His eyes widened in alarm. “Where ya going there, missy? Ain’t nothin’ there for the likes a you. We fresh outta your favorites.”
“Gup.” I soothed. “Don’t be rude. I can see them from here.” Five shiny new bags of BBQ Corn Nuts gleamed at me. While I couldn’t see the expiration date from here, I had a good feeling about them.
I stopped in front of the rack and snapped off two bags of the beauties. “I’m just gonna grab myself a Diet Coke from the cooler in the back.” Anything to distract myself from the fire ant worries chewing through every nerve over Nick.
Something in Gup’s expression sent mild waves of alarm through me, but they rolled into the waves of pain, swirling into a big gray, diaphanous wall in my mind. Gup grunted something, but I couldn’t quite make it out. I blinked, shook my head to clear it. Mistake. I waited for the pain to clear, noticing for the first time that Gup reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t put a name to the person. Actor? Musician? Two hallways stood in front of me, waxing and waning as if I stood before a funhouse mirror. Once the pain subsided to a dull roar, I stepped to the right, into a narrow hallway. Barreling past the bathroom I remembered for its questionable cleanliness, I headed toward a refrigerator with an old-time metal handle. I could almost taste that ice-cold cola running down my parched throat.
I pushed through a curtain of beads hung decades ago by Gup’s former wife and found myself face to face with an angry-eyed man with freshly dyed hair. Burdock.
He was taller than he’d looked through the plate glass of The Pleased Pig two days ago in Reedsburg, with muscular arms emphasized by the rolled-up sleeves of a plaid flannel shirt. The tag still dangled from the collar. The look was a far cry from Amish farmer or nerdy professor. I missed the bowtie.
His icy blue eyes hardened. So much for skating past him and quietly calling it in. “Nice shirt. Should I add shoplifting to your ever-expanding list of crimes and misdemeanors?” My smart mouth had been a problem since first grade. Too late to rein it in now.
He looked me up and down. Trying to intimidate me, or wondering if I’m armed? It gave me just enough time to take a half step back and drive my knee into his groin. The unexpected blow knocked him backward into the fridge. I turned and limped into the shop.
“Gup! Call 9-1-1!” I yelled at the large man, then I grabbed the wooden pole out from under the tank handles lining the back wall.
I was just pulling the last of it out when he charged me from behind, knocking me to the ground. I rolled to the side, wincing as fire roared through my burned thighs. Get up! I grabbed the wooden shaft, hoisted myself up, and turned to face him with the pole gripped in my hands like a sword.
He snickered at me, and I jabbed at him with the broken edge of the pole, realizing my mistake in motion. He was bigger, faster, stronger. Crap. He easily moved aside, grabbed the stick in both hands and pulled me in. I let go and sidled toward the grocery aisle. Nick! He doesn’t have Nick! Elation fueled me as I picked up a twenty-eight-ounce can of stewed tomatoes and threw it at his head. He yelped when it hit. I threw soup cans next, walking backward toward the camping section.
He ducked behind the shelving unit, and I turned around and pulled a camp ax off the peg board. The handle was rough, definitely an older model. I held it up in both hands and steadied myself on the balls of my feet. My right arm was bleeding through the fresh bandage. Acid pain marched up and down my body. I shivered and tightened my grip on the splintered wood. Where are you, Bhatt?
The shelving unit shuddered, then fell down in front of me. I stared at the dark shape rushing toward me. I raised up the ax and held menacingly.
He stopped short, three feet away, half snarling, half laughing.
Still, I kept my stance strong. I thought of all the people he had killed, bits and pieces of crime scenes floating in a disjointed river of gore. Get behind me, Satan! The prayer rose up unbidden, strengthening my reserve. I smiled, then I charged him.
I drove the ax down hard, blade side out, and thwacked him in the side with all my might. Instead of making contact with a pliable set of ribs, the blade hit something hard, glancing off, reverberating up through my rigid arms. Burdock turned quickly, slugging me in my bandaged ear with a fist and grabbing me by the bleeding arm. He squeezed my burned arm until I released my grip on the ax. Blinding pain thrummed through me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear.
His arms were a steel band cinching me by the waist to him. He crammed himself up against the back of my body and grunted. Sickening sensations overcame me. My adrenaline seeped away, and I wanted to cry. Shame and terror swirled within.
Burdock leaned his head into mine and uttered a deep, guttural laugh. He had me pinned up against the pegboard wall, dull edge of the ax pressed into my throat. I glanced down at his hands. He was wearing Nick’s black leather gloves. “What a nice surprise, Chief. I love a dull blade. You will too. Takes a little while longer to saw through your glorious neck, but gives me more time to thoroughly enjoy you.” He pressed himself against me and laughed.
Then he started sawing the rusty blade, back and forth, into my neck. I tried to move a leg, maybe stomp on his foot, but my squirming only turned him on. He sawed harder, breathed heavier. And snarled. “Is it as good for you as it is for me?”
I shut my eyes tight. This is it. I’m really going to die.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Images of Samantha, glorious and happy, arms wrapped around my mother, comforted me. She was going to be alright. She was in God’s hands. A movie of all my favorite people started rolling in my mind.
I was in two places at once. The killer was present in my mind’s eye but from a distance. I had floated to the corner of the bait shop’s ceiling, and I watched two shows from above. Me, serene-faced, in front of a horrible man doing horrible things to me, to my body. And my life, redeemed, rolled out in love as if created, connected, shaped into one glorious strand by Someone who loved me … and had loved me from the beginning of time.
As I watched the pictures of my life roll on, I saw behind them a meaning and a purpose. I saw even this one terrible frame—this monster sawing a rusty blade against my neck—even this was just one snapshot of an otherwise glorious life. And it didn’t matter.
No one frame really matters all that much. There was a purpose far grander than any one of these frames and a Creator far more wonderful than I’d ever imagined. And He loved me. And He had a plan for me. And He wasn’t shaken by my present circumstance.
A verse from Luke I’d once read played like a symphony through my mind. Do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that have no more that they can do. A smile radiated through me from the inside out, His tranquility wrapping sweet arms around my spirit, mind, and body.
The smile grew. I was struck by the absurdity of the madman in front of me, and for no reason at all, I started laughing. It didn’t matter. Ax or no ax, this man had no power over me. My life, my death, my everything was held only in God’s hands. He was bigger than my crisis, bigger than my bondage, bigger than the slayer at my neck. Profound gratitude blossomed up within me, spreading through my limbs, easing away my pain, filling me with the sweetest peace.
The man sawing at my neck had stopped. He said something vile, but I ignored him. He pressed the blade against my bruised and bloodied throat again, but I couldn’t feel it. I lifted my head to the heavens, smiled, and lovely music filled my mind. Songs of praise to the One Most High. My Deliverer.
Burdock was shouting now, saying horrid things, but I didn’t care. Safe in my Savior’s arms, I kept on singing praises in my soul.
A popping sound like a bottle rocket launching brushed against my ear. Burdock lurched into my body, off balance, knocking me down. Warmth splattered my face. Another pop whistled by, and he fell beside me. I turned around, stunned to discover him at my feet, two neat holes in the center of his left temple. Mos
t of the right side of his face was … gone.
I looked up. A slender figure strode down the aisle, body set in defiant determination, followed by the man I saw in my dreams and in my arms, a high-powered rifle held light as a prayer in his arms. For the second time, I lifted my head to the sky … and laughed.
Bhatt stood aside to make room for Nick when she got to me. His eyes were shiny with tears as he handed the rifle to Bhatt.
My heart skipped. “N-Nick …” My mouth could not convey my thoughts, my voice coming out in a strangled rasp.
His nostrils flared as he knelt beside me, eagle eyes assessing my wounds. “Jo, my Jo …” He kissed the top of my head.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “It’s okay, I’m okay …”
Nick made soothing noises as he tenderly wiped away the blood and field dressed my neck. He wrapped his arms around me, and the moment I was safely encircled by only him, I started to cry.
Nick held me, waiting for the storm to pass. “Jo, my Josie.”
I wriggled against him, sniffling. “It’s fine Nick. We’re fine.” Gup coughed, and I looked over at him, noticing for the first time he looked like an older version of Nick. Tears threatened to spill over again. I swallowed. “We’re all fine.”
Bhatt extended her hand to help me up as I eased away from Nick’s warmth.
She put her hand up. “You are a warrior, and your man is a better shot than me. A match like this can only be made in the heavens.”
I grunted up at her as I rose, every inch of my body protesting the movement, Nick’s arm still half around my waist.
She sighed, eyes roving the knocked-over shelves, the pole, and the ax wet with my blood, inches from Burdock’s right hand. She glanced down at him. His flannel shirt had flipped up when he fell, exposing the edge of a Kevlar vest peeking from underneath the shirt. That explained a lot.
Her eyes came to rest on Guppy staring silently at the three of us. From the looks of him, he hadn’t moved a muscle since the moment I’d walked into the store.
“I never see’d him before he come into my store today. Not ten minutes before you did.” Guppy left his chair and joined us to stare intently at the dead man.
“Must’ve been an interesting ten minutes.” Memories of Gup’s unusual behavior sprang up in my mind. “What made you decide to warn me off? What happened before I walked in?”
“Nothin’. I just didn’t like his way. And then I had one of my feelings.” He eyed me carefully. “You know.”
And I did know. Gup was one of the good ones. Rough and tumble as they come—but certainly one of the good ones.
“And when you was walking in, I had a premonition.” Gup looked up at me, with sober, knowing eyes. “And I didn’t want you anywhere near him, nor him to even know you was here.”
The first time I ever met Gup, when I was a teenager, he prayed for me. I’d made the mistake of stopping at this out-of-the-way bait shop, thinking I’d bamboozle the owner. Instead of illegally purchasing beer as I’d intended, I came away with stories of the crazy old man talking about God and praying right in front of me. Gup was definitely a praying man.
I tuned back into what he was saying. “And something come over me, like a vice grip, and I couldn’t move. But I could pray.”
I nodded, thinking of my own experience in his shop today—the hymn, the protection, the utter assurance of God’s presence.
Nick’s soft tones uttered thanks in an unsteady voice. I rested my arm on his, reveling in the feel of him by my side.
I looked back at Guppy. “Thanks, Gup.” It was a poor tribute to pay to the man who’d prayed me back to life. Was he an angel? In overalls?
Guppy’s eyes were soft. “Did he hurt you bad, Chief?” His eyes were awash with tears.
“Don’t start, Gup.” Great. Now I was misting up again. I walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Your prayers saved my life.” My voice was thick as I wrapped my arms around the weathered old man of God.
“Leave your thanks at the foot of the cross. And at the feet of your fiancé. I only did what I was told.”
Nick’s arm tightened around my waist.
Bhatt stood by, watching our exchange. “You rednecks are surely birds of a feather.” She enunciated her words like a charm-school grad.
Guppy offered her his arm. “Relax, Officer. You’ll be one of us before you know it. Why don’t you come sit with me ’til the reinforcements come to clean up after you and Miss Chief? He ain’t goin’ nowhere. Let these kids have a moment alone.”
His eyes trailed back to Burdock. “Our friends here have pressing business.” He looked at Nick and me, amusement dancing across his lined face. He said this matter-of-factly like I had a scheduled event.
I wrinkled my nose, gratefully accepting a hand towel he retrieved from the floor where the grocery section used to be. “What are you talking about?” I patted my neck with the towel, and the cloth came away bloody. It didn’t really hurt all that much. The skin was broken and bruised, bleeding through Nick’s bandage, but not much else. Something about the prayers of a righteous man flitted through my tired mind.
Gup gave Nick an appraising look, crooking his thumb toward the door. “Ain’t ya gonna get your lady outta here? Thinkin’ she’s seen enough of my store today.”
I looked from Gup to Bhatt, steadying myself against Nick. “You wait here with the dead guy ’til the rest of the cavalry arrives,” I instructed. “We’ll go catch some fresh air.”
Guppy nodded. “That’ll work.”
“As you wish.” Bhatt winked at us before we turned toward the door and wandered out into the sunlight.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nick guided me to the top of the stairs, tucking me into a seated position on the porch steps. He walked down three steps and turned to face me, every muscle in his glorious body tensing as he assessed my wounds. His jaw clenched.
“Nick, I’m okay.” Warmth thickened my throat.
He ran his hand down the side of my cheek, and I let his beautiful brown eyes draw me in. Sensations ricocheted through me. My body was melting from the inside out, turning into a velvety, chocolate-fudge cake—impossibly warm and soft in his presence. Nick.
“How did you get here?” Sunlight glinting off glass drew my gaze to the parking area, where Gino’s Z28 sat next to Bhatt’s sleek red machine like horses tethered in front of a saloon, announcing the presence of lawmen.
Nick turned his head. “Gino rolled up at the next put-in a few miles up the road just as Quinn and I were pulling our kayaks onto the bank.”
“How—?” Gino had built a career out of tracking men and women who didn’t want to be found. Finding Nick and Quinn on the Wisconsin River was child’s play for him. I nodded at Nick. “He sent you back with Bhatt?”
“I sent myself. I had to know that you were okay.” His soft eyes called to me.
“Nick.” I held him. I thought of how afraid I’d been for his safety, and I held on tighter.
Swaying branches off to the side of the old building caught my attention. My Cuban guardian angel, dressed completely in black, strode toward us, eyes glistening. Nick turned around at the sound of his footsteps on gravel, clasped arms with Gino then stood aside. Gino swooped in and sat next to me, setting a black case with a red cross next to him on the steps.
“I was at the trailhead, waiting for Tom to come out of the river when I heard the shot. I left Tom behind and got here as quickly as I could.” Gino’s eyes were glistening as he turned to meet my gaze. “Lisa stores her beloved Heckler & Koch PSG1 in the trunk of her car. That woman is an amazing shooter. I’ve just spoken to both Agent Dixon and the county sheriff. They are sending crime-scene techs now.”
I’d seen the rifle in Nick’s hands, seen the look in his eye. I knew I had. Did it matter who’d fired the fatal shot?
I placed a sh
aking hand on Gino’s red do-rag. “I’m fine. Really. And your prayers, with Guppy’s, mattered more than bullets.” How to describe what I’d just experienced? “I … G, uh …” I shook my head.
He grabbed the railing and rose to his feet in one smooth motion. He looked at me, dark eyes flashing. Black-ops Gino took over, tenderly examining my neck. “Your neck—is it very painful? The paramedics are on their way. In the meantime …”
His hands were gentle as he peeled off Nick’s makeshift bandage, cleaned my wound, dabbed it with ointment, and applied a thick, white adhesive wrap. “This should hold you until you reach the hospital. Mija—this is as close as I’ve ever come to losing you … this week. And I have learned that I simply could not bear it.” He took my hand in his own, tears spilling over his cheeks as he softly kissed the back of my hand.
The low voices of Bhatt and Nick, reviewing what may have happened from inside the bait shop, wafted over to us. Metallic sounds of shelving units dinging together as the men picked their way over the detritus mixed with recognizable words. The stillness of the air amplified their voices.
“I got it, Bhatt.” Nick’s voice sounded exhausted, almost foreign.
“Thanks, Nick. But I think I know how to process a crime scene.” Bhatt’s response was clipped. I’d barely noticed Bhatt, I’d been so intent on Nick. Was she hurt? Worried about me? Or had something else happened?
Gino looked at me. “Stay here, mija. Wait quietly, rest. The ambulance will be here soon. All is well with everyone else.” He rolled his eyes in the direction of the store. “I will check on them for you.”
I nodded my head. “Thanks. What about Quinn?”
“He’s getting picked up right about now. Relax, both of your boys are present and accounted for, mija.” Gino smiled down at me and headed into the store.
Quinn had been one of my best childhood friends—ours was a bond that endured. The love of the same land united us in a way that couldn’t be explained. We loved the same woods. We were both smitten with the way the sun broke through over Devil’s Lake in the morning and the way she set in the evening.
Anchored by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 3) Page 18