Run, Rose, Run(99)

He held the rifle loosely as he went. He wasn’t going to walk in shooting. But feeling the weight of the weapon in his hands reassured him, the way it had when he was a soldier. The years in Afghanistan weren’t ones Ethan could say he’d enjoyed, but they’d shaped him. They’d turned him from a scared, uncertain kid into a man who understood honor and duty, and who recognized the kinds of sacrifices those ideals often required.

As Ethan thought about Antoine and Jeanie and others he’d lost along the way, he told himself that he wasn’t going to lose AnnieLee, too.

He crept past two cars and walked up to a dimly lit window. Inside he could see the kitchen, its counters full of cereal boxes, chip bags, and beer cans. On the left-hand side of the room was an interior door, closed. He put his fingertips under the sash and lifted. The window slid open with a sigh.

Damn. Was this how he was going to do it? Just climb in?

It was almost like a written invitation. If someone caught him halfway through the window, he’d be the easiest target imaginable—but it still felt like better odds than trying to get in through the front door.

Ethan guided the rifle through the window, balancing it on its stock against the inside wall. Then he took a deep breath and pulled himself up onto the sill.

His boots scraped noisily on the side of the house, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He got his torso through, and he was slithering the rest of the way inside when the door at the end of the kitchen swung open.





Chapter

90



Ethan didn’t have time to move. Caught in the window frame, he was face-to-face with a pair of green eyes.

And whiskers.

And two black, triangular ears. Then a low, sinewy body slunk into the kitchen, making for a food bowl in the corner. The door swung shut behind it.

Ethan nearly choked with relief as he pulled himself the rest of the way into the room. A damn cat! The creature, oblivious to the fact that it had nearly given him a heart attack, sniffed disdainfully at its dish. Then it brushed past Ethan’s legs and hopped outside the way he had come in.

Ethan bent down and picked up the rifle. He could hear the faint buzz of talk radio coming from the other side of the kitchen door. Taking a few noiseless steps forward, he reached out and turned off the light. Then he waited, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness while he listened for movement in the other room. Hearing nothing but the same low, staticky radio voices, he opened the door.

Though it was nearly pitch-black in the room, Ethan could make out a couch along the back wall and an exterior door on the wall opposite. Another doorway opened to what he assumed was a hallway leading to the rest of the cabin.

“So keep your dial tuned to 860 AM,” the radio voice intoned, “for all your sports and weather news…”

The radio voice seemed to be coming from the far corner of the room. Edging closer, Ethan could see what looked like a large recliner—and the body of a sleeping man in it.

Gus Hobbs.

Ethan carefully leaned the rifle against the wall. Then he launched himself forward in the darkness. He didn’t want to stand back and threaten this man; he wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp.

Hobbs woke with a start just as Ethan was on top of him, and the guy only had time to throw up his hands before Ethan was driving his fists into his head and arms. Hobbs started yelling and trying to block the blows, but Ethan was wide-awake and enraged, and there was nothing Hobbs could do but try to scramble backward out of the chair to avoid him.

“Stop! Shit!” he was yelling. “Man, stop! Shit!”

Ethan finally pulled back and stood above him, panting. “Where is she, Hobbs?” he yelled. “Where is she?”

Brilliant overhead light flared in his eyes, blinding him. Squinting, Ethan turned to see another man in the other doorway, calmly leveling a pistol at his chest.

“That fool ain’t Gus Hobbs,” he said. “I am.”





Chapter

91



Ethan sucked in his breath. He wasn’t afraid: he was furious. He’d let his emotions cloud his judgment, and he’d attacked without knowing the size, strength, or even the identity of the enemy. What a stupid, rookie mistake.

He stood up to his full height, as if he wasn’t looking down the wrong end of a pistol at all. “Where’s Rose?” he demanded.

Hobbs didn’t answer, and the other man wiped angrily at his bloody, swollen face. “Shoot him,” he said. “Shoot that bastard.”

Gus Hobbs turned his cold gaze to his partner. “Maybe I should shoot you,” he said.

“I just closed my eyes for a minute—”

“Exactly,” Hobbs said viciously.

Hobbs was lean but muscular, with a hard, almost handsome face. If Clayton Dunning had been a bulldog, then Gus Hobbs was closer to a wolf. Had AnnieLee really married this man? Had she lived here in this very house? Ethan still couldn’t believe it.

But whatever the truth was, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding her safe.

And, he thought grimly, not getting killed trying.

“Step outside,” Hobbs said to Ethan, gesturing with the gun.

The other man laughed as he wiped his bleeding nose on his sleeve. “He don’t want to get the floor messy when he shoots you.”

“Shut up,” Hobbs told him. To Ethan he said, “Hands up. Go on.” He motioned toward the front door, which was just to Ethan’s left.