Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(101)

They step out of the room, and Tarla staggers like she’s been hit. She sags against the rough wall and sinks down to a crouch. I hear her white gown catching on the chipped rock and tearing.

Mom turns and walks back out of the room. Mr. Sparks is starting to wake up, but he’s not as quick as she was. Maybe he hasn’t had as much experience.

As soon as she’s clear, I press the control, and the door swings shut with a heavy, final slam.

Mom takes the gun from Vera, who looks relieved to get rid of it, and she comes to stand next to me. Puts her arm around me.

Mr. Sparks gets up and lunges for the door. We can hear him banging on it. Then he tries the window and smashes his fists into it over and over. Thump, thump, thump.

“That’s the sound we heard,” Mom says. “It wasn’t a washing machine off-balance. It was the two of them, trying to let us know they were here. Hoping for rescue.”

I nod. I press the bottom left button.

The window shutter comes down, and we don’t see Mr. Sparks anymore. It’s like he doesn’t even exist, except for the thumping. If he’s screaming, we can’t hear him.

Vee Crockett starts to help Tarla to the stairs, but my mom stops her. “Not yet,” she says. “You stay down here until I come back and tell you it’s safe.” She turns to me and holds out her hand for the remote. “Which one is it?”

“The top right for the bookcase,” I tell her. “Top left for the office door. You’re going after her?”

“Yes,” she says, and hugs me so fiercely I feel like my ribs might break, but it’s good pain, and I love her so much, that hurts too. Then she hugs my sister. “I love you. And I’m so proud of you. Stay here.” She hesitates, then hands my sister the gun. “You know how to use this. Protect them if you have to, sweetheart.”

“What if you don’t come back?” Vee asks her. “What if she does?”

“That’s my mom,” Lanny says. “My mom’s coming back.”

There’s no doubt in her voice.

Sandra Clegman comes over to us as my mom goes up the steps. She looks scared, still, but steady. “Give me his phone,” she says. I hand it over. “I can help.”

There’s a passcode on the phone, but she stares at it for a second and then punches in a number. She must have watched him do it a hundred times, and it works. It unlocks.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

“Texting his sister,” she says. She laughs shakily. “I loved to text. I usually did emojis. People still use those?”

“Yeah. There’s even more now. But I don’t know if he would use emojis.”

“No. He wouldn’t.” She looks thinner than her picture, like she hardly eats. I can see the bones in her wrists. She types out something and hands the phone back to me.

It says TIME FOR DINNER.

I look up at her. She shrugs. “If she’s carrying a dinner tray, it means she can’t have the shotgun,” she says. “He does this every night if we do what he says. We get to eat.”

I look at Lanny and Vee. They’re listening. “And . . . if you don’t do what he says?”

“Then we don’t eat,” Tarla says. “I nearly died before I learned. Now I eat on the regular.” She sounds tired. Almost drunk. “Is there still ice cream out there?”

“Yeah,” Vee says. She sits down next to Tarla. “We’ll get some.”

I hit the “Send” button. Tarla puts her head on Vee’s shoulder. I hope Sandra’s right. Because if she isn’t, if somehow that was wrong to send that message . . .

Mom will be walking into something really bad.





18

SAM

It takes me a while to get my brain working again after the wreck. I run it backward and remember Fairweather, dead back on the road. Shots through the windshield.

The shooter’s still out there.

I lunge for the door and tumble out, yank open Mike’s door, and grab for him. We lock forearms, and I pull. He’s heavy, and nearly deadweight. I’m aware that I’m going to pay for all this later, but for now we have the car between us and whoever’s coming.

Maybe only one or two guys coming for us now. Probably one. They’re down at least three from the original kidnapping team back at the house. I try to remember how many black SUVs I’ve spotted cruising Wolfhunter, but they’re all alike, and it’s hard to know for sure. At least three, I think, which means three or four guys each. We’ve accounted for one SUV full. They probably couldn’t spare more than one to take Fairweather down.

Mike’s bleeding pretty badly now. Shaken up even more than he was already. I prop him against the steaming metal and say, “Hang on, man, back in a second.”

He just grunts. That’s how I know he’s really hurting. I leave him and climb back in the cruiser. The shotgun’s broken free of its lock behind the front seat. It’s a pump-action riot gun, preloaded with at least six shots. I bring it back and hand it to Mike. “Watch my back,” I tell him. “And stay here.”

“Can’t do both,” he says. I’m not listening. I’m starting to feel real pain. The crash jolted everything inside me good. I may be busted up somewhere. I can’t tell yet, but it doesn’t matter. I have to move.