Never Die Alone

This is crazy, he told himself, but slammed the door shut behind her and hurried around the truck. How the hell did he know she wouldn’t manage to climb into the driver’s seat and take off? He’d left the keys in the ignition, engine ru

Oh, shit!

He hauled himself inside, settled behind the wheel, wondered how hopped up she was.

Biting her lip, she peered out the open window and sca

“Okay, okay. Just calm down.”

She whipped her head around and stared at him. “I am not calming down. There’s a murdering psycho out there, and he’s coming. So what the hell are you waiting for?”

Something had scared her. To her core.

What, he didn’t know.

But he yanked his door closed. An a

“You want to go to a hospital?” he asked as she reached around and slipped Barb’s plus-sized jacket over her small frame. Then, probably because the Silverado’s insistent alarm system was dinging, she strapped on the seat belt. He did the same, keeping one hand on the wheel.

“No, not the hospital. The police. Or my mother’s. I . . . I don’t know. But we have to get the hell out of here.” She looked over at him, then at the console. “That yours?” she asked, pointing at the half-drunk bottle of Diet Coke that was still in one of the cup holders from the last time Barb had driven the truck.

“No, it’s my wife’s. Been there a couple o’—”

“Good enough.” She twisted off the cap and brought it to her parched lips. Then she swallowed, draining the whole dang bottle of what had to be flat, warm syrup. As she did, she kept her gaze in the side-view mirror, as if she really thought someone was following.

He checked his mirror. Nothing on the road behind. Not even a jackrabbit. What kind of a lulu was she?

“You’re going to New Orleans, right?”

“Close. I’m picking up some hay about five miles out.”

“Take me to the city.” Some of the bristle had left her, and she blinked against a sudden wash of tears. “Now, for God’s sake!”

Oh, Jesus. He hated it when a woman cried. Barb could just start to well up and it was all over for him.

She slapped at her eyes.

“Sure. Sure.” But he hadn’t engaged the gears yet, wasn’t certain if hauling her anywhere was the right thing to do.

“Then please hurry. He’s out there. I saw him.” She sniffed, some of the starch returning to her. “I think he has a rifle.”

The muscles in the back of Rand’s neck bunched. “A rifle?”

“Yeah, a rifle and a dog. Don’t you get it? He’s hunting me.” She was starting to freak out again. “You have to take me to the police or to my mom or . . .” She spied his cell on the dash, co

“Hey, wait a sec—”

“Please. Just drive!” she ordered, jamming the phone to her ear. “Oh, come on, pick up. Mom, for God’s sake!” she said into the phone, all the while looking in the mirror. “He’ll shoot us both, you know,” she told Rand. “The dog was on my scent, and he won’t let me get away. He won’t kill me right away, but he’ll kill you. After he shoots out your tires or somehow disables your truck.” Then into the phone, she moaned, “Oh, Mom, answer the damned phone, for Christ’s sake!” Then, more calmly. “Mom, it’s Zoe. I’m okay. Coming to New Orleans. Your house, okay? But then we have to go to the police. I . . . I think he’s still got Chloe. Call me back. I’m at—” She looked at him again and he rattled off his phone number, which she repeated. “I’m on my way. Be there in—?” Again she pierced him with a glare.

“Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty, depending—”

“Twenty minutes.” She hung up and cradling her phone in her hands said to him, “So, are you going to drive or what?”

Still he hesitated, unsure.

She went ballistic. “What? You don’t believe me?” she demanded, frantic. “Why the hell do you think I’m ru

From somewhere nearby the dog started baying again.

“Oh, God! He’s here! I told you! Shit!”

In his mirror, he caught sight of the dog, closer now, bounding through the grass and weeds, ru

Shit! The girl was telling the damned truth.

In the mirror, he saw the hunter stop, hoist the stock of his rifle to his shoulder, and take aim.

“Get down!” Rand ordered, and hit the gas.

For the love of God, what the hell was this?

His pickup lurched forward, tires chirping.

Craaaack!

The sharp report of a rifle split the summer air.

The first bullet pinged off a fender.

“Faster!” she yelled as he tromped on the gas.

Then the hunter took aim again.

The Silverado’s engine whined as it sped forward, accelerating, faster and faster, from a dead stop, forty, then forty-five.

“Who is that guy?” he demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“And he’s chasing you?”

They were going sixty now.

God, what was this?

And how the hell could he take the next corner at seventy miles an hour? Shit . . . he had to slow or they’d never make it.

“Don’t slow down, you moron!” she ordered. “He’s coming! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving your damned skin.”

Blam!

The rifle fired again.

CHAPTER 27

Bria

With no answers, she headed out the door only to hear her phone ring when she was on the porch.

She stopped dead in her tracks and dug her phone from her purse. Expecting the call to be from Rick Bentz or Jase or anyone associated with the 21 Killer case, she glanced down at caller ID.

Milo Tillman.

She was disappointed; didn’t want to deal with whatever Milo was going through. She had more than enough on her plate already. She considered not answering as she was too emotional, her thoughts wrapped around Donovan, her heart heavy, but she gave herself a quick mental shake. As upset as she was about Donovan Caldwell’s death, she could spare a few minutes for Milo.

“Hello?” She held her bag and keys with one hand and pressed the phone to her ear with the other.

“Hi. Uh, Bria