Instinctively, she scrambled back, clunking her head on the wall. He grinned.
Horrified, she tried to hurl herself from the bed, but his beefy arm rammed her back against the thin pillows as he laughed. “Look at your face. I’m really gonna enjoy this.” His hands pinned her down.
Dear Lord, no. Blood roared in her ears. Vision flickering, her head tipped back as her body prepared to pass out. The course-haired goat mount hovered on the wall above her, its ugly little beard hanging like a devil goatee, its dead black mouth open in an evil, gloating chuckle, its tongue . . .
She gasped. Her vision cleared. At this angle, she could see that its tongue was not really a tongue at all, but the black, snake-like handle of—
Nails shifted his weight. His hands released her arms and crept down her body.
Lightning quick, she reached up and seized the knife.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Blade in hand, Charlene swung left and right in a fevered frenzy. Almost with a mind of its own, the knife ripped through the air, slicing and stabbing at Nails’s leering face, his groping hands, his monstrous, tattooed arms.
He backed off her with an enraged howl of pain. She didn’t even register his expression through her blind, quivering attack. Crimson blood flashed.
She sprang from the bed and fled the room, still clutching the knife, the hideous, precious, wonderful knife that had saved her from the unthinkable.
Still running, she swiped her keys as she raced through the kitchen. She flew from the cabin and scrambled into her car with hyperventilating sobs.
The knife still trembling in her bloody hand, she hit the lock neurotically. She dropped the weapon on the console and swiped her sticky hands on her jeans before cranking the engine and tearing down the driveway. Her foot slammed the gas. Power thrummed beneath the pedal. Swerving onto the road, she narrowly avoided crashing into a tree.
She was in no state to drive.
But she had to.
Have to get away. Have to get back to Clay.
Other than those few thoughts, her mind was numb with repulsion, refusing to replay the horror of what had just taken place. Tears cascaded from her eyes, and she blinked furiously to see the road that would take her where she had to go.
* * *
The woman wrenched herself from the edge of the cabin, into the trees, just in time to see the girl burst out the door. Her Corolla hurtled out so wildly, she’d never notice her own vehicle tucked into the brush off the shoulder of the road.
Dissatisfied, the woman pursed her lips and crept forward. What had the girl been doing here? And where was she going now? The GPS tracker had allowed the woman to stay far out of sight to avoid being spotted, but that also meant she was many steps behind. Too many. She’d missed something important.
She skirted the cabin and peeked in a strip of grimy window. Nothing moved inside. The door stood open, so she stepped through.
“Honey?” she called hesitantly, not sure if he was there. Her adrenaline rush dwindled with an unsettling dread. “Honey?”
A moan answered. The bawdy sound mingled with profanity and then, venturing deeper into the cabin, she saw him.
Her hands clapped her mouth and she screamed.
* * *
Charlene had no sense of how long she drove before some semblance of rationale crept in and her tears and frantic heart rate began to slow.
He isn’t in my car. He isn’t following me. He’s probably dead.
I hope he is.
She noticed her dashboard display for the first time and saw the orange fuel warning light, the needle on empty. Hardly able to process such a simple obstacle, she let a remnant sob escape.
She took the next exit and pulled into a gas station, hating the delay. Although she wanted to personally reach Clay as fast as she could, a 911 call would be the smart thing to do. She would have thought of it sooner if her traumatized mind had been working normally.
Not that she knew exactly where to direct emergency personnel to find Clay in the depths of the vast Lake Michigan woods, but they could start a search. She should let them know where to pick up wretched Nails, as well, she thought with a grimace. And Horace. Poor, foolish Horace.
She tumbled out of her car and tore into the gas station, where she placed her emergency call amidst gawks and whispers on the state of her dishevelment and blood stains. She tuned out everyone but the dispatcher on the line.
In choppy, ragged sentences, Charlene explained the emergency, frustrated that she couldn’t make the dispatcher understand instantly. The exchange took too long. She felt an intense need to get to the site herself, to help guide the rescuers to Clay’s side. And she had a much longer drive than the local police and rescue team.
Only when she clunked the phone down and started for the door, did she realize she couldn’t go far. No purse meant no money. Yet staying here was unthinkable, and everyone’s eyes were still glued to her. What were they waiting for? More bad news? She thrust her hands through her hair as she paced, fuming. “I need gas, but I can’t pay for it.”
“I’ve got it. Go ahead,” said a man as he took out his wallet and headed to the counter.
Dumfounded, she thanked him, then hurried back outside. The transfer of gas felt like eternity. She watched the price rise, the cents zinging by, the dollars plodding, till she finally reached half a tank. Good enough.
As she drove, a string of prayers left her lips—the only thing keeping her from going insane.
Her heart hammered her chest as beautiful scenery flew by. Sunset sky flashed in her rearview mirror. Intense, yet serene. Like a fringe of heaven.
She gripped and re-gripped her wheel.
Let him live. That’s all. Just let him live.
The grayness of evening leached the colors from the sky, trying to drain her hope. Like blood draining away. Dusk settled in, blurring the edges of scrubby bushes and gaunt trees. By the time she was only a couple miles from the parking lot, the shadows had thickened.
Lights glared in her rearview mirror, suddenly very close. A car on her bumper. The silhouette of someone leaning out the passenger window. What . . . ?
With a bang that made her jump, her car lurched to the right, her wheel pulled. Her tire . . . it hadn’t popped, it had been shot.
Her fingers shook and tightened on the wheel, fighting for control. Because she had no doubt who was in that car.
It can’t be.
But she knew it was. She careened off the shoulder of the road, squealing to a lurching halt. An overhang of light green buds, full of new life, brushed her windshield—tender green fingertips waving goodbye.
She hadn’t stabbed him well enough.
He’s here. Coming for me.
Somehow, through the petrified realization, her mind worked. If she could escape into the forest shadows and work her way to where Clay was, there would surely be police on the scene by now. Her hand grabbed the knife, and she threw open her door, diving into a sprint. She crashed down a slope of snarly weeds, running for tree cover, but she didn’t make it.
He grabbed her.
No, not he.
She.
The woman wrenched her around and Charlene caught sight of waxy coral lips as the woman twisted her wrist and knocked the knife from her hand. So easily, as if she’d expected the weapon. It fell to the grass. Still in sight, but unreachable.
Charlene’s head pounded in time with her heart. Panic overriding confusion, she fought, but despite the woman’s willowy body, she was strong. She seemed to know just how to hold her to cut off her struggle. An odor hit her, the distantly familiar scent of a cloyingly cheap perfume . . .
Her ears perked. Had she caught the crunch of approaching footsteps? Scanning the shadows, the form of a person flicked past her. Someone’s coming! For one second, her heart leapt. Then the silhouette turned visible, and her hopes plummeted. Not help. Not rescue.
Nails.
He lumbered down the hill toward them. The wo
man straightened, jerking her forward, presenting her to him. Like a cat proud of a mouse she’d caught. Almost purring with delight. She even had claws, polished cobalt blue. Was she one of the ruthless partners he’d alluded to? But no, Charlene glimpsed a spark in her eyes that was unmistakably personal. The flame of . . . jealousy.
Rivulets of sweat trickled down from Charlene’s hairline. They’re going to kill me.
The woman spoke. “You want to do it, honey, or should I?”
Charlene’s tongue sat like a chunk of heavy, moist meat. She forced it to move. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to understand anything.” The woman whispered the next words in her ear. “You messed with my man. You’re dead.”
Suppressing a chill, Charlene pulled her thoughts together. That sultry voice, that smell . . . She was the woman from the bar, back when she and Max had played pool. Charlene thought she’d been watching him with interest, but it was really her . . .
“Not like I didn’t give you enough warnings,” the woman hissed.
Warnings? Her mind churned. The flyers, the note, the writing on her car, the photos, the attack on Ben, the hourglass picture . . . But it made no sense. Her man, as she called Nails, had come after her, so why . . .
Charlene swallowed hard, realizing. If the woman didn’t want to blame him, she had to blame Charlene. She was expendable. The woman’s heart . . . not so much.
Charlene’s eyes flicked to the ground. The knife still lay on the grass. If she could only grab it. But the woman’s hold was too tight. Unyielding.
Nails stared at Charlene till she met his eyes, then he lifted his chin and spread his arms. “Look what you did.”
She looked. His face, arms, and hands were ripped with wicked red slashes, like a huge cat had clawed him. She lifted her own chin. “I should have done a better job.”
“Did you hear that?” the woman shrieked, and shook her. “She’s asking for it.”
Charlene braced herself. Nails heaved a breath and his shoulders rose as he stared silently at her.
The woman adjusted her grip, still waiting for permission. “Just say the word, honey, and I’ll kill her. She deserves it; you know she does.” Her words sounded wet, like she was salivating in anticipation. “Think of how she hurt you. Everything she did to you, and how she betrayed you. Taking your money and—”
His head jerked. His focus flashed to the woman. “How do you know about the money?”
She swallowed.
“Answer me, Raquel.” His voice demanded it, his tone dark. Dangerous.
She huffed. “It was all over the news.” Hesitance rippled through her, the fear of her mistake. Her hold on Charlene tightened painfully. Sharp fingernails pressed. “Old Perigard got robbed. They knew it was you.”
“No, not that.” Shadows pulled out the harsh angles of his face. “How did you know she took the money from me?”
“I—”
He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t tell you.”
“You didn’t have to.” Her voice rose. “I figured it out. I was watching you, following you both—”
He grabbed her hand and yanked it near his face, eyes widening with some kind of realization. He flung her hand from him, reviled her with a foul name, and balled his fists. “It was you. You took it and framed her.”
“No, honey—”
He bared his teeth and lunged for her. As she threw up her hands to ward him off, Charlene ducked and rolled.
“I was keeping it safe for you.” The woman’s voice pitched high and piercing. “I only wanted us to be together and—” She gasped.
Turning, Charlene saw he’d rammed her to the ground. The woman’s grappling hand tore at the grass and found the knife. The blade flashed up at him, but he seized it, wrested it from her, and tossed it out of reach.
The woman shrieked as he wrestled her.
Charlene wheeled and ran.
* * *
Spitting, he cursed the interfering woman. Cursed all women. Nothin’ but trouble, with their conniving, double-crossing ways, luring, then striking. He’d realized the truth the instant he saw her fingernails. Bright blue.
In all the time he’d watched the girl, she’d never sported painted nails. She didn’t grow them into ugly long claws, either. Unlike Raquel, flashing her talons.
It had been her broken fingernail at the site of his stolen money. She’d planted evidence to convict the girl, but left her own to tell the truth. It enraged him that he hadn’t figured it out sooner. She must have swiped the pearls as well. Greedy wench.
He twisted her arms hard, almost breaking them, and felt no remorse. She’d always been too needy. The prison must have been downright desperate when they’d hired this pitiful mess as a CO. Her with her clumpy mascara and plastered on lipstick, tortured straw hair. Beggin’ for attention.
He’d seduced her so easily, charming her with everything she wanted to hear, and she was stupid enough to believe him.
Even when the admins got wise and she lost her job, she still wrote to him. He liked getting letters, and she sent money, so he humored her. But if he’d known she’d try to stick to him like a leach once he got out, he’d have sent her death threats.
And stealing his money? She’d crossed the line, no matter her excuse. Keeping it safe for him? Bull. Never believe a woman. Liars, all of them.
His lips curled, despite the painful cuts. He gave her a head-rattling shake.
She gasped for breath. “I helped you! And when you were burning with fever, I took care of you, feeding you, mopping your vomit, making sure you—”
“I never asked for your help. Never needed it.” The fact that she’d found him in his trailer infuriated him. It was supposed to be impenetrable.
“All I did was follow you,” she said smugly, as if reading his thoughts, “that night you robbed Perigard. I saw you bury the money. In the ground, like a Neanderthal.” She sniffed disdainfully. “But that’s not when I took it.” Her voice trembled. “I thought once I had our baby, you would finally come back to me, that you’d see—”
“I told you we were through. The first time you came to me with your lies.”
“They weren’t lies, and you know it. I can prove it. The paternity test—”
“You’re pathetic.”
Anguish flashed in her eyes. “I hate you.”
“What’d you expect, hookin’ up with a con? Happily-ever-after?”
For once, she appeared speechless.
“You did, didn’t you?” He laughed in her face.
Her features mashed together as she struggled in his grasp. “Everything I did for you when you were sick, and I stayed with you all that time until contractions started and I had to leave, and you kept calling out for that other woman. That girl. Beth. Charlene Elizabeth.” She spat the name out hatefully.
“Shut up.” He shook her. “You don’t know anything.”
“Don’t I? I saw you watching her, wanting her. I saw you at her school talking to her. I saw you visit her in her condo in the middle of the night. I lost you both for a little while, but then she came back for her car, and I followed her. I knew it would only be a matter of time till she led me to you again. And she did. She helped you rob her Grandfather. I could have called the cops on you, but I never did.” Her raving voice turned desperate. “Doesn’t that mean something?”
“Means you’re a fool.”
Only one thing mattered. He leaned close, smelled her stinkin’ perfume. “Where is it, Raquel? My money?”
Her face twitched in the shadows, her eyes shiny black-and-white orbs. “You should have been there. She was so beautiful, our baby. Perfect. Like a little doll. She even had your nose. But she—” Raquel choked and sobbed—“she was stillborn. She—”
“Like I care.” Tramp that she was, her kid could have been anyone’s. “Where’s my money?” He shook her again.
Her face hardened, the wet sheen of her eyes icing over, even as she panted pitifully.
“You’ll never find it.”
He swore.
She almost smiled through her agony. “Beg me.”
Frustration raged inside him. He clutched her throat and pressed. “Tell me!”
Her eyes rolled. She let out a croak.
A ripple of pleasure ran through him. Here they were again. Like that night in his cell. She’d found the picture of Charlene under his mattress and gone crazy with jealousy. She wouldn’t shut up with her wild accusations, so he made her shut up. Till the other COs rescued her.
He’d later told her he was sorry, to get what he wanted from her, but he wasn’t.
Here was his chance to finish the job. So much power in his hands. And her neck, so delicate. So easily collapsible.
He lessened the pressure slightly. Stay in control. Can’t kill her yet.
She wheezed, and her voice came out abrasive. “You would have made a horrible father, anyway. You never had one to show you how to be a real man, you son of a—”
He forced her silent, fingers tightening around her throat. Her bug eyes bulged and he started counting the seconds till she’d be dead.
But the money.
He released his grip.
She sucked in a strangled wisp of air. “You must be just like your mother,” she managed in a gravelly voice, “the weakling who killed herself.”
He snarled and threw her from him. Harder than he meant. Her head whapped something.
A rock.
Hands quivering, she gurgled weakly, then fell quiet. Blood trickled from her head, staining her pale hair.
“Raquel!” He jumped up and grabbed her head, covered the sticky flow. “Wake up!” he shouted in her face.
* * *
Wake up? But why?
She tuned out the unpleasant voice, which was easy to do since it filtered in from so far away, through a haze of pain.
And she was so tired . . . so tired of hurting and struggling. She pictured her child, her peaceful little angel baby with the chubby limbs that wouldn’t wiggle and the eyelids that wouldn’t open, and she longed for her, with a yearning stronger than any she’d ever felt. Where was she? Where was she?
After the Thaw Page 37