Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(105)

Afton counted to three and slowly eased herself around the corner, gun at the ready, finger on the trigger.

But Ronnie had disappeared.





45


AFTON gripped the Glock as she stood like a sentinel at the top of the stairs. Shake’s baby had begun to cry, making mewling little kitten sounds. The baby down the hall was screaming its head off. And Ronnie had pulled a disappearing act. She didn’t know if he would try to surprise her by charging up the stairs like a crazed animal, or if he’d retreated to the basement to take stock of things.

All of Afton’s instincts screamed at her to defend this part of the house. And that was exactly what she planned to do.

Two minutes passed and then five minutes. The babies seemed to let up a little with their crying. Thank goodness. Then a door slammed downstairs.

Both hands gripping the Glock, Afton fairly quivered on the balls of her feet. Every nerve felt like it was being stretched to the point of breaking.

A shuffling sound echoed from down below, soft and faint, almost like rats scuttling across floorboards.

What the hell?

As if an unseen puppeteer was at work, Marjorie’s body began to move. It slid slowly at first, then gradually picked up speed. Afton had only a narrow view as the torso and legs dragged past, leaving in their wake an ugly slick of brownish-red blood. Seconds later, Marjorie’s bare feet disappeared, with only a single dirty cotton slipper left behind.

Afton tried to think. Ronnie had come back to collect his mother’s body. But where was he taking her? Was this some sort of deviant behavior or was he trying to make a getaway? Or was this a trick to lure her downstairs, to stage an ambush?

Of course it was. It had to be.

“Ronnie?” she called out. “Just give it up.”

No answer.

“Ronnie?”

That was when the lights winked out.

“Damn,” Afton whispered to herself as darkness settled around her like an ominous cloud.

“Ronnie?” Afton called again. But there was still no answer.

The door to Shake’s bedroom creaked open.

“The lights went off,” Shake said.

“Yes,” Afton whispered. “Do you know where the fuse box is?”

“Maybe . . . in the kitchen?”

When Shake opened her door, it offered a faint spill of light from her bedroom window. Afton could see that it was almost dark outside. Pretty soon, she wouldn’t be able to see her own hand in front of her face. And in a big old spooky house like this, where she was the unknowing interloper, total darkness would put her at a terrible disadvantage.

Shake’s eyes were drawn to the Glock in Afton’s hand. “Are you gonna kill Ronnie?” she asked.

“Only if he tries to kill me.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“He already did. Now be quiet and go back to bed.”

Afton remained at the top of the stairs, never lowering her guard. She might not be able to see Ronnie coming, but she’d be able to hear him. And then she would shoot and shoot and shoot until she took him down. Yes, that was the plan. Because she figured she only had to hold out for another hour at best. That’s when Max, God bless his soul, would come charging in with a cadre of state troopers and whoever else he could round up. The cavalry would come to the rescue.

It was only when Afton smelled the first whiff of smoke that her attention wavered and a tickle of panic started to seep in.

“Ronnie?” she called out when she was really thinking, Holy shit. Is that smoke?

Yes, Afton was pretty sure it was smoke. She fought down a rising tide of fear, but there was no way around it. Ronnie must have started a fire somewhere in the house.

But where? That was the big question, wasn’t it?

Shake crept back out to the landing. “What the hell?” she whispered. “Is something burning?”

Afton ran back to the second bedroom and snatched up the Darden baby, along with all her bedding. She carried the fussing, fidgeting baby into Shake’s room and handed her over. “You keep the two babies in here with you. Then I want you to close the door after me and wedge as many blankets as you can along the bottom of the door. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shake said. She put a hand on top of her head as if this was all too much for her.

Afton eyed a battered wooden dresser that held a music box and a clutter of makeup. “Can you slide that dresser over a couple of feet and shove it up against the door? Barricade yourself in?”

Shake bent forward as if in pain. “I guess.”

“Do that,” Afton said. “And don’t come out for anything.”

Shake’s eyes were twin saucers of fear. “Where are you gonna be?”

The left side of Afton’s mouth quivered in a nervous tick. “I’m going downstairs.”


*

SLOWLY, carefully, Afton edged her way down the narrow stairs. She kept her hip pressed firmly against the wall and her finger squarely on the trigger. If Ronnie meant to smoke them out, to burn down the house around them, then she would have to stop him. She would put herself on the offensive and hunt him down like the despicable monster he was.

For Afton, the worm had turned. The predator was now prey and she was coming after him. That is, if only she could keep her wits about her.

The smoke was much thicker once she reached the first floor. Afton dropped into a low crouch, pulled the neck of her sweater up over her mouth and nose, and slipped out of her boots.