Today's Reading
Why did the answer sound so pat? Almost like it had been rehearsed. The skin on the back of her arms prickled. If the cabin belonged to the Smith family, shouldn't the last two letters of the mailbox name be "th"? Instinct or paranoia? It no longer mattered. She didn't feel safe. Time to go. Casually, she looked at her cell phone, finger poised over the emergency button.
"Mr. Smith, I'm not sure my van will take that slope. Tell you what. How about you text me a video of the pines? I'll work up a quote and send it to you."
His smile dimmed. "I'd really like you to eyeball it yourself. I arranged this consult and all."
She edged a step away from him. "I'll waive the fee."
His geniality faded into something more serious. "Ms. Rivers, I really need to talk to you." He reached into his pocket.
"No," she said, fumbling for the door handle.
He pulled out an envelope. "I'm not..."
Something exploded through the air. A high-pitched whine drilled her eardrums as a projectile streaked past her cheek. She screamed, recoiling from the sound. The phone flew out of her grasp, hurtling into the shrubbery.
Her client stumbled back. He dipped his chin to look at a spot of red blooming on his jacket. For one second Stella could only stare in horror as blood saturated the fabric before he collapsed to the ground. The envelope flew from his limp fingers and landed almost on her feet.
Only the convulsive twitch of her shoulders saved her from the second bullet that shrieked past her ear. She grabbed the envelope and leaped into the van, slammed the door, locked it. Fingers clumsy with terror, she wrenched the key in the ignition. A bullet whammed into her rearview mirror, nearly severing it. Something, no, someone, was moving in the bushes, slashing through the foliage. The man in the baseball cap.
The scream stuck in her throat. Go, go, go, her brain demanded.
She floored the gas, and the van wobbled.
In the rearview she saw Smith twisted and still on the ground, the wide splash of crimson spreading from his body indicating he was most likely dead. The van fishtailed onto the road.
The mirror caught the shrubs parting, and the man in the cap sprinted toward her. She punched the accelerator and widened the distance between them, jerking another look back in time to see him bend at the knee, pull a rifle from over his shoulder and aim.
No.
Pedal to the floor, she surged along the mountain road. Rocks pinged against the fender, or was it the sound of bullets striking her van? She was too terrified to tell. The shooter was not there in her rearview anymore, but he probably had a vehicle and he'd be coming for her.
Choices ribboned through her skull. Should she try to get back to the highway? But that would take forty-five minutes along twisty roads where he might ambush her. With her cell phone lost, she couldn't even call for help.
No phone. Twenty miles from the nearest town. Should she press on for Cloud Top or try to return to Hannah at Aunt Zoe's cabin?
Oak trees flashed by as she drove, their limbs bare of leaves. Only the pines held on to their vibrant green. Her attention darted between her front windshield and her rearview mirror. Her pulse slammed in her throat with sledgehammer force.
She'd just seen a murder.
And almost been killed herself.
If she hadn't delivered Hannah to Aunt Zoe, her baby would have been in the van for the whole horrific situation.
The metallic taste of blood on her lip made her realize she'd bitten it. Indecision clawed at her stomach. Taking the side roads to Zoe's remote cabin could lead the shooter there. Pushing forward to Cloud Top might be disastrous if the assassin overtook her. Which way?
Cold sweat beaded on her upper lip. Aunt Zoe's, she decided. If she was going to find the closest shelter, it would be there. They'd lock the windows. Barricade the door if necessary and call the police. You're running out of time.
With clammy fingers she turned the wheel. If she made the wrong choice, would her family pay the price? She could not lose Hannah or Zoe. It was too much even to consider.
Teeth clenched, she took the trail to Zoe's cabin. She was certain of only two things.
She'd witnessed the murder of Matt Smith, if that was his name. And the shooter had every intention of murdering her, too.
...
