Her insides curdled with fear. Images of her daughters came to mind, and she forced herself to push onward. Maybe they were only wounded…she could help them. Fear driving her forward, she pried open a side door and it creaked softly, the sound muted by the wind.
She slipped into the barn and wished she’d picked up Turnquist’s night vision goggles, the ones she’d spied upon his coffee table. Too late now. The scent of dry hay and dust tickled her nostrils and over the sound of wind whistling through a crack in a window, she heard something…something quiet and steady and out of place.
Safety still locked, she hoisted her shotgun to her shoulder.
Inching her way around the old, empty mangers, she squinted into the darkness, spying shadows of tools and grain sacks and images that seemed ghostly in the gloom. Only pale light from the whiteness outside the small windows gave any visibility. The shotgun was heavy and the sound she couldn’t identify, the noise that was out of place in this old barn seemed closer, still soft and muffled, but definitely human.
Her throat went dry.
She wasn’t alone.
A low, frightening growl reverberated through the cavernous barn. Jenna almost dropped her gun as she spun to face the noise.
A dog barked loudly. Jenna’s heart was in her throat as scrambling, frantic claws scraped against the floorboards.
“Critter, no!” Allie’s panic-stricken voice shouted from the corner near the stairs to the hayloft.
“Allie?” Jenna nearly collapsed in relief. She headed toward the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Allie? It’s Mom. I’
m here.” She flicked on the beam of her flashlight, shining it on her own face before sweeping the weak illumination toward the wall.
“Mom?” Fear strangled her daughter’s voice. “Oh, Mom!”
To hell with being a target—Jenna ran toward the sound, Critter nearly tripping her in his eagerness. Her flashlight swept one of the stalls and there was Allie, curled into a fetal position, rocking back and forth, tears running down her face. She jettisoned herself toward Jenna. The shotgun clattered to the floor as Jenna threw her arms around her child.
Gasping, sobbing, quivering head to toe, Allie clung to her.
“Shhh…baby…” Jenna said. “It’s all right, I’m here.”
“No…no…” Allie’s voice was garbled, her face white, her eyes round in the darkness.
“Are you all right?” It was a ridiculous question. Allie, though showing no signs of physical wounds, was nearly hysterical.
“Where’s Cassie?” Jenna whispered, holding her daughter close and remembering the blood.
“With…with…him.” Hiccupping and sobbing, Allie seemed barely able to breathe.
“Shh, honey, calm down. We’re okay. Now, who’s Cassie with? Turnquist? Or Josh?”
Allie was shaking so violently, Jenna had to brace herself against a pillar supporting the haymow to stay upright. Critter, too, was anxious, whining and growling, pacing. The barn was cold as a meat locker and there was a smell that was out of place.
“No,” Allie insisted hysterically. “Not with Josh, with him. With him!”
“Who?” Jenna asked, but her heart sank and icy blades of fear sliced deep into her soul. No…oh, God, no…not the pervert who had been stalking her. She glanced out one of the small windows and prayed for headlights, some indication that the police were on their way. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go back to the house.”
“No!” Allie sniffed and clung harder. “He’s there,” she whispered frantically. “He’s waiting.”
“He’s where?” Jenna asked, her skin prickling.
“In the house.”
Jenna’s stomach twisted. Rinda. “But I was just there, I searched it top to bottom. Listen, you have to be brave. Let go of me for a second.”
“No!”
“I need to call the house and get the shotgun. Come on, Allie…I’m right here.” Gently she peeled her daughter off her and bent down to retrieve the shotgun. “You hold the flashlight, okay?”
“Y-yeah.”