Wolf at the Door: A Novel of Suspense

by JD Salyers

  The glistening field stretched out to the trees, but she barely noticed. She didn't want to be here, didn't want to keep going. She was tired, and she fully expected Abel to find his rifle and shoot her in the back before she got to the cover of trees.

  The glistening field stretched out to the trees, but she barely noticed. She didn't want to be here, didn't want to keep going. She was tired, and she fully expected Abel to find his rifle and shoot her in the back before she got to the cover of trees.

  In a way, she welcomed it. What could be worse than what had already been done to her. If her heart stopped beating, it would stop hurting, right? No more fear, no more sadness. Just maybe, finally, peace. She’d spent nearly her whole life, in retrospect, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She didn’t know how or where or why, but she’d always known that the Catch was right around the corner, and now here it was. It was almost a relief, the way it happened. No long slow slide into depression, watching Ethan slowly fall apart before her eyes. No more growing old, waiting for her eyes to go, her organs to give out, or any of the other horrible things that happened in the later years. After all of that, there was only death. Not a strong argument for her to keep fighting for some semblance of life. At the moment, that was all she wanted. She thought it would be relaxing at this point, after the night she had.

  But she reached the tree line and stepped inside with no loud boom, no searing pain in her spine, no sound at all. Was he just watching her leave, or was he still scrambling for the gun? Why didn't he chase her, at least?

  The woods were black as a mine, but she didn't bother getting out her light. Who cared if she didn't make it far? Abel would come to his senses and come after her in a minute anyway. What was she going to do about that? She stubbed her foot on a stump, caught her balance, and kept walking. This way would lead her to the main road, at least.

  And, now that she thought about it, where was Cap? She knew she had heard the Gator, but he hadn't shown up.

  Maybe he heard the gunshot. That was probably it. He had turned around and left, and she blew out her breath in relief when the thought occurred to her. Good. The last thing she needed was another person to worry about.

  At the rate Abel was going, he'd dropped half the population of the county tonight. And she still didn't know his motivation. She still didn't understand how things had spiraled so out of control so quickly. She had woken up this morning a happily married woman with pets and chickens and a whole new day stretching out in front of her.

  Now she was lost, in the dark and the snow. Cold, alone, heartbroken and probably not going to survive the night.

  Truth be told, she didn't even care.

  A low growl interrupted her thoughts and brought her head up. Yellow eyes blinked all around her. She stumbled to a halt, but the eyes weren't as still. Several of them moved, slowly weaving through the trees toward her, an inch at a time. She stopped walking and backed up a little, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

  Then it hit her. Coyotes.

  They were hungry this time of year, and she had already interrupted one of their meals tonight. In a way, it was fitting, wasn't it? The circle of life and all that.

  This wasn't the way she wanted to die.

  She very carefully felt for footing with her heels, trying to back away. If she fell right now, she'd be dead. Coyotes wouldn't give her time to get up and start moving again. They would be on top of her in an instant, tearing out her throat. She thought of those nature documentaries that Ethan liked to watch and shuddered. Abel’s bullet in her back was a better alternative.

  Her shoulder caught a tree trunk and stopped her. The eyes, reflecting the dim light of the house behind her, kept coming. She could see glimpses of ragged gray fur.

  She slumped against the tree. Her mind was skimming through ideas to get her out of danger, but her body felt heavy and raw. She couldn't move any more. She couldn't even think of how to move. Get behind the tree? Try to climb it? Run? Her feet weren't cooperating. It was like she was nailed here, in the place she would die.

  Her heart ached for everything she had lost. And it had all happened on one day, in a mad dash of a few hours. The only thing left was her life, and there were only a few minutes of it left.

  It was a relief, in a way. She imagined it was like child birth - incredible pain, but always an eventual end in sight. At least she could rest.

  But wasn't death just another kind of hiding? A permanent surrender? She felt something close to shame underneath her exhaustion, and it pierced her chest as surely as a bullet.

  She swiped at her face and realized that she was crying. Well, that was a logical reaction to this sort of thing. Besides, she didn't have the energy to fight the tears back anymore. She let them fall.

  The coyotes were close enough now that she could smell the stink on their fur. She had always heard that predator animals - coyotes, bears, big cats - had a stink from the dead meat of their diet, but she never imagined that it was this bad. She tried blowing the smell out of her nostrils, but it didn't work, and the thought of breathing through her mouth made her sick to her stomach.

  They were within a few feet from her now. She turned her head away. A small, pathetic noise rose unbidden from her throat when she imagined teeth sinking into her flesh. She imagined that she could feel their breath on her now, even though that was impossible. They weren't close enough.

  Yet.

  Hiding again. That's what she was doing. Hiding. Running away. She wasn't even physically willing to face her own death.

  Hiding away, like her mother did all those years ago. The end result would be quicker, but the result was the same.

  Ethan would be so disappointed.

  That last thought nearly stole her breath away. Ethan, the one person on earth who was important to her, who was a part of her, had always encouraged her to be stronger than her past. He had talked her through all the trauma of that birthday afternoon so long ago. He had been her comfort and her protector. Even in death, she knew that he was protecting her from the pain of watching him slowly fall apart.

  If she gave up now, his death would mean nothing.

  Almost involuntarily, her hands felt behind her back for the rough trunk of the tree. If she could climb it, she could get away from these animals and figure out what to do.

  The bravest of the coyotes was too close now. She was going to have to take a chance.

  Just as she worked up her nerve to turn around and try to shimmy up the tree, the coyote jumped at her. She cried out and spun away, hanging onto the trunk but putting it between her and those teeth.

  It worked for the moment, the coyote smacked against the wood and fell back, but he was already sinking into a crouch, ready to try again. Another of the coyotes was following suit, coming closer. She backed up.

  And fell. Her heel dropped onto something that rolled under her step and brought her down onto her side. There was a rush of noise - the coyotes were seizing their advantage. She covered her head with her hands and hoped Ethan could forgive her.

  A new sound made everything stop. She heard it, but she didn't know what it was. Sharp, short...it sounded like...

  A gunshot.

  She slowly raised her head. The coyotes were gone, the last of them flashing gray fur between the trees.

  “Get up.”

  Cap stepped out from behind a tree. She scrambled to her feet, remembering hearing the Gator's engine. She realized that it had stopped somewhere along the road, before it got to the house. “Cap?” She rushed at him, the cold chill of her imminent death melting into the warmth of recognition. She was awash with relief. “Thank God you're here.”

  He patted her shoulder awkwardly, but let her hug him. “Just about got you, didn't they?” he asked.

  She stepped back, shivering now that her adrenaline rush was wearing off. “Why are you here? In the woods, I mean? I heard your Gator, but...”

  He shook his head and pulled up his coat tail to holster a smal
l pistol. She hadn't noticed it before right now. “Cap, don't put that away.”

  He stopped. “Why? What's happening?”

  “There is a man at my house. He killed the dogs, Cap. He's broken in and I don't know what to -.”

  “Where is Ethan?” Cap put a hand on her arm and gave her a little shake. “Quinn, where is Ethan?”

  She took a deep breath. For the first time, she said it out loud. “He's dead, Cap.”

  The words tore through her and her knees threatened to buckle under her weight. Her voice sounded far away and wrong, somehow, like she was lying to him. She wasn't, though. There was no doubt that Ethan was in fact dead, along with Burns and Retro. Her whole life, every member of her family, had been ripped out of her hands in a few hours. How did a person come to terms with something like that? How did a human heart survive it?

  She didn't know, but she was sure of one thing now - she would survive this, because Ethan had given his life for it. He hadn't wanted to hold her back, or wear her down with the needs he saw coming.

  Her resolve, shaky and thin, was still there. “Cap, I need your gun.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Abel watched Quinn disappear into the darkness, but when he pushed up from the ground his wrist gave way and flattened him again, practically burying him in snow. He had landed wrong on one of the paving stones, twisting his wrist and cracking a kneecap hard. It probably wouldn't have stopped him, but the cold made everything ten times worse. He didn't want her to get away. It was damned cold out here. He wanted her inside and secured, so that he could fix the stupid door and warm up the house.

  He was going to need to go soon. If he couldn't catch up with her in the next few minutes, he knew she would get to the main road and help. Someone would come, maybe the police, and if he was here when they showed up it was all over.

  Of course, if he could catch her before she got there, well, everything might work out all right.

  He was hurting. And tired. God he was tired. The liquid courage was wearing off and he wanted to sleep for days. He'd sure as blown that option, hadn't he? He wanted to chuckle at his own stupidity, but his lungs were starting to hurt. He should go back inside out of the weather for a bit, but she wasn't going to give him that luxury.

  He finally got to his feet, but he was still funny headed and swaying a little. It didn't matter. He was going to stop her, because the other option ended with him back in prison, and he'd turn the gun on himself before he'd do that.

  Like Ethan Galloway here. He wondered what transgression Galloway had committed that he couldn't face the consequences. Probably something stupid. Rich guys always ended up doing something stupid and then getting caught.

  Or...there was the slim possibility that Abel was getting it all wrong. He wasn't a detective. For all he knew, Quinn had killed poor old Ethan and made it look like a suicide. He doubted it, though. If she had the balls to kill a man, she would have killed him by now.

  Wouldn't she? Maybe she didn't have the guts, but Ethan had driven her to it. The guy was prissy, and Abel couldn't imagine any woman putting up with that for too long.

  What she needed was a steady hand to keep her in line. Abel didn't think Ethan was that kind of guy. He was more of a sweater wearing-book reading man who rarely looked up to see what his wife was doing. That didn't make any sense to Abel - why have a wife if you didn't care what she did? Wives could cause a fair amount of trouble, and they needed to be leashed a little.

  Abel started toward the woods, but then something told him to stay away. The woods were a no-go, because of the dark and because of his wounds.

  He needed to bring Quinn to him, but he didn't think she was smart enough to fall for just anything.

  He looked around. Everything she loved was dead, so she must be just about broken now. It wouldn't take much...

  He did a full one-eighty and looked at the house. Then he grinned.

  There was one thing a woman seemed to need, more than anything else. Abel didn't understand it, but then he wasn't a woman. He considered it one of their weaknesses, and it was a weakness he had no trouble using to his own advantage. He glanced at the woods one more time and headed for the back of the house.

  It wasn't hard to do - a little straw from the chickens, a kicked out post or two from the dog pen. He put down the rifle, assembled his new supplies, and dug a lighter from his pocket.

  Abel knew what he was doing, but he also knew what it looked like he was doing, and that was the beauty of the plan. Quinn would see one thing and one thing only - the destruction of her very last and most important possession.

  She'd come running, and then he could get his hands on her.

  Did he want her? For a while. He could have some fun, but then she would have to go. This was his home, and he didn't think Quinn Galloway would be a suitable mate for him. She was too uppity. She probably couldn't even cook.

  The fire caught quick and heat bloomed up around his face. He went to get more straw, because straw would create a lot of smoke, which he needed to draw her out. He wished he had an old tire or two - they created huge, scary clouds of smoke.

  But he didn't, so he shooed the chickens out of the way and gathered as much straw as he could, still favoring his injuries but excited now and ready to end this thing. It had gone on for too long. The snow was falling thickly enough that he had to blink it away a few times, but he didn't slow down. The promise of a warm bed tempted him too much. He didn't even care if she was in it with him or not.

  There was another problem, though he wasn't too worried about it. Just before he spotted her running from the woods behind the barn, Abel was sure he had heard the sound of an engine. It was faint, but the way she took off the minute he noticed it made him think it wasn't his imagination. But who would come up this road in these conditions and then just stop before they got here. Abel knew Quinn hadn't called anyone - she hadn't been in the house since the beginning of all this.

  The fire crackled sharply in the steaming air, throwing up sparks like dust. He leaned in, hoping to warm his bones while he waited.

  It might take a few minutes, but he knew she was watching and he knew she would come. She didn't have a choice.

  The night was dark, away from the campfire, and he wondered if he would be out here, enjoying the fire, if his life had turned out differently. Would he be here with a woman he loved? Would he have a good job or a clean record? Maybe he's be in the Rotary Club or own his own successful business in town. He chuckled at that, wondering what kind of business a guy like him would open.

  Maybe a liquor store. He chuckled again and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. Then he walked to the corner of the house, where he could see the tree line, and watched for Quinn to come.

  What if she didn't? What if he misjudged how much she cared about this place? She might say, “Good riddance,” throw her hands up, and walk away.

  To where, though? Where was she going to go? It was dark and snowing and the terrain was difficult. She would be dead before she made it to the main road, especially if she got off track. Between the predators, the weather, and her own fear, she was certain to get lost long before she got help.

  His toes were starting to hurt. He shuffled his feet to get them warm. First thing after he got access to the Galloway money, he was going to buy a new pair of boots. It was only fair - he'd got blood all over these anyway, thanks to the husband.

  And that was part of it, wasn't it? He wasn't going to let her go. He was going to take possession of the life he deserved, even if it ended up with Quinn Galloway at the bottom of one of these ravines. And honestly, how else could it possibly end?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Quinn was looking at Cap like he owed her. “Give me your gun,” she said again.

  Cap hesitated, but then handed over the small .22 pistol that had belonged to his father, and his father before him. It was cold enough against his bare palm that for a minute he thought it would stick and hurt when she took it
. Even in this glimmering unlit night, he knew she meant business. He could feel it, rolling off her like heat. He wondered how many men that pistol had killed and then he wondered if it would kill one more man tonight. From the way she squeezed his wrist before taking the gun, he thought it probably would.

  She took the gun and asked if it was loaded. He nodded once, yes.

  He hadn't thought he would need the weapon. He had only put it into the Gator's Tuff Box out of habit. Too many times he'd caught himself up against a snake or a fox without the reassurance of some sort of defense, so he'd started carrying it with him. Going on fifteen years now, and he'd only needed it a handful of times. He'd most likely retire it after tonight. If he ever got it back.

  She hunched her shoulders and he realized that she had to be freezing. “Here,” he said, reaching for the zipper of his coat.

  She shook her head. “No, Cap. You'll get sick.” She pointed her free finger. “And don't you dare follow me. I got this.”

  Then she turned and walked away, back through the woods. He started to follow her anyway, but the falling snow obscured her from sight within seconds. He didn't know what she was planning, but he thought it best to stay out of the way and listen.

  Still, he started making his way through the woods.

  He was nearly to the tree line, and the house lights were in sight again, when two things happened. First, he saw the smoke. It curled high in the air above the house, thick and pale compared to the night around it. Second, he was so busy looking for Quinn's form that he didn't pay attention to where he stepped.

  One broken branch, one wrong move, and something snapped, right before the pain in his leg took him to his knees and then his face. He yelled and got a mouthful of snow. Then he rolled over and grabbed his calf, curling his limbs together like some giant unshaven praying mantis. He swallowed his moaning because he didn't want Quinn to worry, if she could even hear. Then he rolled to a gnarled pine and tried to stand.