Peyton would leave when Justine said it was time, even if it was only after a day in Omaha. Hopefully that would be enough. Regardless, she decided to pack for a week, just in case.
She wasn’t sure what to expect in Omaha, or how Detective Taggart would react (or how badly he’d react, more likely). He’d told her to stay put, but he had to know she wouldn’t just sit in Twin Creek twiddling her thumbs, right?
She jumped when her aunt called her name from downstairs. “Peyton? Are you still upstairs?”
Peyton was folding a pair of jeans and turned to answer when her aunt called again.
“Peyton!”
There was fear in her voice, and Peyton ran to the top to the stairs, wondering if Timmy had made another appearance. Justine was standing in the middle of the living room with an odd look on her face. Not scared, but not normal either. “What’s wrong?” Peyton asked.
“Did you come downstairs when I was on the phone?” Justine asked.
“No, why?”
“I thought maybe I heard something. It’s nothing,” she said.
She said she was going to call Rick. Maybe it hadn’t gone well. “How did it go? With Rick,” Peyton asked.
“Pretty much how I knew it would. He’s not mad, a little worried, well-trained, and staying put. Just like I said.”
“You’ll have to teach me this whole training thing one day,” Peyton said.
“Are you almost done packing?”
“Almost.”
“Finish up and hit the sack. Morning’s going to be here before we know it.”
Peyton turn back toward her room, then stopped. There was something bugging her about Justine, like she was hiding what was bothering her. “Aunt Justine, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, honey. Just a little tired. I’ll be up in a minute.”
Maybe I’m tired, too. Imagining things. Peyton’s excitement returned when she thought about going to sleep then waking up and hitting the road. “Can I drive first?”
“We’ll flip a coin. Now scram, will ya?”
Peyton smiled at her aunt, then went back to her room and placed the jeans in her suitcase. All that was left was her stuff in the bathroom, and she could get that in the morning. She closed the suitcase and hefted it off her bed and onto the floor. From the weight of it, she’d probably overpacked after all. Oh well.
She heard Justine’s voice again. Two words, a little muffled, as if she were yelling from the back of the house, like the kitchen, maybe? Had she called her name? Peyton stepped quickly from her room and when she was halfway down the hall, she heard a thump.
Definitely in the kitchen.
“Oh my God, she fell down,” Peyton said, and ran down the stairs. “Justine, are you okay?” She grabbed the round stair newel cap, swung herself around, and ran toward the kitchen. Justine hadn’t answered. A million different possibilities rushed through Peyton’s mind—maybe her aunt was overtired and had fainted, or maybe she was sick, or—
When Peyton saw the man bursting from the shadows at the back of the house, clad in black, she knew all of her theories had been wrong.
*
Vic’s plan had worked perfectly so far. He’d been able to park the Cherokee to the side of the house, unseen, and approached the house without anyone knowing he was there. His “keepers” told him there were no dogs in the house, so that made it easier. As he approached the back door, he could hear a woman’s voice inside, speaking, then pausing before speaking again. She was on her phone. Distracted. Perfect.
The back door didn’t have a dead bolt, so it didn’t take him any time at all to jimmy the lock and get inside. The kitchen lights were on, but he fixed that soon enough.
The woman was near the front of the house, in the living room, having quite a lively discussion with what sounded like her husband.
She was alone, her husband was gone, they’d told him. He would wait until she was off the phone to strike. There was no sign of the girl, but the lights were on upstairs, and Vic figured that’s where she was. It made it easier. He’d handle the woman first, then head upstairs and get the girl.
From the cover of darkness, he watched the woman, and listened.
“I promise I’ll call on the way there, okay? It’ll be fine,” the woman said.
Getting ready to go somewhere? Not tonight, sweetheart, Vic thought, then accidentally hit the back door with his leg. It clanged, loud enough for the woman to hear. He watched closely, held his breath, but it was obvious she hadn’t heard it. She was too preoccupied.
“I will. Love you too.”
Her phone call was over. Vic thought about using the knife, but instead slid the gun from the back of his pants, where he’d tucked it in against his belt. The M&P didn’t have a safety, and there was a round in the chamber. He didn’t particularly want to kill the woman, but he would if she caused too much trouble. He stood to move, when the woman looked right at him. Vic froze.
She’d stopped, and was peering into the kitchen.
Had she spotted him? Maybe, but he would wait a few seconds to make sure. It was dark, and he was dressed in black. He doubted she could see him clearly. Then, she spoke again.
“Peyton? Are you still upstairs?”
Peyton, the girl. Vic’s muscles tensed. Maybe he should move now, before the girl got involved.
“Peyton!”
It was too late, as Vic heard the girl’s footsteps above him.
Another voice, younger this time. And still upstairs, which was a good thing.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did you come downstairs when I was on the phone?”
“No, why?”
“I thought maybe I heard something. It’s nothing.”
“How did it go? With Rick.”
Rick must be the husband’s name. Sorry, Rick old boy, you’ve got company.
“Pretty much how I knew it would. He’s not mad, a little worried, well-trained, and staying put. Just like I said.”
“You’ll have to teach me this whole training thing one day.”
“Are you almost done packing?”
“Almost.”
“Finish up and hit the sack. Morning’s going to be here before we know it.”
Ah, planning to leave in the morning. Vic smiled. You’re not going anywhere, lady.
“Aunt Justine, are you okay?”
Now he knew the woman’s name, too. Justine.
“I’m fine, honey. Just a little tired. I’ll be up in a minute.”
There was a pause, and Vic got ready to act. He wanted to make sure the girl was back in her room—packing—before he made his move.
“Can I drive first?”
“We’ll flip a coin. Now scram, will ya?”
And there were the footsteps. The girl, Peyton, his real target, was going back to her room. Perfect. The woman, however, had returned her attention to the kitchen. Still staring inside. Vic stood absolutely still, waiting for the perfect moment. As soon as she looks away, he decided.
But she didn’t.
Maybe she did hear him when he accidentally kicked the door.
“We’re getting a damn dog when you get back, Rick,” the woman said, then walked toward the kitchen, a smile on her face, as if she’d decided everything was okay.
Too late for that now, lady. This was going to work out just fine. Vic raised the pistol.
The woman flicked on the lights, and Vic moved.
He watched the woman’s face change from fatigue, to shock, to absolute terror in the course of a second or two. She backed away, raised her arms to protect herself, but he closed on her quickly, before she had time to—
“Peyton! Call—”
The pistol to the side of her head knocked her cold, and Vic caught her body as she fell. “You just had to scream, didn’t you,” he grumbled. He dragged her out of the doorway and dropped her body to the floor. She wasn’t a big woman, but the thump made Vic wince—too much noise. She didn’t look dead—he hadn’t hit her
that hard, had he?—but she wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. There was a trickle of blood running from her temple and into her ear.
He heard footsteps upstairs, running footsteps, then coming down the stairs. Fast. The girl had heard the woman’s shout to call someone—probably “911,” but Vic didn’t let her get that far. He quickly turned off the kitchen lights again, and slipped back into the shadows.
“Justine, are you okay?”
And there she was. Coming right to him. She was small, like her aunt, and would be easy to overpower. Vic didn’t wait for her to come into the kitchen. He ran at her.
When the girl saw him, she skidded to a halt, her stocking feet slipping out from under her on the wood floors. She fell, and landed on her butt.
Perfect.
He raised the pistol, aimed it at her head. “Don’t move,” he said, stepping closer as he watched the ugly realization of what was really happening spread across the girl’s face.
She didn’t sit still. She kicked, scooting backward on the floor. Started to get up.
Vic knew he couldn’t shoot her. His orders were to keep her alive, at all costs. He grabbed at her, but she struck out, knocking his hand away. She ran for the stairs.
Vic couldn’t let her get to her room. She probably had a phone up there—no, it was tucked into her back jeans pocket, and she was reaching for it as she ran.
One call to 911 would make his job much more difficult. He ran after her as she scrambled up the stairs, reached for her, grabbed her ankle.
She turned and looked at him, the fear on her face replaced with fury. “No! Get away!” she screamed. She kicked at him, hit him in the face with her heel, but Vic held his grip. Her second kick caught him square in the nose, and he heard a sickening crunch. He grunted in pain and saw stars, and instinctively reached for his nose with his free hand. This girl was a fighter.
She scrambled up the stairs on all fours, but Vic was right behind. She had the phone in her hand, and she tried to stand at the top of the stairs. Vic grabbed at her legs, got hold of an ankle, and pulled.
She fell to the floor, and Vic smiled as he saw the girl’s phone skid across the wooden floor. Then he pulled her, dragging her down the stairs. She grabbed at the balusters, but Vic was stronger, yanking her away. He dragged her down the stairs, her body and head bouncing off the steps as she went. Vic’s eyes were watering, and his nose was on fire, so he hoped she was enjoying the rough ride he was giving her. If he was lucky, it might just knock her out, or at least take most of the fight out of her. If not, he still had the gun in one hand, and figured he might have to use it the same way he’d used it on the girl’s aunt.
He couldn’t kill her, but he could knock her out.
He dragged her by her leg into the living room, and she still kicked at him, like a wild animal. He pointed the gun at her again, and realized his mistake too late. She kicked it out of his hand, and it went skittering across the floor. Then, as his eyes followed the gun, she kicked him in the knee, hard enough to make it buckle. Vic released her leg and fell to the floor.
The girl was up and moving toward the gun, and Vic grabbed at her, missing by inches.
She had the gun in hand.
She turned, aimed it at him. Her hands, he saw, were shaking. Hopefully, she’d never used a gun before, but the M&P, unfortunately for Vic, was easy to use. It had no safety, and there was a round in the chamber, so all she’d have to do would be to pull the trigger. And her finger was on it.
Vic raised his hands, wondering how in the heck he’d let a scrawny little girl get him into this position. If she was smart, she’d shoot. But she was scared, really scared, and it might provide him with the time he needed to turn the tables. She’d broken his nose, and now his knee hurt like hell. Once he got the gun away from her, she was going to feel what payback felt like.
“Don’t move,” the girl said.
He couldn’t fail here. Couldn’t fail. If he did, then his Master would . . . Vic pushed the thought out of his mind. He had to concentrate. Think. “Okay, okay, I’m not going to move. You win.” Vic stared directly into the pistol’s barrel as it wavered between his head and his chest.
“Where’s Justine? What did you do to her?”
Her aunt. Vic had to be very careful how he handled this. “She’s tied up in the kitchen.”
“Justine!” the girl yelled. “Justine!”
“She can’t answer you. There’s tape over her mouth.”
“Did you hurt her?”
I slammed that gun you’re holding into the side of her head, drew blood, maybe I even killed her. “No, she’s fine.” He had to keep her from going in the kitchen. One look at her aunt, and he’d get a bullet.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for money, that’s all.”
The girl paused, searched his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
Vic shrugged. “Okay, believe what you want. You’re the girl with the gun.” Sounds like the title of a bad western.
“Justine! If you can hear me, make a noise!”
“So are you going to call the cops now?” Vic asked, trying to draw her attention away from her aunt. Vic smiled to himself as he saw the realization cross the girl’s face. That’s right, your phone is upstairs.
“Justine!”
“Look, she’s tied up, and gagged. What do you expect her to do?” Vic asked. “You better call the cops now, or I’m going to get up and leave.”
The girl stepped forward, her hands still shaking. “Shut up! You’re not going to go anywhere.”
“You can’t call the cops because your phone is upstairs. You’ll have to go get it. You’ll have to move.”
“Shut up!”
“Tell you what, Peyton.” Her eyes widened at the sound of her name. “That’s right, I know your name. And Justine’s, too. I was here for quite a while, listening. You go upstairs and get your phone, and I’ll walk out of here. You can call the cops, and I’ll have a head start. Then you can go untie Justine and live happily ever after.” Vic risked it, and started to get up. She won’t shoot me.
“No!”
“Go get your phone, Peyton. I’m leaving.”
“No! Don’t move!”
“Look, kid, this really didn’t go as planned, so I’m going to be a nice guy and leave.” He was standing now, fighting the pain in his knee. He could tell she was actually considering it. Amazing. “Or you can pull that trigger and kill my ass.”
She said nothing.
“Ever used a gun before, Peyton?”
Again, nothing. He saw doubt flash in her eyes.
“You might want to shoot me, but are you sure you could? Do you even know if it’s loaded? Is the safety off?”
And there it was. Peyton dropped her eyes to the pistol, and Vic launched himself at her.
The gun boomed in the confined space of the house as Vic tackled her—he felt a fiery sting in his left arm. He grabbed her gun hand and slammed it to the floor as the gun went off a second time, the bullet punching a hole in the ceiling. The pistol fell from her hand, and Vic knocked it away, out of reach. He was straddling her, pinning her down with the weight of his body. He stared down into her face, and she looked back, defiantly.
Then she spit at him.
Vic punched her, hard. Once, twice, three times. She grunted with each impact, and Vic enjoyed seeing the blood well up in her mouth, hear her cough, gurgling sounds from deep in her throat.
“It—doesn’t—have—a—safety—you—bitch!” Again and again, he hit her.
He stopped himself, realizing he was losing control. He was breathing hard, his anger running hot through his veins. He quickly checked his arm, and could see a tear in his shirt by his shoulder, rimmed with bright blood. The first shot had only grazed him.
She was hurt . . . unconscious, but luckily for him, still breathing. Vic wiped his bloody fist against his pants and rolled off her body. He wiped the spit from his eye and stood.
&
nbsp; He had things to do.
46
Zach stopped for gas about ten minutes outside of Twin Creek, cursing himself for leaving Omaha without a full tank.
He checked his call history—just as he suspected, there was a long list of missed calls from his parents, and even some from what he figured was Detective Taggart’s number. He almost dropped it when it began to ring.
He didn’t answer it. No voicemail, either.
Zach Googled the number, and it came up as a mobile number, registered in Twin Creek. It had to be her . . . it had to be Peyton calling! But how could she have his cell number in the first place?
Zach’s finger was hovering over the number to call it back when his phone started to ring.
Same number again.
He answered. “Hello?”
“Is this Zach Regan?” a man said.
“Yes, this is him.”
“I have the girl, Zach, and this is what you’re going to do.”
“Wait . . . what?”
“I said, I have Peyton Sayre. If you want to see her alive, you’re going to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”
Zach couldn’t believe his ears. “What do you mean, you have her? Who is this?”
“I’m the guy who’s going to slit her pretty little throat if you don’t stop asking fucking questions.”
Zach’s heart pounded away in his chest. “Okay, okay, don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her, tell me what I need to do.”
“First, you’re going to tell me where you are.”
“I’m at a Kum and Go, just outside of Twin Creek.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m alone.”
“Good. I’ll call you back in two minutes. In the meantime, do not call anyone else. And I mean no one. No parents, no friends, no cops. One word to the police, and she’s dead. Is that clear?”
“I understand,” Zach said.
The line went dead. Zach stared at his phone, dumbstruck, scared, and felt so incredibly alone. He was in the middle of rural Nebraska, at night, with no idea what to do next. He got out of his car, started to pace. He should call his parents. They’d know what to do.
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