He heard something outside. A muffled footstep?
The leaves that no one had gotten around to raking up may have saved his life, he thought. There were soft footsteps in those frozen discards. As he strained to listen, they stopped and then started again. They were going along the back of the house from the woods toward the driveway. They were almost to the sliding door. He couldn't quite tell if there was one set or two, but it was now or never to find out. The element of surprise was all he had, and he would have that only if he acted fast.
The sliding door would be impossible to open fast, but Mac gave it his all as he flicked on the outside lights. The door bounced hard against the doorstop. He leapt through the brief opening before the door rebounded. He crouched down, facing the direction of the footsteps.
Mac didn't shout a warning to stop or he would shoot and yet there the fellow was, a black mask across his eyes. When he saw Mac, he stopped in his tracks with one foot raised, staring in wide-eyed surprise.
A raccoon. No wonder the footsteps had been soft.
Mac straightened and leaned back against the doubled-up door panels. His gun now hung at his side as he breathed deeply to release his tension.
"You nearly got yourself shot, little fella." Mac watched the raccoon turn away from him and scamper into the woods.
"Cute little bugger, eh, Mac?" the voice said from the driveway.
At once, Mac tensed and swung around, jumping sideways to face the direction of the voice. He crouched down, raised his gun, searching for his target. The glare in his eyes from the spotlight under the eaves of the house was so bright against the blackness of the woods that it blinded him.
Mac heard a shot and saw the flash against the darkness beyond, at the very moment his muscles contracted to pull the trigger on his own weapon. He got off only one shot before the force of a second bullet drilling through his arm blew his gun out of his hand. His body jerked back as the missile's force propelled his arm around behind him.
There was no escape from the third shot, the one he did not hear. He felt the searing impact of the bullet in his shoulder. Damn, he thought in the few remaining seconds his brain still functioned, shot again in the same shoulder!
The force of this bullet, fired from close range into the broad bone and new metal plate in his shoulder, threw him backwards against the doorframe. Hard.
Mac's world turned cold and black and he slumped to the deck.
Carolyn sipped on her second cup of tea and switched on the radio. It was the top of the hour news, but there was no mention about anything going on in Lakehaven so early on Sunday morning. She changed to an FM station from
Syracuse
and caught the end of their news. They had a short statement about a man killed in some motel on the state highway. He had escaped yesterday from the penitentiary. No other details were available.
That name. She knew that name. It was over and Mac was safe. Carolyn slumped against the back of her chair. She closed her eyes and sighed with relief. Mac was safe now. There was nothing more to fear.
Confident Mac would contact her soon, she felt almost giddy with relief. Maybe Mac would stop by in person to tell her all about it. She could invite him to stay for dinner. She would get it started while she was waiting to hear from Mac and then she would call Judy to have Terri come home. She reached for her big pot and put some potatoes on to boil. Hot German potato salad would be great on a cold day like today.
Carolyn waited, but not any more easily than the night before. She almost called to have Terri come home to keep her company; but Mac's warning not to until she heard from him stopped her. She decided it was best to leave Terri where she was, at least for the time being.
The snow continued to fall gently. The evergreens in her yard looked Christmas card beautiful. She thought about Mac's new house at the point on the lake. She pictured it being peaceful and beautifully blanketed in a layer of pristine white snow.
Wearing a comfortable old shirt of Richard's she used as a smock to protect her clothes from messy work, she tried to fill the time with odd jobs while the potatoes boiled. She felt jumpy with anticipation. Hoping a quick trip out with the garbage might release some of her tension, she tied together the top of the bag and unlocked the kitchen door. Walking carefully, she made it to the garage and back without slipping.
However, the cloth sneakers she had on were soaked from the snow that was already ankle deep. A quick trip to the bedroom and she was in dry socks and her lined winter walking shoes. They kept her feet warmer as long as they were dry, but they did allow wetness from rain or snow to get through to chill her feet as her sneakers did. She couldn't wear them to walk in snow, but she liked to wear them in the house to keep her feet warm.
The potatoes were done so she lifted them out of the water one at a time with a slotted spoon and put them on a rack to cool while she washed the pot. She wanted to get the potato salad put together right away so the flavors could blend by evening.
While waiting she went to the living room to put on her favorite classical music. She turned up the volume so she could be sure to hear all the sounds around the corner in the kitchen.
After setting the hot spuds in the refrigerator for a while, she impatiently began to pull the skin loose from one as she hummed along with Beethoven. The potato was still too hot to hold.
The sound of the car pulling into her driveway didn't penetrate the orchestra's crescendo. The snow already on the ground silenced the footsteps that passed down the trail of footprints that she'd just left from the garbage can to the side kitchen door.
When the door crashed open and slammed against the wall, her scream stayed imprisoned in her throat, unable to escape. The paring knife in her hand slipped into the stainless steel sink with a clatter, but she held on to the too hot boiled potato she'd been peeling. Her body felt frozen with fright.
"Don't move, lady, or you'll regret it."
I have to run.
But she couldn't move. Those black eyes were real. Those eyes–she'd seen them before.
"You! You're the man who was looking for directions a couple of weeks ago."
His gaze was still locked on hers as he shut the kitchen door and stepped toward her. The smell of cheap cigars permeated his clothing. His gun looked even bigger now that she could see it up close, but it wasn't like Mac's. This one was here in her kitchen, pointing at her.
She stared at the gun. It was happening just like Mac said it happened: every day, somewhere, somehow. The real world was filled with bad men and women with real guns. The real world had just smashed into her kitchen in Lakehaven.
Dear God,
she began to pray, but got no further.
"You're not gonna try nothin' stupid, are ya, lady?" He covered the few feet remaining between them and grabbed her raised hand, squeezing the hot potato out between her fingers. She screamed in pain and he laughed.
Tears triggered by her burned hand rolled down her cheeks. She tried to open her fingers, but only managed to get a couple away from under his hand still holding them against the steaming heat. She watched as he pulled her hand to his mouth and licked at the potato chunks sticking there to the reddened flesh. She swallowed against the bile that rose to her throat. He laughed again.
Trying to pull her hand free, she stepped backwards. He jerked hard on her arm, spinning her around so her back was up against the counter by the sink. Her body was shoved against the sharp edge and his pelvis pressed hard against hers to keep her there. The gun jabbed into her ribs. "On second thought, it might be kinda fun if ya did."
Please, God,
she tried to pray again. "What do you want? What are you doing here?" She turned her face away. She couldn't bear to look at the yellowed teeth bared when his lips stretched thinly across them, or smell his foul breath.
She looked back when he brought her fingers back to his mouth and licked more sticky white pieces of potato from the reddened pads. His eyes never left hers.
"I…I haven't much money here, but take it all. Just leave me alone. Please!" She had to get him out in case Terri came home early. She would do anything to keep her child safe.
Carolyn felt dizzy, but she couldn't allow herself to faint. There was no way to know what was happening to her if she fainted. It would be better knowing. She had to keep control. She had to try to reason with him, but he wasn't talking. "Please, tell me what you want! Why are you here?"
With a quick step back, he released the pressure pinning her to the counter. She slumped forward and then stepped away from him.
He jerked the gun toward the sink. "Wash it off!" he ordered harshly as if he were disgusted with her. "Wash your damn hands and fast."
Moving slowly she ran the cold water over her hands and tried to remove the sticky remains without rubbing the burned skin. She studied the sink area. There had to be something that she could grab for defense, but she saw nothing other than the short-bladed paring knife that could do nothing against a gun. She flicked the water off and reached up over the side of the sink for the towel to dry her hands. Her movement was too quick for the intruder. Before her hand finished its routine movement, she felt the thrust of the gun barrel against her ear. Her hands stilled in midair.
"Slow! Ya move slow."
Carolyn swallowed and nodded her head in agreement. When her hands were dry, she left the towel on the edge of the sink. Cradling her throbbing hand in her other one, she slowly turned back to him. The initial shock that had paralyzed her had worn off.
God, please, don't desert me now
. "Say something. Please. What do you want?"
Suddenly he grabbed her wrist and pushed her along the counter. He used the gun barrel to motion her to the front door. She turned in that direction and heard him moving right behind her. She looked beyond the entry to the hall that led to the bedrooms.
He's not going to get me down there without a fight.
She stopped in the small foyer and turned back.
"Where's your kid?"
"She's not here. She's sleeping over at a friend's house."
"Then get your coat on."
"What do you mean? What do I need a coat for? I won't tell anyone you were here if you just leave now. Please, no one will ever–"
The back of his hand connected with the side of her face, sending her sprawling on the hardwood floor. She saw all gray for a moment and then flashes of white. His movement had been so quick that she never saw his hand coming. She tasted blood from where her cheek and lips had been smashed into her teeth. She opened her eyes, but he was behind her where she couldn't see him. She raised her fingers to touch her stinging cheek, but before she could, she was jerked up by his strong hand around her wrist.
"Get your coat on, bitch. I ain't tellin' ya again."
This time he punctuated his order with the gun pushed under her chin. She fought down the nausea that rose with the pressure. She swallowed and knew she was drinking her own blood.
He slowly lowered the handgun to press between her breasts and forced her back flat against the door. "Do you still want to try somethin' funny?"
She shook her head and followed his directions. She got out her long dress coat. She hardly ever wore it. It was not as warm as her down-filled jacket, which she wore regularly, but it covered more of her body. She wanted to feel the little bit of safety she sought in hiding herself from his view.
"Get your purse, too. You may need some of that stuff all women carry in them things."
"What do you want? Where are we going?"
He laughed. "I came to get you, sweetie, to take you to your boyfriend."
"I don't believe you. Mac would never send you to get me. He–"