“Hold on,” Hannah whispered. She opened the drawers in the bathroom cabinet and filled her robe’s pocket with fingernail polish, lip balm, and a box of condoms.
That answered that question.
We left the bathroom door open a crack, to allow a sliver of light into the bedroom. I jammed a desk chair under the doorknob, blocking—or at least delaying—entry from the hall. After securing one end of the rope to the heavy bedframe, I carefully unlatched and slid the window open, then lifted out the screen.
“Ready?” I mouthed.
“Yes.”
I sat on the window ledge, took the rope in my hands, and tugged. The rope seemed secure. Bracing my feet against the log siding, I slid off the window ledge, then worked my way down the rope. When my feet touched the ground, I looked up. Hannah was leaning out the window. I gave her a thumbs up and nodded encouragement. She climbed onto the windowsill, clutching the fabric rope. When she hesitated, as if reluctant to begin her descent, I held up my arms, assuring the girl that I’d catch her if she slipped. Hannah nodded, then swung away from the window, dangling for a moment before easing down the rope.
We landed in a flowerbed at the front of the house. Light streamed from the floor-to-ceiling windows to our left, the living room windows, if I remembered correctly. I crawled through the dirt and peeked into the room, then quickly retracted my head. Mimi was pacing back and forth, one of her Persian cats cradled in her arms.
Hannah and I scuttled in the opposite direction, toward the far corner of the log house. Bent over double, we dashed for the gravel lane and grabbed our backpacks from under the rosebush.
“The driveway leads to the main road. It’s a sure way out of here,” I whispered.
“Unless Mimi figures out that we’re gone and comes after us.”
“It’s worth the risk. We can’t afford to get lost again,” I said.
“And I suppose, if we see headlights coming up behind us, we can run off into the hills.”
We slung the packs onto our backs. Holding hands, we walked forward, following the narrow ribbon of gravel as it wended its way over and around the rolling hills. When we’d traversed at least a mile—well out of Mimi’s earshot—I stopped.
“Hector.” I whistled. “Hector.” Craning my neck, I swept my gaze over the murky landscape. “Come on, boy.”
I held my breath, praying for some response, an answering bark, a flash of movement, anything that would indicate that Hector was alive. Nothing.
A cold hand clenched my heart.
“Hector’s smart,” Hannah said. “Maybe he found his way home.”
“Maybe.” Or maybe Mimi’s bullet had hit its mark, and Hector had died alone, with nothing but rabbits and coyotes to witness his passing. I couldn’t say those words out loud. Instead, I squeezed Hannah’s hand. “We have to keep moving. Sooner or later, Mimi will realize that we’re missing, and she’ll come looking for us. She has a gun, and she probably has a car. We are not going back there. Levi and Ripper are waiting for us, and nobody is going to stop us from making it back to them. And nothing is going to keep us from rescuing Sahdev.”
Hannah squeezed my hand in return. “We have things to do, and we don’t have time for Mimi’s shit.”
“Amen, sister.”
By unspoken agreement, we picked up the pace, jogging over the moonlit lane. My imagination played tricks on me. I kept glancing back over my shoulder, certain I heard Mimi’s car or spied a headlight. Nothing. Hannah and I were alone in the dark, racing desperately toward home.
Ripper, I’m coming back to you.
TWENTY-NINE
Kyle
Dwight and Darryl walked out on the porch for a late-night smoke. Leaning back against the railing, they competed to see who could blow the biggest smoke ring, laughing and elbowing each other like a couple of twelve-year-olds with a bad case of the giggles. After seeing them on the news a few years ago, I’d started thinking of them as the doofus brothers. They were living up—or down—to that reputation.
When their whoops got loud, a stocky older woman threw open the door. Jerrilyn, the infamous Widow Wilcox, glared at her nephews. “Libby is trying to sleep. You two jackasses need to pipe down.”
That sobered up the morons.
“Shining examples of the master race,” I muttered.
Ripper snorted.
They flicked their cigarettes into the yard. Their heads swiveled around as something apparently caught their eye. One of them pointed. In the distance, a car’s headlights poked holes in the darkness, glowing when the vehicle crested a hill, then winking out when the road dipped below the horizon.
One of the men dashed into the house, returning thirty seconds later with Boyd in tow. Boyd tossed a set of keys to one of his cousins, barked out an order, then took position on the top step, shotgun in hand. Dwight and Darryl took off. The taller of the two jogged toward a black pickup parked in front of the house, next to a red Harley. The other ran toward the attached garage and threw open the door. He reappeared a minute later, behind the wheel of a silver pickup. They tore out of the driveway, racing toward the mysterious headlights.
The commotion must have roused Libby. Yawning, she stumbled onto the porch and stood next to Boyd, peering out into the darkness. He kissed her cheek and laid a hand on her swollen belly. That mystery was solved. Libby was Boyd’s woman. No wonder Jerrilyn was so protective of her; Libby was carrying the “martyred” Eben Wilcox’s first grandchild.
“I was going to suggest that we make a move, now that two of the four men are gone,” I whispered. “But I don’t suppose we should, not with a pregnant woman standing on the porch next to Boyd.”
Ripper nodded. “Same thing occurred to me. We don’t want to endanger a pregnant woman. Not unless we got no other choice. Not unless she draws on us.” He scrubbed a hand through his stubble, gazing thoughtfully at the house. “Besides, we got no clue where Bear’s being held. Wouldn’t put it past Tuck or Jerrilyn to put a bullet in him if we try to breach the place.”
Boyd and Libby retreated into the house, and once again silence reigned. Ripper sat back, resting his arms on his bent knees. Tilting his head, he looked at me, and I squirmed under his appraising gaze.
“How’d you all meet Sahdev?” he asked in a low voice.
Shit. Here it was. The moment I’d been dreading. Like a coward, I’d hoped that Kenz would’ve told Ripper about the night Miles died. Sure as hell, I didn’t want to. I guess she wasn’t up to the task either.
“Miles was very sick and seriously dehydrated.” I swallowed, but forced myself to keep going. “The pharmacies and hospitals had been ransacked. There was no way to find IV fluid—and truth be told, we wouldn’t have known how to administer it even if we found it. Kenzie suggested that we check out vet clinics for bags of subcutaneous fluid.”
“Vet clinics?”
I nodded. “Her Aunt Debbie used to give sub-q fluids to a dehydrated cat. We didn’t know if it would work on humans, but we figured it was worth a try. The plan was for me to drive out and search the clinics, but the flu hit me hard and fast, and I was too weak to drive.”
“So Mac went?”