The door shoves open, and he is there, inside the small enclosure, shutting the door behind himself with a metallic click, grinning at me with disturbing confidence. “Well, well. And I was just getting bored with my evening. What’s a tight little thing like you doing out this late?”
I meet his grin, my own stretching easily across my face, my hands sliding into my sweatshirt pockets. I wrap a hand around the handle of the stiletto knife, rubbing its grip, finding and fingering the release. Wait. If only he knew that he was prey, and I was the hunter. And he had made it so damn convenient for me.
My grin confuses him. I see the hesitation, the pause in his movement, and the flicker of uncertainty in his stare.
“Don’t stop,” I say. “Please. Whatever you had in your mind to do, I welcome you to try it.”
He starts forward, but then stops. He moves again, then pauses, his hesitation growing at my tone and lack of fear. I laugh, a sound he doesn’t like, and his fists ball while the dark look in his eyes returns. Hunger. Hate.
“Drop your pants,” he rasps, his eyes dropping to my waist and the open pants. “I want to see the little snatch I am about to—”
My hands reach out, my forearm against his throat; the speed of the motion catches him off balance, pushing him back against the closed door. The stiletto is freed, the flash of blade catching his eye. His body freezes in response. I bring it to his cheek, my eyes on his. I smile wider, cracking my face in two. I try to picture his death, to welcome the gruesome visions that constantly battle for entry into my mind, but can only see her—the tiny blond, grinning into the camera, white iced cake before her. Annie. GO.
I grit my teeth, grounding out words as I stare into his eyes. “There’s nothing I’d love more than to carve into that ugly shit that you call a face, and leave you bleeding and helpless on this filthy floor, scrambling to stand, your eyeballs cut out and squished beneath my feet. But I am f**king late, and I don’t have time for this bullshit right now.” I press the blade into the thin skin under his eyes, feeling the easy slide of it, blood swelling around the tip. His eyes flit from the blade to me in a panicked jerk. My eyes drink in the red liquid, unable to move from the drip, my fingers unresponsive to my desire to stop the pressure, and keep the blade from slicing deeper. I yank back, the blade catching a bit on his skin, and his hand jumps up to press against the cut, his face shocked.
Blood. “Get the f**k out of my way,” I spit out.
He reaches backward, stumbling ‘til he finds the door handle, his red hands slipping on it, then turns the knob, falling backward into the store, his hand returning to his face. I lean over, grabbing my items, and walk through the store, out the door, and to the parked truck. It comes again, louder. GO. Annie.
CHAPTER 46
It is 6:04 a.m. when I pull off the highway, turning down the two-lane road. The road curves around on itself, taking me back parallel to the highway. The GPS indicates that I turn left, and I look in vain for a quarter mile ‘til I see a thin dirt road. I turn down the road, the ruts causing a vibration throughout the cab. Fog is heavy in the air, blanketing the fields in white clouds, all but obscuring my view of anything beyond the clay road with deep ditches on either side. I almost miss my destination, slamming on the brakes beside a white metal gate that is chained closed with a shiny new combination lock. A No Trespassing sign is visible, hanging from rungs on the gate. Bingo.
I get out of the truck, leaving the door open and look around; nothing but fog, trees and empty road. The closest house is about a half-mile behind me, a small clapboard frame set flush against the road, acres of fields surrounding it. I need to leave the truck somewhere and advance on foot. I get back behind the wheel and call Mike.
“God, I’ll be glad when this shit is over.”
“Yeah, earning money’s a bitch. Pull up a map, and tell me how Ralph would get from his house to this place. I need to know which direction he’ll drive down this road.”
“What road?”
“The f**king road I’m on!” I fumble with buttons on the GPS, pressing the wrong thing and zooming out to a map of the world. “Jesus Christ!”
“Damn, you are bitchy in the morning. Are you on the road that the trailer is on?”
“Yeah. I’m looking at a white gate right now.”
“Okay, I am pulling you up on GPS also. Just an update, lights are on in Ralph’s house, but no one has left yet. The cops watching the house are leaving at seven.”
“Going where?”
“Getting off shift. They’re not watching him today.”
“Fuck. His cell still puts him in the house?”
“Yeah, unless he’s sleeping at the neighbor’s. He’s in the area of the house, so yes.”
“A simple yes would do.”
“Again, bitchy.” He breathes loudly into the phone. “Okay. If he heads to the rental, and follows any type of normal thought process in driving there, he’ll take the quickest way, which would have him traveling west down that street.”
“I don’t have a f**king compass, Mike. I don’t know which way is west.”
He laughs, ridiculously chipper for being up all night. “You came from the east.”
“Okay.” I put the truck in drive, backing up, my taillights illuminating only fog. Then I hit the brakes. “How do you know which direction I came from?”
“Uh … what?”
I speak slowly, certain that my anger seeps through each word. “How. Do. You. Know. Which. Direction. I. Came. From?”
“Just assumed.”
“Bullshit. You know where I live?”
“Uh … yeah.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Uh … yeah.” In those two words he is able to communicate both wariness and pride.
“How easy was it to find out?”
“Not easy. I followed your—”
“Stop. I’ll bitch you out about it later. Fix whatever gap you crawled through so no one else can follow suit. NOW. And keep an eye on Ralph’s cell.”
“You know I gotta leave soon. Like in an hour.”
“Protect my privacy. Watch Ralph. Please.” I hang up the phone and look over my shoulder, putting the truck back into reverse and accelerating backward, looking for a place to turn around.
I find a place to pull over and park the truck, grabbing my duffel bag and locking the vehicle behind me. The parking spot hugs a curve of trees, far enough off the road to avoid unwanted attention. If someone comes from the west, it’ll be hidden unless they look in their review mirror. If someone comes from the east, the grey truck will stick out like a sore thumb. I say a quick prayer as I trudge through thick dirt toward the locked gate, and hopefully, toward Annie.