Even in the dark, Luc could see something unpleasant in Isaiah’s face, despite his mask of sincerity. An eagerness or excitement that wouldn’t be there if this was all aboveboard, and the threat of it thrummed through Luc’s veins. It electrified and terrified him like the face-off with the snake had, zapping nerve endings in a way that was wrong, unnatural.
Actually, Luc realized as he fought the urge to shift back or show some other sign of weakness, the sensation was in factperfectlynatural. It went back to animal instinct, rather than relying on learning or intelligence. As the snake had lifted its diamond-shaped head, preparing to strike, Luc’s body had acted faster than his brain, moving him out of harm’s way. Instinct told him that the safest course of action was to run inside and bolt the door.
But it wouldn’t be the action of a clueless bystander. He needed to be that clueless—if annoyed—bystander. For himself, for the woman on his sofa. For the dog, too.
“Well, if you see anything off, I would certainly appreciate it if you’d let me know.” The snake moved in, flat, yellow eyes glancing over Luc’s shoulder at the cabin, testing Luc’s resolve. “If she does pay you a call, please remember she’s unwell. We’ve been…we’ve been concerned about her for months.” He shook his head. “Should have listened to the other women, rather than letting her go on as she was. Ever since her husband died. I’ll never forgive myself if she comes to harm.”
“I will certainly keep an eye out,” Luc said noncommittally. “She can’t be safe wandering around in the snow.”
Isaiah raised his gaze and smiled. “Indeed, sir. Not safe indeed.” He turned and stalked to the passenger door of the truck. The others remained where they stood in the shadows, snow coating the tops of their wide-brimmed hats. Isaiah Bowden opened the door and got in. After a beat, he turned the rifle around and held it out. He did it with a nod, quiet and friendly. “Looks like someone left this rifle against a shed on your property. Might want to lock up your weapons, Mr. Stanek. Wouldn’t want them falling into the wrong hands.”
Luc was forced to walk around the truck to grab the gun, and for about five seconds, the other man held on. Three heartbeats, two big breaths, while some sort of message passed between them, the two men too close for comfort. Finally, Isaiah let go with a friendly, “God bless,” and Luc stepped back—stumbled, really, chest rising and falling hard, jaw tight and knuckles white over wood and metal.
Luc turned away, ready to leave, and remembered the truck keys in his pocket.
Taking them out, he held them up, let them jingle in the quiet night. “Apologies for taking these, neighbor,” he said, satisfied by the look of surprise on Isaiah’s face. “I wasn’t sure who would visit me at such an ungodly hour.”
He tossed them lightly into the cab, where they fell with a clang. Why did this feel like a gauntlet thrown down? He hadn’t done it on purpose. Isaiah’s gaze rose to meet his, an odd smile on his face. He leaned out the door.
“You smell that?”
Testing the air, Luc said, “No.”
“Hm. Thought I smelled smoke.”
“Wood fire in my cabin.”
“Yes, well.” The man sized him up with a long, slow nod, his eyes hard as pebbles. “Be a shame for anything else to catch fire.”
“Such as?”
A lazy shrug lifted Isaiah’s shoulders. “Grape vines, for example. Seen a bad fire decimate a crop before.” He wrinkled his brow, as if trying to call up a memory. “Maybe ’round here, in fact. Long time ago. Sure would hate to see that happen to your vines.”
“Are youthreateningme?” Luc asked as a long, slow shiver slid its way up his spine. He held still, because nothing would be worse for Abby right now than shooting Isaiah or jamming the poker through his eye.
“Course not, sir. Course not. But I’ve seen stranger things happen in these parts.” With that, Isaiah settled back on the bench seat and slammed the door shut.
Luc stood his ground and waited. No way he’d turn his back on these assholes. Already he felt the crosshairs on his chest as surely as if they were burned there. The rest of the men climbed slowly into the truck, three in the cab, two in back. Which must have been uncomfortable as hell in this weather, but…it certainly showed what they were willing to do. The lengths to which they’d go for their leader. Or was it for their God?
The weapons in Luc’s hands felt ineffectual, the rifle tainted, as he watched the men take off, spitting snow. Their arms bristled with guns, looking like some kind of Picasso vision of aggression. It was only after they’d disappeared down the drive that Luc felt his body again. Wet and freezing on the surface, but hot at its core. Burning up with rage.
Along with the return of sensation came the thought that, for these people, Isaiah and God might well be one and the same. The thought made him shudder, because he knew what men could do in the name of God, and he had a feeling this holy war was far from being over.
* * *
Abby sank to the floor. The knife clattered beside her, forgotten. Her skin was tight, her brain swollen. She watched Luc enter from her spot under the window and waited for him to see her there. “I’ll go,” she said.
“You can’t.”
Luc approached her slowly, that poker in one hand, his rifle in the other.
“Why did he give you that?”
Luc’s head dipped as he looked at his hands, and his “Hey, what are these doing here?” expression would have been comical if the situation weren’t such a mess.
He hurried to kneel in front of her, and Abby couldn’t help but pull back. It was just a little, but he noticed. He set the weapons down quickly, like hot potatoes.
“I left it against the shed where I found you. Earlier.” He watched her closely for a moment. “You remember that?”
