“I can do that. But first, let’s tend to those cuts. You’re bleeding quite a bit.”
“Don’t care about blood.” Leonora’s gaze narrowed. “You think I’m stupid? You’ll try to drug me. Like the others.”
“No drugs,” Johanna promised. “Just bandages.”
For a moment, Leonora seemed to consider it. Then her face hardened again. “No. We go now. To Walker’s house.”
Johanna’s mind raced. Walker would still be at the house, preparing to leave. If she could get Leonora there, Walker and Jonah could help subdue her before she hurt herself or someone else.
“Okay,” she said, nodding slowly. “We can go to Walker’s. That’s where Boone is staying.”
Leonora’s lips curved in a terrible smile. “I knew it. I knew that man had my boy.” She motioned to the window with the blade. “Go.”
“We should go out the front door,” Johanna said, gesturing toward the hallway. “You don’t want to get more scraped up going through the window.”
“You first.” Leonora jabbed the knife toward her. “No tricks.”
Johanna moved carefully toward the door, feeling glass crunch beneath her boots. She kept her movements slow, telegraphed, nothing that might startle the agitated woman behind her.
“Keep walking,” Leonora hissed, following close enough that Johanna could smell the sour odor of unwashed skin and clothes. “Straight to Nash’s house.”
They moved into the hallway, Johanna in front, the knife point pressing against her lower back. She calculated her options, searching for a way to alert Walker without setting Leonora off.
“It’s snowing,” she said as they reached the front door. “I need my coat.”
“No time,” Leonora snapped, pressing the knife harder. “Move.”
The door opened to swirling snow and biting cold. Johanna stepped out onto her porch, shivering as the wind cut through her Henley. The main house was visible about a hundred yards away, its windows glowing warm against the darkness.
“Start walking,” Leonora ordered, shifting the knife to Johanna’s side. “And if you try to run, I’ll gut you like a fish. I know how. My husband taught me.”
She meant it.
Johanna exhaled long and slow and stepped off the porch into ankle-deep snow, the cold instantly seeping through herboots. Her phone was still inside. No way to call for help. No way to warn Walker.
“Leonora, you don’t need the knife,” she tried again. “I’m taking you to Boone.”
“Shut up and walk.”
They trudged through the snow, Johanna in front, Leonora close behind. The wind picked up, driving icy flakes against their faces. Johanna’s fingers were already going numb, and she shoved them into her pockets to preserve what warmth she could.
The distance to Walker’s house seemed to stretch endlessly. She strained to see if he was already in his truck in the driveway. No. There was still snow on the windshield. He hadn’t left the house yet.
“Almost there,” she said, hoping her voice carried back to Leonora through the wind.
“I know where his house is,” Leonora snarled. “I’ve been watching. For years.”
God. Leonora had been stalking the ranch, watching them, planning this confrontation. How many other times had she been out here, unseen in the darkness?
And suddenly, all the accidents and bad luck they’d been having around here made a lot more sense. It had all seemed so random, too random to be planned acts of sabotage. But that’s because they were the acts of a psychotic mind, acts that only made sense to Leonora.
They reached the edge of Walker’s yard. Light spilled from the windows, casting yellow rectangles across the pristine snow. Inside, she could make out movement—Walker pulling on his coat, Jonah saying something to him.
“There,” Leonora said, her breath hot against Johanna’s ear. “Now you’re going to get my boy.”
“Okay. I’ll go right in, and I’ll bring him out to you.”
“No!” The knife pressed harder, and Johanna felt a sharp sting as it broke skin. “Together. Now.”
