After She's Gone (West Coast 3)

The old house creaked, settling, and her case of nerves increased. Staring at the barn door, she said, “Come on. Come on.” While the wind whistled and the rain drizzled down the panes, she waited, glanced at the clock. He’d been inside two minutes.

Then five.

She fidgeted and told herself she was being foolish, jumping at shadows, but was she? Was this all in her mind? After all they’d been through? No, damn it, there was a maniac out there somewhere, a killer who possibly had Cassie and those around her in his sights. The fact that she’d received one of the frightening masks was warning enough. So why would she think Trent, the man she loved, would be safe?

The man she loved.

There it was; the God’s honest truth.

She loved him and she wasn’t going to lose him.

Not again.

Eight minutes. Damn it.

She tried to stay rational, reminding herself that just because the dog had heard something didn’t necessarily mean anything serious was happening. Maybe Trent was right. A coyote or cougar or even a racoon would get the shepherd going. Maybe he and Hud would scare whatever it was that was slinking around in the shadows.

Or maybe not.

Whatever the case, no way was she going back to bed alone. For what? To toss and turn, worry and stare at the ceiling? No thanks. Since she was now fully awake, she decided to stay up.

Without turning on a light, she started getting dressed in jeans and a sweater from earlier in the day, before the gawd-awful fiasco of a party.

As she hooked her bra, then pulled a sweater over her head, she thought about the long day, the revelations from her mother, the way her entire world had been turned upside down. She had an older sister? She had enough of a hard time wrapping her brain around that, let alone that the sister was somehow behind Allie’s disappearance and the murders. No—she couldn’t buy into that at all.

She picked up the keys.

What the hell would she do with a gun i

f she had one?

What good is it in a locked box?

“Fine.” She snapped on a bedside lamp, then walked to the closet. Checked the clock.

Ten minutes.

Too long.

Standing on her tiptoes, she retrieved both boxes, then with a little effort opened each to withdraw the gun and bullets. “It’s not rocket science,” she told herself and managed to load the gun, even figuring out the safety. “Piece of cake.”

Carrying the pistol, she took another look from the bedroom window and saw no lights go on in the barn. Why? If there were an animal prowling around, wouldn’t a bright light scare it off?

Something wasn’t right. She snapped off the light near the bed, letting the room fall into shadow, so that she could stand at the window and view the parking area and barn lot without the reflection of the room distracting her. She saw the trees swaying in the breeze, but no other shadows moved, observed no dark figure crouching in the deeper umbra, no four-legged beast slinking away from the outbuildings, all of which loomed darker.

“Come on,” she said, wishing Trent to return, her gaze pinned on the barn door. She considered texting him, but if he were in some kind of trouble, if some unseen enemy were out there with him, she didn’t want any noise or light from the phone to give him away.

You’ve seen too many horror films.

She hesitated. Fifteen minutes. She couldn’t stand it a second longer. She typed a quick text to him.

r u ok?

She waited. Stared at the phone. Counted the seconds. Expected a quick response.

Nothing.

“Come on.”