She hesitated. Bit her lip. Squinted at the hillside in front of her. She took one more tentative step forward and stopped again. Something wasn’t right. She could feel it. Did something move in the shadows beneath the tree? Another deer?
Yeah—with glasses. No way.
She took a step backward. One more.
He was there!
The damned Beast was there.
Her eyes widened in horror.
He rushed from the brushy shadows, a big, muscular man in camouflage and sunglasses, striding straight for her, fearlessly, onto the trestle bridge, his footsteps causing it to shake.
Somehow the Beast had found her.
No!
Spinning quickly, she twisted her ankle but hurtled forward, trying to get her feet under her, intent on racing back the way she came. But the expanse was huge, the drop paralyzing, the slap of his boots on the trestle like claps of thunder. Her heart kicked into overdrive. She wouldn’t give in to him, wouldn’t. She started running, faster and faster, feeling him coming closer.
/> “Stop! You crazy little bitch, stop!”
Oh, God, no, she couldn’t have come all this way only to have him catch her now—
The toe of her tennis shoe caught. Screaming, she pitched forward and saw the deep chasm beneath her. Far below the rocks gleamed in the sunlight.
A strong hand surrounded her arm, grabbed painfully and hauled her to her feet.
“Hey!”
He threw her over one shoulder. “Stop it, you little brat, or you’ll get us both killed!” Her head was dangling down his back, her hair falling in front of her face as he held her legs and turned seemingly effortlessly, heading toward the ledge where he’d been hiding, the brushy end of the bridge where she’d thought she would find salvation.
Tears of frustration fell to the ground and she beat at his back with tired, angry fists.
“Keep it up, you bitch, and I’ll drop you, I swear I will,” he promised and she quit, her hands falling to her sides, fingertips nearly sweeping the ground, great wracking sobs welling up from her body. She was doomed, she knew it. No, she didn’t think he’d kill her right away, but it was only a matter of time. If she had any guts at all, she would try to fling herself away from him, over the edge, hoping that both of them would fly into space. Yes, she’d die, but at least she’d take the psycho with her.
But she didn’t.
Instead she gave up.
Let him haul her off the bridge. He carried her down a path and through the forest for nearly a mile to the spot where he’d parked his truck. It waited at the side of the road, baking in the sun.
She was silent on the drive back to the cabin, too tired to plan another escape attempt, no longer trying to be brave, letting tears track down her cheeks.
He drove like a maniac, the truck bouncing along the rutted road, dust pluming from beneath the wheels. He didn’t seem to care if she saw where they were headed. She knew why. He was going to kill her soon and since she’d already been outside, seen the lay of the land, secrecy no longer mattered.
He parked in his usual spot, lit a cigarette, then, prodding her with a damned rifle, marched her along the beaten path to the sorry little cabin. Inside he flung his cigarette butt into the fireplace, then nudged her, with the tip of his gun, toward her bedroom. The prison cell. “Strip,” he ordered, and she balked.
“What?”
“Go in there and strip. Throw out your clothes and your shoes.”
“No, please, don’t!”
“Do it!” His face was a mask of grim determination. He pointed the gun right between her breasts. “I’d like nothing more than to kill you right now, but I’m giving you a reprieve. Be a fucking good girl, go into that room and toss me your clothes. And don’t empty the pockets. I know you have my things and I want them back.” She glared up at him mutinously and he pushed her with the rifle. “Now!”
She did as she was bid, stripping down to her underwear and balling up her clothes. Her fingers closed around something hard. The nail. She held it tightly, counting her heartbeats, drawing strength. She then tossed her clothes through the crack in the door.
“Shoes,” he reminded her.