The Overnight Guest(81)

She prepared herself for another attack, but he stepped right past her toward Becky.

Wylie reached for him but missed, instead knocking over the woodpile so that the kindling scattered across the floor. Randy stood in front of Becky as she cowered before him, and then he slammed her into the wall behind her. She crumpled at his feet.

Wylie jumped atop Randy, but he shrugged her away and she hit the floor hard.

Groaning, Wylie pulled herself into a fetal position, trying to protect her head from further attack. She could hear Randy’s heavy breaths as he stood over her, deciding what to do next.

He lowered himself down so that he was kneeling beside her. “Relax,” he whispered. “It’s all going to be over soon.” With that, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, lifting her head from the ground and slamming it to the floor. Stars exploded behind her eyes, the pain white-hot and searing.

Wylie felt the world fall away from her, and everything went to black.

Minutes passed or perhaps hours. Wylie forced herself back from the brink. It was like swimming through black tar, but she knew if she didn’t stay conscious, she would die. Becky and the little girl would die.

Pain radiated through her skull. Wylie swallowed back the vomit that crept into her throat and concentrated on keeping her breath slow and regular. She didn’t need to appear dead, just unconscious. Once she got her bearings, she could fight back.

Wylie hoped that the little girl had made it to the barn, found a hiding place that would buy her some time.

This would be the time to make her move, Wylie thought. To get up and fight back.

Wylie heard footsteps, and then she felt Randy standing over her.

He bent over her, and Wylie could feel the heat of his breath on her face. She tried not to wince at the foul odor. He smelled of garlic and onions and something else. Fear, Wylie decided. Randy was afraid. His perfectly created world had been disrupted. Becky and the girl almost made it out.

Now Wylie was the only one who could help give Becky what she wanted for her daughter. Freedom.

Randy slid his arms beneath her armpits and began to drag her across the floor. He paused to open the door, and the blast of cold air almost made Wylie gasp, but she managed to remain still. He pulled her down the front steps, then he paused.

Wylie knew what was going through his mind. He was going to let her freeze to death out here. He didn’t want to waste any more time with her. He wanted the girl. And where was Becky? And Jackson Henley? Had Randy killed them? Had Wylie found her friend only to lose her again?

Randy released her arms and scooped her up against his shoulder as one would a baby. She let her head loll against his neck, trying to make contact with any exposed part of his body. DNA, she kept thinking. Collect as much hair, sweat, cells that she could.

Randy tossed her face-first into the snow, and the shock from the pain nearly caused her to cry out. He came to her side, bent over, and arranged her head so that the side he slammed against the floor was down. The cold was a welcome balm against the fiery pain that radiated through her head.

Wylie didn’t know how long he stood there staring down at her, but it seemed to be forever.

Wylie held perfectly still, and finally, Randy stepped away from her, his heavy boots crunching through the crusty snow. He was looking for the girl now. She waited until she heard the creak of the barn door before she stirred. Wylie’s head felt like lead. When she staggered to her feet, she looked down on the imprint she left behind—a bloodied halo atop a snow angel.

She zigzagged toward the barn, willing herself to stay on her feet. She had to find a way to overpower Randy, but the world kept tilting. When her hand finally touched the rough wood of the barn, Wylie bent over and vomited. Terrified that Randy heard her retching, Wylie pressed herself against the side of the barn, willing her stomach to settle and the spinning to stop. She had only one chance to get this right.

She peeked through the narrow opening in the barn door and scanned the dark interior for any sign of the girl or Randy. The storm was dying. The wind had calmed, and night was beginning to fray at the edges. It would be light soon. Did she go inside and confront him? Or should she wait until he came back outside with the girl? No, that was too risky. If she was going to act, it would have to be now.

Wylie crouched down and slipped into the barn, careful not to touch the squeaky door and alert Randy of her presence. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see him, but she heard his lumbering footsteps and heavy breathing as he rummaged behind stacks of boxes, searching for the girl.

Wylie ducked down at the rear of the Bronco and looked around for a weapon. Hanging on a hook against the barn wall were a number of lethal-looking tools—lawn rakes, heavy-headed shovels, and bedding forks. All had long handles and could be cumbersome to wield as a weapon. Instead, she set her sights on a warren hoe with a sharp V-shaped blade. Long enough to keep Randy out of arms reach but not so heavy that Wylie couldn’t wield it. To reach it, Wylie would have to come out into the open and would most assuredly be spotted by Randy. She’d just have to be faster, smarter.

Before she could move, Randy came into view. He looked upward toward the hayloft. Wylie’s heart dropped. If the girl was hiding up there, she was a sitting duck. There was only one way up and one way down. Wylie watched helplessly as Randy made his ascent up the ladder that led to the loft. She prayed that the brittle wooden rungs would snap beneath his weight and send him tumbling to the ground, but they held fast.