The howl of the wind grew louder. As she walked down the darkened hall, the flickering light of the lamp set her nerves on edge. She told herself there was no need to panic, had almost convinced herself when she stepped into the bedroom. As lamplight illuminated the interior, she froze.
A man stood in the shadows, medium height, thick dark hair a little too long. As he moved toward the light, she recognized his face—the heavy brows, the eyes a little too close together—though she’d only seen his photo once before.
She forced herself to breathe, tried to calm her speeding heart and stay in control.
“How did you get in?” When her hand shook, making the light flicker and betraying her nerves, she set the lamp down on the dresser.
“It wasn’t hard,” Ray Archer said. “Not on a night like this. Power’s out. Alarm’s down. You didn’t even hear me bust the glass out of the window. Where’s my boy?”
Her gaze went to the jagged edges of the broken window, where gusts of rain blew in. A bolt of lightning lit the sky outside and thunder rattled the house.
“Your son isn’t here,” she said. “Is that why you came? You thought Zach was here?”
He took a step toward her, his hand balling into a fist. “I knew the boy’d come here. I been keepin’ track of you. Not hard to find out you was shacking up with the rich guy who owns the place. Where’s Zach? What have you done with him?”
She refused to let him see her fear, managed to stand her ground. “He’s in Greenville, under protective custody.” Anger filtered through her, giving her a jolt of courage. “Maybe you remember the last time you were with him—the night you beat him and he ran away?”
“Boy shouldn’t have interfered in his daddy’s business.”
“That business being you using your fists on the woman you were living with?”
“Bitch deserved it.”
She wanted to argue, tell him what a rotten bastard she thought he was, but she was alone with him. She needed to stay calm, talk him down.
“There’s a tornado warning,” she said. “We need to take shelter. There’s a basement up at the big house. My truck’s out in front. We can drive up there together.”
He laughed maniacally, sending a chill down her spine. “You think I’m a fool? We’ll ride it out here. Tomorrow we’ll go get my son.”
She felt vulnerable in her nightgown. She wished she’d been wearing the robe lying at the foot of the bed. “They aren’t going to let you take him, Ray. Surely you know that.”
When he moved, something glinted in the lamplight, the barrel of the pistol he held in his hand. Her gaze went to the bedside table. She’d left her gun in the drawer when she went into the living room. Ray stood between her and her weapon.
He raised the pistol, waved it around. “If they won’t give him to me, I’ll take him. I’ll trade you for Zach.” When he started toward her, Carly bit back a scream.
At the evil grin that split Ray’s face, she turned and bolted out of the bedroom, her heart hammering as she raced down the hall, Archer right behind her. Grabbing a pottery jar off a side table, she spun and hurled it at Ray’s head. It slammed into the hand he put up to block it, and she heard him curse.
Carly kept running, spotted the broom she’d used that morning to sweep up, grabbed it, turned, and rammed the handle into Ray Archer’s stomach hard enough to send him flying backward, landing on his back in the hall.
“You bitch! You’ll be sorry for that!”
Desperately fighting her fear, Carly worked the dead bolt and jerked open the front door, ignored the stinging rain battering her face, the jagged flash of lightning, as she bolted into the raging storm.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The deep mud had the pickup sliding sideways before Linc could get it righted and back on the road, but he was almost there. He could see the roof of the ranch house up ahead. He’d grab Carly and head back to the big house, where they would be safe.
Knowing her as he had come to, he hadn’t bothered to stop at the mansion, just blew past, and headed straight for the ranch house.
She was there; he could feel it.
He could see the front door now, knew a moment of relief that he had made it on the slick, muddy road. The feeling disappeared as the front door flew open and Carly rushed out of the house, bare feet flinging mud, rain plastering her thin cotton nightgown against her body, the wind whipping her hair.
A man ran out of the house behind her, running hard to catch her as she raced toward the trees. Linc saw a muzzle flash, heard the echo of a shot barely audible in the roar of the storm, and a wave of fury hit him like a jolt of electricity.
His foot jammed down on the gas pedal, jolting the pickup forward, the vehicle fishtailing in the mud. The truck bore down on the man,closing the distance, getting nearer and nearer. When the guy burst into the trees where the pickup couldn’t follow, Linc slammed on the brakes, jumped out, and ran hard into the pouring rain.
The storm had cranked up, driving branches and leaves into him with gale force winds. Lightning clawed the sky, and ear-shattering thunder followed. Linc kept running.
