Everything inside him ... every cell ... every molecule ... went utterly still. “I will do the job right this time,” he warned.
“I’m finally happy, Ray,” she pleaded, her voice cajoling. “Don’t try to ruin it for me.”
The sound of her begging made him sick. “Final warning,” he growled, barely holding on to his composure, “I’m watching. You in particular.”
Clint had suffered a terrible price but there was no changing the past. Here and now was Ray’s current concern. There would be no more mistakes.
Satisfied that she had nothing more to say, he brushed past her. “Lock up when you leave.”
Ray walked out the door without looking back, crossed the porch, and started down the steps feeling liberated for the first time in years. She was no longer going to manipulate him.
A blunt object connected with the back of his skull, and he plunged face down in the dirt. He tried to push himself up from the ground, but his body would not obey the commands from his brain.
Hands rolled him onto his back. His eyes refused to open ... his arms wouldn’t thrash against the threat. The pain in his skull throbbed, showering the backs of his closed lids with pinpoints of light.
Suddenly he was moving. Hands tugged at his arms. His heels dragged in the dirt. What the hell?
He was lifted, hefted, and shoved until his jaw flattened against fabric. His body felt crumpled in an odd position. The familiar scent nudged him. His truck? It smelled like his truck. How had he gotten into his truck? Then he remembered the hands ... the tugging and pushing.
Why couldn’t he move or open his eyes? He felt heavy.
Head trauma. He recognized the signs. Concussion ... no, something worse. Way worse. He needed to call for help. Where was his cell phone?
Something wet dampened his shirt ... his jeans. Was he bleeding?
His mind faded. He fought the nothingness edging out his thoughts. He had to hang on! Had to fight.
Something pungent, stinging, assaulted his senses.
Gasoline? He struggled to analyze the new intrusions against his failing senses. The sound and smell of a match lighting? Awareness was diminishing.
Focus! Don’t let go!
A new odor penetrated the darkness and denial swallowing up his brain ... something burning ... he’d smelled it before ... human flesh searing ...
He was on fire.
48
1:20 p.m.
The knock finally came.
Emily jumped though she’d been anticipating it for half an hour. When she and Clint had spoken on the phone, they had agreed he would work until one so as not to draw any unnecessary suspicion.
She hurried to the door, almost opened it, but forced herself to check the peephole first.
Clint.
She slid the chain free of its catch and jerked the door open. “Hurry!” She grabbed him by the arm and yanked him inside. “I’m losing my mind!” She shut and locked the door and whipped around to face him. “Tell me what you found!”
“Do you know how hard it was to get out of there?”
Exasperation gushed out of her on a blast of air. “Tell me if you found the files!”
“First.” He gestured to the bed. “Sit.”
She couldn’t read his eyes ... couldn’t tell if she needed to be worried. But since he appeared determined to do this his way, she did as he asked, anticipation bursting inside her.
