He Can Fall (She Can... #4.5)(14)

She grabbed hope and held it tight. He had to be planning something. But he’d better implement it fast. Ten minutes wasn’t much time to move.

Win meant what he’d said. He couldn’t wait to hurt her.

Her gaze fell on the redhead. Her porcelain skin had whitened nearly as much as her wounded husband’s. Blood crusted in the hair around her face and rusty smears streaked her temples from pushing her hair behind her ears. Shivers racked her barely dressed body so hard Amanda could see her shaking from across the room. How long could her husband last? His chest rose and fell in a labored rhythm, but the pile of bloody towels on his shoulder had grown, and his face had faded to the gray of drying plaster.

Would she bleed out slowly from a wound? Or would Win be impatient? Despite her resolve to block them, thoughts of what Win was planning intruded in her mind. Her bruised breast throbbed, and the shallow slice stung. Her hand drifted to her neck, where blood dribbled from the thin cut. If Win sliced her carotid artery, she’d be dead in minutes.

Somehow she didn’t think her death would be that quick or painless.

Win would enjoy making her suffer.





CHAPTER EIGHT

Ten minutes. The clock ticked in Sean’s head. Rage bubbled in his chest. Pure and simple rage. Fuck honor and Sean’s newfound sense of morality. That man had touched Amanda, and Sean was going to break him into bite-size pieces with his bare hands. Sean’s conscience was going radio silent. He knew with complete certainty that killing that man would bring him nothing but pleasure. If that was a sin that sent Sean to hell for all of eternity, it would be worth every second. A tug on his shirt diverted his attention from its slide show of violent images.

She stared up at him. “Sean? What are you going to do?”

Mia. Shit.

There was no more time to contemplate options. He had to stash the child somewhere before he could go after Amanda.

“We’re going inside.” Sean’s gaze ping-ponged from the house to the boathouse at the edge of the lake. Glenn kept canoes, fishing rods, and other sporting equipment in that shed. He led Mia through the trees until they were parallel with the boathouse. A tree blocked the direct line of sight from the house. Then they sprinted across the small patch of open ground. Opening the door, Sean tugged Mia inside. They were out of the wind, but dampness made the boathouse feel even colder than the outside air. Sean scanned the walls. Kayaks and canoes were racked on one wall. Snowshoes, cross-country skis, and ice skates dominated the other. Miscellaneous gear was stored on shelves and in bins in the corner: tools, rope, bungee cords, extra fishing line. Sean walked forward and hefted a coiled length of nylon rope. Perfect.

He checked his watch. Six minutes.

“Hold still.” He fashioned a rappeling harness on Mia.

“What’s this?” She held her arms out to the sides as if making a snow angel.

“This is how we’re getting inside.”

“I thought they were watching the doors?”

Sean tossed the remaining rope over his shoulder. “We’re not using the door.”

Back outside the shed, he circled around toward the inn, keeping Mia behind him and staying just inside the tree line. When they’d reached the far side, the portion of the inn with the fewest windows, he gauged the distance across the snow. Maybe fifty feet, and no direct line of sight with the kitchen. This was as good as it was going to get. Putting Mia on his back, he burst from the cover of the trees and sprinted across the open lawn.

He tied the end of the rope around his waist. “You wait here. I’m going to climb to the roof. I’ll pull you up.”

“OK.” Her voice was as small as her body.

Sean climbed onto the air-conditioning unit. He grabbed the eave and tested it with his weight. A metallic creak sounded out across the woods, but the soffit held. He muscled himself up onto the roof, then pulled Mia up behind him.

Keeping a firm hold on the child, Sean edged across the shingles until he came to a window. This room was over the garage and used mainly for storage. On the opposite side of the building from the kitchen, small sounds should not be audible to the gunmen. He hoped.

A glance through the window told him the room was empty. Sean shielded Mia with his body. “Close your eyes and cover your face.”

He popped his elbow through a pane, the fabric of his shirt muffling the sound of breaking glass. He reached in and unlocked the sash. He raised the window.

“Careful of the glass shards,” he whispered.

Lifting Mia through the opening, he climbed in just in time to hear a woman’s scream.

Amanda.

His ten minutes were up.





Amanda couldn’t hold back the scream as Win grabbed her by the hair and pulled her out onto the porch. She put a hand to her scalp, flattening his fingers against her skull to minimize the tension on her hair. The knife was at her throat again, this time in front of her windpipe. Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, she angled her head back.

“You’re out of time,” Win shouted. He lowered the knife and dragged Amanda back into the kitchen. “You know what that means.”

Amanda’s gaze landed on the knife block. Too far. Was there anything within reach she could use as a weapon?

“You’re all mine.” He kept moving, hauling her across the tile toward the door that led to the hall. “We need a little privacy for what I have in mind.”