Twenty Years Ago
His hand shook as he portioned out the powdered animal sedative into the carafe of water. For a few seconds, he was frozen with fear. He knew from helping out Emmitt on several occasions with new or overly aggressive animals what the appropriate portion was for both a pup and an adult dog. He had no idea what might work for humans. But Jake was good at math. The only thing he could do was figure an appropriate ratio based on a pit bull’s weight versus his uncle’s.
He wasn’t sure what he was more terrified of: that he’d kill his uncle with a lethal dose, or that the amount wouldn’t knock him out at all, and Emmitt would discover that he’d already sedated the animals in the barn and was intent on betraying him.
You decide: What’s worse? Uncle Emmitt dying? Or you?
The thought steadied him. He couldn’t die. He had to help Harper. Determinedly, he added more of the powder into the coffee carafe and then shoved the bottle into his jeans pocket.
One of Jake’s duties every day was to make Emmitt’s morning coffee. His uncle was always a caveman, in Jake’s opinion, but before his morning coffee, he was totally subhuman. He usually couldn’t even form words until he’d swallowed his first cup. The coffeepot was always his second destination after awakening from his whiskey stupor, the bathroom being his first.
But had his uncle actually drunk any alcohol last night, or had he skipped it in order to carry out his ugly mission of kidnapping Harper? What if he didn’t reach for his coffee cup at all after he stumbled out of the bathroom this morning? What if he went and checked on his prisoner straightaway, and found his guard dogs heavily sedated?
Jake had known the dogs would be hungry for their morning feeding. Even though he was familiar with every dog on the property and on friendly terms with most, a check of the pens had told him that Emmitt had chosen three of his meanest, most successful dogs from the ring to guard Harper. The unusual situation of being put in the barn to guard a helpless human would make them more unpredictable and aggressive than usual, even toward Jake, with whom they were familiar.
Jake suspected that Emmitt had let the dogs catch the scent from Harper’s clothes. They’d been stirred up by the smell of Harper’s blood and her fear. It had activated their killer instincts. As a consequence, Jake had been careful earlier about picking the padlock and silently removing the chain, link by link, from t
he hasp.
He’d thawed out several of Emmitt’s prized steaks from the freezer and added them to a large pan filled with the dogs’ normal food. He’d been liberal with the sedative.
The dogs had indeed run at him aggressively when he opened the barn door, teeth bared and growling dangerously. Jake had dropped the pan, meat slopping over the side, and hastily shut the door. He could hear the animals snarling and snapping at each other and the sounds of them greedily gobbling up the food.
For the hundredth time in the past forty-five minutes, Jake silently sent up a prayer that each dog had gotten a sufficient amount of food to sedate it. If even one of the killers remained alert, Harper and he were screwed.
He heard a noise from the hallway and dropped the coffee can, causing it to clatter on the kitchen counter before he caught it.
“What are you doing?” Emmitt shouted a second later.
“Making your coffee,” Jake said as evenly as possible. “It’ll be ready in a second.” He risked looking at his uncle from beneath his lowered brow. Emmitt’s face looked mottled and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked good and hungover. If he hadn’t drunk until he returned home last night, it appeared that he’d made up for it and then some before falling asleep. Now he was still half-drunk, sleep deprived and—Jake suspected—meaner than a sack full of rattlesnakes.
“I thought I told you to stay in your room until I let you out.”
Jake braced himself to dodge an oncoming fist when Emmitt stepped closer.
“I thought you meant last night. I never came out. But I thought you’d want your morning coffee.”
Emmitt’s glares could melt a person’s insides to mush. “Did you leave this house this morning?”
“No, sir. I just got up a few minutes before you did. Do you want some toast with your coffee?”
He dodged the cuff to the side of his head, but Emmitt made contact anyway. Jake staggered back, his ear ringing and throbbing with pain. It was yet another skill Jake had learned—how to move sufficiently to lessen a blow, but still grant Emmitt the satisfaction of serving it. It’d only piss off his uncle more if Jake escaped him altogether. He clutched at his ear, grimacing.
“You worthless little mongrel. Get back to your room, like I told you!” Emmitt bellowed, spraying spit. Jake turned, wiping the spittle off his cheek, his heartbeat pounding in his throbbing ear. What was he going to do, holed up in his room, blinded as to what his uncle was doing? That little room would be his coffin.
For a few seconds, his fear strangled him. Emmitt was going to find out what he’d done. He’d kill him. How could he have thought he could trick him? As he headed toward his room, everything turned hazy and weird in his vision, like he was underwater. What would it be like, dying?
“Wait!” Emmitt yelled. Jake turned slowly, unable to hide any of it anymore: His secret plan. His hatred. His fear. He was sure his uncle would see it written large on his face.
“Get me my coffee first,” Emmitt said dismissively, wiping his nose on his sleeve and walking over to the sink.
“Yes, sir.”
He went over to the cabinet and found the largest mug on the shelf.
• • •
An hour later, he placed one of the two backpacks he carried on the dirt near the barn door. He cautiously removed the chain and opened the door. A bar of sunlight penetrated the gloom. He looked up. Her pale face appeared over the edge of the loft, the light turning her hair into a red-gold halo around her head.