I unzip two more and hit the jackpot. Jeans, light sweaters, several hoodies, a stack of old photos—a few of those show Hailey’s neighbors at a risqué party. I grab some of the clothes, put them on the floor. Something clinks underneath the remaining clothes, and a long chain shines in the last of the daylight playing through the window. I sweep aside more clothes, and my hand encounters a second silver chain. It’s shorter, with thicker links, and has a red heart tag attached. Engraved on it, revealing the silver base, is one word:PET
There is a jewelry-standard clasp. This collar is made for a human and not a dog or cat.
Why would I need this, I ask myself, even as I slip both chains into a pocket.
For Hailey, of course.
Standing, I survey the rest of the attic, tempted to explore past that door. I have what I need, and I do have to clean up my prints.
I take a step. It won’t hurt to look. A backpack would be useful.
16
RUDE VISITORS
The sun has faded into orange, and the night is hinting it may fall on me any time now when I curve into my driveway. No strangers in sight? Nope. I double-check. Still nope, and I lower the gun to the seat, then send a text to Ron telling them I’ve reached home.
The garage door is hopeless at opening automatically so I unlock the car door then shove it open, though the slope I’m on makes it try to close on me. Hate that. I kick it open again and am halfway out when someone grabs my throat and shoulder and throws me out of the car. He’s grabbing for my wrist, but I’m cursing and kicking.
You are not taking me down without a fight.
Someone else turns up to help him, and I’m thrust facedown into my car seat, having turned this way and that before being pinned here. I spit out some grit, buck backward, try to unleash a kick but only get air. He sits on my back, twists my wrist higher on my back, chokes me harder.
I’m wheezing, having trouble breathing. His grip on my neck fails to loosen.
The second man laughs. “Shall I grab her legs?”
“No. Stay the fuck still, girl. This is just a damn warning,” the first man growls in my ear. “You are to desist and leave town. Hold fucking still while we add a little decoration to your ass. Shut up. Don’t say nothing, while I just do a little exploring…” He chuckles and releases my throat, lets me breathe, putting that hand to my waistband, smoothing it downward until his hand is between my legs. “Give me that?—”
There’s a thud that seems to rock him, that shakes me, a muffled cry. Boots scrape on the gravel. He grunts, his weight on me eases, then his hands are whipped away, and he’s gone. After another series of thuds and a groan, somebody falls. Something solid lands across the backs of my legs as I push myself off the seat, but it’s quickly removed. I think that was an arm.
Coughing, spitting out dirt that somehow ended up in my mouth, I stagger to my feet. While I swallow to check my throat is okay, I use the car as a prop.
The only man standing is etched in shadow against the last of the sun, but it’s Kail. I know it by his shape and the glimpse of a suture line on his neck. He’s breathing softly, chest rising like normal. And my attackers, in uniform black, are sprawled in a heap to his left and right. One is still and I’m guessing dead. The other sighs once and twitches then is still.
“Kail.” What has he done? Saved me, I think. Hand on my throat, I push myself upright even as he levers one of my attackers off the ground and over his shoulder.
“Stay.” That’s said to me. Swaying on wobbly legs, I’m unsure if anything but staying is possible.
“Hey…” I rasp and swallow to lose the roughness in my throat, then have to stop.
He glances at the remaining body, kicks it once. “He’s dead. Go inside.” He points. “Lock yourself in. I’ll be back but first I need to get rid of these.”
Two corpses are damning evidence.
I’ve never had to clean up after a murder. Two. Murders.
The engine is still running.
He glares at me as I slip back into the driver’s seat and run the car forward into the garage. Behind me, the door rolls down and bangs shut, bringing utter darkness.
When I go to the side of the garage and look through the small window, he jogs past, heading for the backyard with body number one slung over his shoulder. Where the fuck is he going? If he buries it in my yard…no…he wouldn’t. Fumbling my way around, I find the door into the house, open it, shut it, fall back onto it.
Stay?
How dare he command me.
Except he just saved me from those two pigs. It was a warning, they said. Clay sent them, and he’s threatened worse to come if I don’t leave, as in ‘not breathing’ will be next.
