So, that’s how they’re playing it.
“What kind of incident?”
“One of our residents is missing.”
He fought the desire to glance back at his house and said the first thing that came to him. “Missing?”
“The woman you asked about earlier. Mistress Merkley. She took off on foot.”
“Bad night for it,” he forced out. His eye caught on the gun in Isaiah’s hand. It looked like Luc’s.
“It is indeed,” Isaiah said, “and I’m sorry to say it’s my own fault.” The man didn’t yell, but his voice carried. It was full and theatrical. A belly voice. A preacher man. “Abigail—poor soul—isdelusional, sir.” Sad pause. “I blame myself. When her late husband told me of her wayward ways, I didn’t listen. I’ve allowed her to live on her own these past months.” Isaiah compressed his mouth and lowered his brows in a parody of rueful regret. Oh, but he would be perfect in a pulpit. “She’s taken off into the night, sir. All alone, barely clothed. And—I must tell you, neighbor—poor Abigail has done herself harm in the past. You’ve met her, you said. You must have noticed how…capriciousshe is.” He looked away, removed his hat, and ran that same gloved hand through short hair, shaking his head with something like regret, before dropping the hat down again.
For the briefest moment, he wondered if it could be true. Could Abby be mentally ill?
No. Of course not. Curious, maybe, but capricious? Never. Imaginative and interested, yes, but never delusional.
He shoved back a wave of resentment that simmered up and tried to choke him.
“How is she delusional?” he forced out.
“She hears voices. Sees things. Thinks she’s the conduit of our Savior.” A sad chuckle from the man’s mouth.
“Have you called the police?”
With a friendly smile, the man moved forward another pace or two. “Oh, no. We take care of our own, sir.” Something slippery and cold worked its way down Luc’s spine. Before he could come up with an appropriate response, Isaiah carried on. “You haven’t seen her come through here this evening, have you, neighbor?”
Luc shook his head, eyes flicking from the poker in his own hand to the gun in the other man’s. If they decided he was lying, he was screwed. But even worse, so was Abby. Tightening his hold, he shifted forward, gaze driving hard into Isaiah’s. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time here tonight, Mr. Bowden.” Letting his eyes travel over the rest of the group, he went on. “Now, I think it’s time you moved on.”
* * *
Abby’s internal debate raged for about five seconds. Her first instinct was to huddle up, hunker down, and let the exhaustion help her disappear into the sofa cushions. Her second instinct was to run up the stairs as fast as she could and hide in whatever nook she found there. But, as usual, her brash side won out. The side that told her to get up and find a weapon. To prepare for a fight.
She stood, blanket around her shoulders, and took a big, rasping breath, evacuating the dizziness and the pain. She took a slow look around. Luc had held a poker when he’d gone out, and she didn’t need to be a genius to know what awaited him out there: Isaiah and the others. They’d hurt him for sure.
Hurry.
No more pokers beside the woodstove, so…
Hurry.
Kitchen. Knife. Rodeo walked close beside her, and she considered dipping to pat his head, but just the idea made her feel off-kilter. Like if she bent, she’d fall all the way.
Drawers opened and closed, cupboards inspected… Nothing.Gosh…darn it!She wanted to scream, wanted to curse and—
There, by the stove. A big jar of utensils and, in it, a boning knife. It brought to mind thoughts she could live without: Isaiah holding this kind of blade to her ear, threatening, slicing.
A head shake to clear it. Where on earth had that come from? He’d never threatened her like that with a knife. It was pure fiction…
She swallowed hard and grabbed the knife by the handle.
Her limbs were heavy. She fought the weight that made her want to sink onto the floor and returned to the living room, ready to help. She stumbled to the curtains, reached out one hand and stopped. What if they saw the fabric twitch? They’d know someone was here.
But she needed to see, had to know what was going on. She lifted a hand and gently nudged the material to the side.
14
Isaiah’s posture stiffened, tensile but curved, reminding Luc of a copperhead he’d almost stepped on last summer. Not a snake he’d met before coming to Virginia, but immediately, he’d known it was deadly. Right there, among his vines, the creature had challenged him, stood up and made Luc back down. He’d gone to fetch a shovel, but by the time he’d returned, it was gone.
