by Sherry Lewis
Kurt crept closer to the cabin, skirting the clearing and staying in the shadows of the trees. Though lantern light shone through the chinks in the shutters, something felt wrong. He watched the cabin closely, but when several minutes passed and he still hadn’t seen any sign of normal activity inside, his worry grew.
Rain whipped at him with heightened fury as the wind rose again. What now? If Vic had found them, Kurt had to assume he carried a weapon. Without one of his own, he was no match for the other man.
The Warner place was too far for him to reach in time to save Abby and the kids. Why hadn’t they put in a telephone line up here? Why had they insisted on keeping the place so rustic?
Sick to his stomach, Kurt didn’t dare cross the open clearing. Refusing to give thought to the fear that something had happened to Abby or the kids, he crept closer still, taking care to stay in the shadows.
If his worst suspicions were correct, one error in judgment could cost at least one of the lives of the people he loved most.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“WHO ARE YOU?”
“Brody.”
“Brody? Brody? What kind of punk name is that?”
“Dad…” Michael sidled closer to his friend.
Vic ignored him and kept his eyes riveted on Brody. “What are you doing here with my kids?”
“Nothing.”
With a powerful backhand, Vic sent Brody stumbling toward the fireplace where he nearly hit his head on the rock hearth. “What are you doing here?” he demanded again.
Erin screamed and would have run to Brody, but Vic stopped her and pushed her onto the couch beside Abby.
“Sit down and shut up.” He wiped the back of his mouth with his sleeve and chuckled. “Girls, huh, Mike? Worthless.” He whirled back around to Erin and jabbed one finger at her. “Just like your mother, aren’t you? Always sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. And you—” he pointed at Abby “—you just don’t know when to keep out of things that don’t concern you, do you?”
As a member of the police force, Abby had attended a number of seminars on domestic violence over the years, and she’d heard the officers give advice to women. Standard counsel included the warning that each incident was different and only the woman involved could weigh the situation to determine her appropriate line of defense, if any. And it had always sounded so easy—until now.
But nothing she’d read, nothing she’d seen before, prepared her for the absolute terror of such incoherent rage being directed at her. Frightened almost beyond rational thought, she still had to protect the children.
Anything she said might antagonize Vic enough to use the gun. So might her silence. No wonder many women stayed with abusive partners. After just a few minutes, Abby already felt her options closing off.
But she wouldn’t give up. There must be something she could say or do to strike a spark of decency in him. But if there was, it eluded her.
With one last hate-filled glance in her direction, Vic turned back to Brody.
“Don’t hurt him,” Abby whispered.
“Shut up!” Vic whipped his gun around and shoved the barrel in her face again. “Just shut up before I kill you right here and now.”
Beside her, Erin whimpered. But when Vic tore his eyes away from Abby and sent his daughter a venomous look, Erin withered and began to sob quietly.
Vic’s hand trembled and the gun shook in Abby’s face.
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “Not in front of the children.”
“What’s the matter? You scared? Why shouldn’t I kill you? Why shouldn’t I make you suffer like I suffered when you stole my children?”
“Not in front of the children, Vic. They’ve been through too much already.”
“And whose fault is that? Huh? Whose fault is that? You stole my kids and hid them from me. You’re the one who’s put them through all this.” Vic dug a pint-size bourbon bottle from his pocket and downed a shot. “Well, guess who’s got the upper hand this time. Not you. This time you’re playing my game.”
Shoving the gun under her chin, he forced her to look up at him. He leaned closer, breathing heavily and sizing her up. The smell of his breath sickened Abby, but she fought to keep her face expressionless.
“What are you going to do now?” Vic grabbed her chin with his hand, squeezed painfully, and shoved her backward.
Erin cried out as though she’d been struck.
“Can’t you see what you’re doing to these kids?” Abby tried again. “You say you want them back because you love them. How can you give so little thought to what you’re putting them through?”
“They’re my children. Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do. They belong to me. You stole them from me.” He took another belt from the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring around the room with hate-glazed eyes.
“They’re not your children any longer. The courts—”
“Forget the courts. Forget the judges. And forget you.”
“I just want what’s best for Erin and Michael. Look at them. They’re scared half to death.”
“Scared like little babies.” Vic glanced at Erin cowering into the couch. With a shout of fury, he turned to Michael. “What are you scared of?”
“N-nothing.”
“Are you scared, boy?”
“No.”
Abby could see Michael trembling and could hear his voice falter, but the answer seemed to satisfy Vic.
A second later, he became aware of Brody again. Abby’s heart thumped sickly in her chest as she willed Vic to look away from the innocent boy.
“Vic—”
He ignored her and gestured toward Brody with the gun. “Who’d you say the kid over there is?”
“A friend of Michael’s,” Abby answered quickly.
“Is that so? Is that your friend, Mike?”
Michael nodded, but fear played across his features.
Even if Vic only got like this when he drank, how had these children survived all those years under his roof? How had Rachel?
“So what’s he doing up here?” Vic lifted the bottle again.
Michael’s eyes widened. “N-nothing. I mean he’s up here with—”
“I brought him up here with us,” Abby interrupted. “Michael wanted him to come.” She didn’t think Vic knew about Kurt, and she wanted to keep it that way as long as she could.
“You wanted your little friend up here with you?”
Michael nodded.
“What’s the matter, boy? Didn’t I teach you to be a man? You don’t need some stupid friend to hold your hand, do you?”
Trembling with fear, Michael met Vic’s gaze squarely and shook his head.
“Little mama’s boy now, are you?” Vic gestured at Abby with the hand that held the gun. “She’s the one who’s taught you to be weak, isn’t she? Turning you into a wimp who needs his little friend to sit with. Well, we’ll fix that, boy. When we get out of here—”
“No.” Without warning, Michael jumped to his feet. His eyes brimmed with tears, but his face had darkened in anger.
Vic lowered the bottle and glared at the boy. “What did you say?”
“I’m not leaving here with you. I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” Michael turned and tried to run for the door.
Lunging, Vic grabbed Michael’s collar, and as if the boy were no more than a rag doll, Vic dragged him back and shook him in Abby’s face. “This is your fault. You turned my boy against me. You brought him up here and made him into a little priss and now just look what I’ve got for a son. He’s no good.”
“Vic, please. Leave him alone.” Abby shot to her feet. She had to do something, but what?
“He’s no good to me now.” Shoving Michael away, Vic struck Abby across the face with the back of his hand. She collapsed onto the cushions. Her cheek stung and her lip throbbed and the salty-sweet taste of blood in her mouth nauseated her.
In a blur of motion, Michael leapt at V
ic, striking his back and shoulders. As Michael landed one blow after another, Abby vaulted to her feet. Michael couldn’t possibly hit Vic hard enough to hurt him, but the man could easily kill the child.
Hoping Michael could keep up the distraction long enough for her to get between them, Abby charged Vic, but he twisted away before she reached him.
Vic caught Michael’s arm, twisting viciously as he peeled the boy from his back. For one sickening moment, Abby thought Vic would throw Michael across the room, but before he could, Erin launched herself from her seat.
“Leave him alone!” she screamed, and ran at Vic as if she intended to attack him.
Obviously unprepared for the assault from his children, Vic let loose a barrage of obscenities. Abby searched desperately for something she could do to protect them all. She needed a weapon, something she could throw or use to hit him with.
She scanned the cabin quickly and saw the heavy cast-iron skillet across the room on the table. She might be able to reach it before he shot her.
But after only two steps Vic grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward him, shoving the barrel of the gun into her face again. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Vic, please. Can’t you see what you’re doing to the kids? They’re scared to death. Please—”
His fist descended before she could turn her face, and a scream tore from her throat, sounding strangely faraway as she slid out of his grip and slipped to the floor.
CROUCHED BENEATH the window, Kurt strained to hear the sounds from the cabin over the increasing gale of the storm. He wanted to believe that the kids and Abby were safe, but instinct told him otherwise. If he moved too fast, he might jeopardize them. But if he waited too long…
He just needed a look inside; at least then he’d know what he was up against. But with the shutters closed, he could only rely on what little he could hear over the storm.
Had they pulled the kitchen curtains closed, also? Maybe if he went around to the back of the cabin he’d be able to see inside from there.
As he turned, the sound of raised voices reached him clearly over the wind, followed by a scream. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to get inside—now.
He took the front steps two at a time and grabbed up a piece of firewood as he hit the door with his shoulder and turned the knob. Surprisingly it opened easily, and suddenly he was inside.
In a split second he took in the scene before him. Brody, pale and shocked, cowered near the fireplace. Michael and Erin clung to each other near the window. Abby lay on the floor, her face swollen and bloody, and a man with a gun stood over her.
Vic.
Kurt launched himself at the other man. He swung the log, but at the last moment, Vic reeled away and Kurt only managed to knock the gun to the floor as he brought the wood down harmlessly on the side of the table.
Behind him, Kurt heard Abby frantically urging the kids outside to safety. He swung the wood again and again, longing to connect with flesh and bone, needing to keep Vic distracted while the kids got out.
“Keep away from me.” Vic rushed at Kurt, hitting his arm with a shoulder, dislodging the wood and sending it skittering across the floor.
Kurt charged again. This time, he caught Vic under the chin with his fist, and he felt Vic’s head snap back.
Vic staggered, nearly falling over a chair before he caught his balance. Kurt lunged, but Vic managed to deflect the blow with his arm.
Kurt shot forward once more. He wanted to bring down this man who thought he could make the world go his way by force.
Before Kurt could land another blow, Vic scooped up the gun and aimed at a target over Kurt’s shoulder. “Where are my kids?”
Throwing himself between the gun and Abby, Kurt tried to hit Vic’s arm again and deflect the shot. Instead, he heard a blast and felt a searing burn in his shoulder.
The force of the bullet knocked him backward. He fought to stay on his feet, but his knees buckled and his legs refused to hold him. His vision blurred. He tried to shout at Abby to get out, to save herself and the kids, but he couldn’t get any sound from his lips.
Abby reeled backward as if she’d been shot herself. Dear God, don’t let him be dead!
Vic loomed over him, weaving slightly, but holding the gun steady on Kurt’s forehead. Grabbing up the skillet, Abby swung at Vic’s gun hand. She brought the skillet down on his arm with more force than she’d ever imagined she possessed.
With a roar of pain, Vic dropped the gun and dived toward her, murder raging in his black eyes. He stumbled over something in his path, missing her by just inches, but he succeeded in knocking the skillet to the floor.
Jumping aside, Abby fought her mounting horror. Knowing she had to think clearly if she hoped to survive, she tried to ignore her rising panic. The door. She could get outside, find the kids and hide with them in the woods. But she couldn’t leave Kurt unconscious and alone inside.
When fear rose in her throat and threatened to escape as a whimper, she bit it back and scanned the floor for Vic’s gun. If she could only find it—
Vic staggered to his feet and grabbed at her again. Twisting away, she ran to the window, putting the heavy oak table between them as she searched frantically for a weapon.
Across the room, Kurt moaned and lifted his head. Thank God he was still alive, she thought. But she had to keep Vic away from him, at least until he could get to his feet. She had no idea how badly he’d been hurt, or whether he could do anything to defend himself.
Vic lifted one side of the table and shoved it out of his way, blocking Abby’s only escape route. With a vicious backhand, he struck her across the face and wound his fist into her hair, dragging her closer until they were face-to-face.
“You’re dead.” He twisted her hair and pulled backward until her neck felt as if it would snap.
At least the kids had gotten away, she thought. She wouldn’t die in vain.
Vic’s other hand settled over her throat, choking off her breath. She fought him, trying to tear his hands from her neck, but she gradually lost strength. Then, strangely, her breath seemed to come easier and she wondered if it was some trick of death. Her ears roared so loudly she almost didn’t realize Vic’s grip had loosened. Until he screamed the second time, she didn’t know she could move.
“Abby, run—”
Kurt’s voice reached her through the haze of fear and pain, and she ran blindly toward the ladder that led to the loft.
“Get back here!” Vic shouted.
Halfway up the ladder, Abby turned in time to see Vic kick Kurt in the stomach twice. As Kurt doubled over, Vic landed a third kick to his kidneys and then turned toward her.
Abby scrambled for the next rung, pulling herself up. Never had the ladder seemed so steep or the loft so impossible to reach. Panic overwhelmed her. The only weapon left to her was the pile of lumber in the corner of the loft.
Two rungs from the top, just as she thought she’d made it, Vic’s hand curled around her ankle. With a mighty tug, he tried to pull her from the ladder, but she clung to it with both arms. She couldn’t let go. If she fell from this height, she’d be hurt too badly to fight.
Frantically she kicked out with her free foot, but she met only empty space, and the force of her kick nearly sent her flying off the ladder. Vic leered at her from below—too far down for her to hit. Straining upward, Abby managed to haul herself up another rung just before Vic jerked on her leg again. This time, her grip on the ladder loosened slightly.
No! She wouldn’t let him kill her. She would not die and leave the kids without protection. Drawing on every ounce of strength she had, she strained once more and managed to drag herself onto the floor of the loft.
Vic jerked her ankle and she lost precious inches. Wrapping one arm around a slat of the wood railing, Abby used the other hand to grope in the darkness for the pile of old boards. If only she could protect herself somehow, she might be able to slow Vic down enough for them to escape.
&nbs
p; Beneath her, the ladder shuddered under Vic’s weight as he rushed after her. She had no time to find the wood now. Rolling to her back, she raised her free leg and brought it down with all her force into Vic’s shoulder. But it wasn’t enough.
She kicked him again and again, frantic to escape his grip. When Vic finally released her ankle, he lunged at her, reaching for her neck with his hands. Using both legs now, she kicked with every ounce of fury and fear inside her.
Vic lashed at her with his fists, striking her several times.
Abby tried to drag herself farther into the loft, but Vic caught her waist and pulled her toward him. She fought, twisted and kicked with all her strength. If she didn’t get away from him now, she would die. Digging her fingers into the floor, she hoped to find something she could hold on to that would keep her anchored. But she encountered only bare boards and a sleeping bag.
Death loomed before her, and Abby kicked one last time, almost ready to give up hope. But this time her right foot landed squarely on his chest. Feeling a solid connection at last, she shoved with all her strength.
Vic grabbed for the wooden railing, but missed it by less than an inch. For one long moment, he seemed poised in the air. Then he disappeared from sight, his scream echoing in her ears. An eerie silence fell over the cabin.
Scarcely daring to move, Abby dragged herself up with bruised arms and looked down over the railing to the floor below. Vic lay near the fireplace, motionless.
Fighting to shake off a gray mist, Kurt drew himself to his feet using one of the chairs for leverage. His shoulder burned and every inch of his body ached. Holding up his good arm, he gestured for Abby to stay where she was and approached Vic cautiously.
Lying on his back with one leg twisted beneath his body, Vic didn’t look as if he’d rise again, but Kurt didn’t want to take any chances.
“Are you all right?” Abby cried as she scrambled down the ladder.
“I’m fine. Let’s find the kids and get out of here. I don’t want them coming back inside.”