Deserves to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Swallowing back her fear, she stayed motionless, her ears straining as she listened, but she heard nothing other than the sound of dry tinder popping and moss hissing as they caught fire, the sound of the wind outside the cabin, and the damn drip of the bathroom faucet.

Get over yourself.

Still, she held her breath, then slowly retrieved her tiny pistol and, moving slowly, carefully went through the house to investigate. Cautiously she moved through the small rooms. Over the internal clamoring of her heart, she listened for any sound that was out of the ordinary while searching the nooks and crannies, every shadow, for someone or something that was trapped inside.

An animal. That’s it. A squirrel or rat or rabbit. Or God forbid, a skunk might have found its way inside. Right? Or do they hibernate? She didn’t really know. Just hoped that whatever it was, it wasn’t human.

Her throat was dry as sand.

Fear pulsed through her.

The living area was clear, no one inside. The kitchen alcove was empty, too, and cold, a bit of air seeping from the area around the window over the sink. On bare feet, she made her way to the back door and lifted the shade where she could peek outside to the small porch.

The snow was falling faster. The predicted blizzard had arrived. She worried her lower lip and wondered if she’d be trapped, her plans of telling her wild tale to the police thwarted.

You’re not backing out of this. Too many times you’ve turned tail and run. Tomorrow, come hell or high water . . .

She forcibly steeled herself. For months, she’d been a coward, but no longer. She had a four-wheel-drive vehicle and would make it to the police station . . . if she got through this last, lonely night.

Trying to see through the thickening veil of snow, she saw no one. Nothing sinister seemed to be peering from the shadows. Narrowing her eyes, she studied each of the trees closest to the house and the back of the old garage and the small pump house. She waited, anticipating movement, but nothing moved other than the flurries of snow that swirled past frantically, the wind increasing.

Give it up, Anne-Marie or Jessica or whoever it is you’re calling yourself now.

Her fingers clutched fiercely over the pistol’s grip, because something didn’t seem right outside. Everything looked peaceful, even serene and yet . . . what was it?

Then she knew. It wasn’t that she saw anyone, but the snow behind the house seemed uneven rather than smooth. Were those footprints on the landscape, large impressions in the icy powder that she hadn’t created?

She looked harder, but, of course, she couldn’t be certain as it was so dark, and really, who would be skulking around the cabin? Who knew she was there?

No one.

Well, besides Cade. And maybe Big Zed as he had to have seen her SUV parked in the driveway, but they wouldn’t be a problem. No one would come. And it was her last night in the cabin.

She hoped.

Staring into the night, she saw no movement other than the sway of branches and swirl of snow. The impressions she thought were footprints could have been caused by the irregular terrain behind the house—dirt clods or boulders or brush. Surely there was no clear trail, no path that someone had broken in the snow, no clear print on the thin snow of the back step. No, no, she was just letting her wild imagination get the better of her.

Still convincing herself that she was safe, that no one was lurking in the frigid shadows outside, she backed away from the door, letting the shade drop. She moved silently to the bathroom, slowly pushing open the door a bit with the muzzle of the gun so that the weak light of the living area could permeate the darkness. She started to step inside and—

No!

Her heart jolted at the sight of a dark figure in the reflection of the cracked mirror.

She bit back a scream, stepped back, and pointed her pistol at the doorway. “Drop your weapon!” she ordered, taking another step back, gun aimed, ready to fire.

Nothing.

No movement.

No response.

“Drop your weapon! Step out! Hands over your head!”

Again no response.

Just the keen of the wind and somewhere a branch banging against the side of the house.

“I mean it. I’ll shoot!”