
Doesn’t matter. You need help.
She reached to the ground, found a handful of gravel and waited on the side of the road, afraid if she stood in the middle the car would hit her. Geez, it was going fast. Roaring toward her, the headlights, twin beams, rounding a corner and bearing down on her. Like the eyes of some growing, looming beast.
Heart pounding a hundred times a minute, she started waving from the side of the road, the flashlight in one hand making arcs across the sky. Frantically she swung her arms and hoped the T-shirt was long enough to cover her buttocks.
The vehicle bore down on her.
Faster and faster, as if the driver were flooring it.
“Hey!” she screamed. Did he intend to run her down? Couldn’t he see her?
God, the guy must be going seventy on this narrow road.
“Stop!” she yelled. “Please, stop! Help me!” But as the car or truck or whatever approached, she heard the sound of laughter and the thrum of bass throbbing through the night. The music was so loud, it nearly drowned out the whine of the engine and the staccato of her racing heart. “Stop!”
She screamed until her voice was hoarse, but the car, a dark sports model of some kind, streaked by. As it passed the sounds of laughter and hip-hop music and the smell of smoke, cigarette mingling with weed, escaped through the open windows.