Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 96

Still he waited.

The Voice had never been wrong before.

And who was he to doubt G.o.d's instructions?

Sometimes he became confused. Often the other voices screamed at him-screechy, irritating little things that would hiss, whine, and yell at him, clouding his judgment, causing his head to pound, making him wonder about his own sanity. But tonight they too were silent.

"Help me," he mouthed. "Talk to me. Please a.s.sure me that I am doing your bidding."

There was no response, only the sound of a short gust of wind rattling leaves as it whipped through the cypresses and live oaks in this part of the swamp.

He would wait.

Quickly, pleadingly, he made a desperate, deft sign of the cross over his chest, and as he did, he heard the soft rumble of a car's engine approaching.

YES!!!.

His eyes flew open.

Tires crunched on the spa.r.s.e gravel.

He didn't have to see the car to know it was a Toyota. Eve's vehicle. Antic.i.p.ation gave him a rush of heat through his blood as he spied her headlights, mist swirling in their weak golden beams. His gloved hand tightened over the hilt of the knife, the razor-thin blade scarcely visible in the darkness.

Crouching, he began to steal silently through the undergrowth and stopped near the cabin garage, behind a rotting tree stump, close enough that he could reach her in three steps when she walked to the door.

Her headlights washed over the grayed walls of the tiny cabin, and the engine died. The car door opened, and he caught a glimpse of her, red curls sc.r.a.ped away from her face, jaw set, eyes darting quickly. She cast a glance at Roy's truck, parked beneath the overhang of a carport. Then, using a small flashlight, she walked swiftly toward the cabin's door, tested it, and found it locked.

"Roy?" she called, knocking loudly, a hint of her perfume wafting his way. "Hey...what's going on?" Then, more softly, "If this is some kind of sick joke, I swear, you'll pay...."

Oh, it's no joke, he thought, every nerve stretched to the breaking point. She was so close. If he leaped out, he could tackle her. he thought, every nerve stretched to the breaking point. She was so close. If he leaped out, he could tackle her.

She shined the flashlight's beam over the dilapidated siding and onto a sagging, battered shutter. "What're the chances?" she asked herself. She reached behind the broken slats, extracted a key, and looked at it a long moment. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered, inserting the key into the dead bolt.

With a click, the old lock gave way.

As she stepped into the house, he moved swiftly. He had his knife gripped tightly in his hand, and he desperately wanted to use it, to watch as it slit her soft, white flesh. But, just in case, there was always the pistol, a small-caliber one but deadly enough.

A light snapped on inside the cabin.

Through the dusty gla.s.s of the kitchen window, he saw her, her hair pulled away from the long column of her throat. His heart kicked into overdrive, and he drew a shivery breath, envisioning the act.

She'd hear his footsteps, turn, gasp when their eyes met. Then he would move quickly, slashing that perfectly arched throat, slicing her jugular, crimson blood spraying.

He drew in a swift breath.

His c.o.c.k hardened.

He could almost taste her.

Eve.

The original sinner.

Time to pay.

"Roy, are you here?" Eve called into the watery light of the cabin. She didn't know whether to be scared or p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l as she stepped through the kitchen, where a thin layer of dust covered everything. "You know," she said, sweat beading in her hair as she spied a half-drunk bottle of beer left on the scarred drop-leafed table, "this is creeping me out. I mean, if this is one of your games, I think I'll just have to kill you."

She heard a sc.r.a.pe, turned. Her heart jumped as a small black body scampered across the yellowed linoleum to hide beneath an ancient refrigerator. She bit back a scream with all she had, watching the mouse's tail slide from sight. "Oh Jesus." Her pulse pounded in her ears. She shouldn't have come here, and she'd known it from the get-go. When Roy called, she should have insisted he come to her or that they meet somewhere in public. Being here was creeping her out.

Where the h.e.l.l was he? "Roy?" He had to be here. His truck was parked in the carport. "Roy? This isn't funny. Where are you?"

The door to the bathroom gaped open, but it was dark inside. She tried the switch, but the bulb had burned out, and when she raked her flashlight beam across the sink and toilet, she saw only rust, stains, and dirt. Something was definitely wrong here.

She walked three steps to the living room, where a lamp on an old end table was burning bright. Obviously Roy had been here....no, not really. Obviously someone someone had been here, though the room itself looked as if no one had inhabited it for a decade. Dust and cobwebs covered the floor, pinewood walls, and ceiling. Even the ashes and chunks of burned wood in the grate seemed ancient. There was a yellowed fishing magazine, its pages curled and tattered. It was as if time had stopped for this dilapidated cabin on the bayou. had been here, though the room itself looked as if no one had inhabited it for a decade. Dust and cobwebs covered the floor, pinewood walls, and ceiling. Even the ashes and chunks of burned wood in the grate seemed ancient. There was a yellowed fishing magazine, its pages curled and tattered. It was as if time had stopped for this dilapidated cabin on the bayou.

So what the h.e.l.l was she doing here?

To see Roy? To find out what he meant by "evidence"?

What the h.e.l.l kind of evidence could he mean?

Something to do with Dad, she thought. she thought. That's what Roy meant. You know it. You can feel it in your bones. Roy knows whether dear old Dad is innocent...or guilty as sin. That's what Roy meant. You know it. You can feel it in your bones. Roy knows whether dear old Dad is innocent...or guilty as sin.

Swallowing, she pulled her cell phone from her purse. Still no service.

"Royal Kajak, you've got about two minutes, and then I'm outta here," she called to the shadowed corners of the cabin. "I don't give a d.a.m.n about whatever 'evidence' you think you've got. E-mail me, okay?"

Irritated, she took one last look around. Just past the open stairway was a short hall leading to the one bedroom on the main floor. The door to it yawned open.

Steeling herself, she walked toward it.

s.h.i.t! She had a cell phone! He hadn't thought of that. The Voice hadn't warned him about the phone. The Reviver stared through the window, watched her walking carefully through the house. He knew she'd call 911. The number was probably on speed dial. He hadn't thought of that. The Voice hadn't warned him about the phone. The Reviver stared through the window, watched her walking carefully through the house. He knew she'd call 911. The number was probably on speed dial.

He had to stop her. Fast!

Without a sound, he sheathed his knife, flicked open his ankle holster, and pulled out his pistol.

Time to finish this.

Nerves on edge, Eve pushed open the bedroom door. It creaked on old hinges. "Roy?"

She heard the faintest of moans.

The hairs on the back of her neck were raised as she fumbled for the light switch. With a click, the room was instantly awash in light from an ancient ceiling fixture.

She screamed.

Roy lay on the floor by the old metal bedframe. His entire face was covered in blood, and there was a huge gash on his neck spreading a dark stain across the floor.

She stumbled forward. All she could see was blood. Dark. Black. Sticky. Everywhere. Everywhere.

His chest moved ever so slightly as he struggled to breathe. Eve amoaned with hope. He was still alive!

"Hang on!" she cried, terror clawing through her, bile rising in her throat. "Who did this? Oh sweet Jesus..." She tried to staunch the flow of blood with one hand while dialing with the trembling fingers of the other. The phone slipped from her hand, sliding through a thick smear of blood. Pressing against the gash in Roy's throat, she retrieved the b.l.o.o.d.y cell with her free hand and punched out 911 with sticky, shaking fingers. "Help," she pleaded, but the screen silently mocked her: NO SERVICE NO SERVICE.

Panic welled up inside her. She was frantic.

Calm down, Eve. You can't help Roy without a clear head. Don't lose it. Think! Does the cabin have a phone? A landline? The electricity's working. Maybe Vernon keeps phone service for emergencies.... Her gaze swept the room and skated over the pinewood walls. No phone outlet, but near Roy's head, upon the yellowed pinewood walls, was a number written in blood: Her gaze swept the room and skated over the pinewood walls. No phone outlet, but near Roy's head, upon the yellowed pinewood walls, was a number written in blood:

212.

She recoiled in horror.

What the h.e.l.l did that mean?

Had Roy written it?

Or someone else?...Oh G.o.d, was Roy's a.s.sailant still here? Maybe in the house? She thought of the can of pepper spray buried in her purse.

She didn't have time to waste. She had to get help. The blood seeping against her fingers at Roy's neck had eased to nothing. Oh G.o.d...

Another low moan, and it was over. Roy took one last shallow wet breath.

"No! Oh G.o.d, no...Roy! Roy!" But the hand on his neck found no pulse. "You can't die, oh please-"

A floorboard creaked.

She froze.

The killer was still here!

Either inside the house or on the porch.

Heart thundering in her ears, she tried her d.a.m.ned phone again. Come on, come on, Come on, come on, she silently pleaded, listening for any sound, her gaze moving quickly around the room and to the doorway. If only there were a back door, a way to escape. she silently pleaded, listening for any sound, her gaze moving quickly around the room and to the doorway. If only there were a back door, a way to escape.

Another soft footstep. Leather sliding over wood.

Her insides turned to water.

She carefully reached into the purse, b.l.o.o.d.y fingers scrabbling for the pepper spray as she kept her gaze moving from the doorway to the two windows, to the mirror, to the reflection there of her own panicked face. She risked glancing down, found the spray and had the cannister out of her purse when she heard the footsteps again. Louder. Coming at her!

He knew where she was.

Get out, Eve, get out now!

She shot to her feet, adrenalin fueled by horror pushing her. She reached for the light switch, slapped it off. Darkness blinded.

She turned quickly, her shoes sliding in Roy's blood. She fell noisily, biting back a scream, holding fast to the canister. Her leg sc.r.a.ped down the iron bedframe. Her head thudded against the wall. Pain exploded behind her eyes.

More footsteps!

Don't pa.s.s out. For G.o.d's sake, don't lose consciousness!

She flung herself toward a window.

Pitched forward.

She saw him.

In the gla.s.s.

He was holding something in his hand. Pointing it at her.

She recognized him in a heartbeat.

Cole?

The man she loved?

Cole Dennis was going to shoot shoot her? her?

NO!.

Bam!