Born To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

No!

You’re just jittery because tonight’s the night. It’s all come down to this. Time for revenge, now, isn’t it? Soon, oh, so soon, Acacia’s life will be in your hands.

Despite the cold and the wind rattling the icy branches of the surrounding trees, he felt his cock twitch at the mental image of her lying beneath him, quivering in fear, eyes trained on the knife that he would use to slit her perfect throat ...

No! That’s not how it’s going down. This is not sexual and there can be no knife. It has to look like an accident. Just as you did with all the others. Don’t stop now. Stick to the plan . . . she’s one of the

m, those progeny of Gerald Johnson who are mentally insufficient, even deranged. They all are . . . even Clarissa, probably. She, too, cannot be spared even though she’s an ally. Eventually, she will have to die . . . But now, concentrate. First you have to incapacitate her, then you have to take out O’Halleran, get him back to the house and stage the scene. Make it look like murder/suicide and then burn the house to the ground. By the time the volunteer fire department arrives, it will be much too late.

Training his gaze on the windows and the light beyond the panes, he caught glimpses of her walking through the house. Each time he saw her, he felt his blood heat in anticipation, knew he wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Now, Acacia was in the kitchen and looking through the window, straight at him. His heart stopped for just an instant.

Then he realized she couldn’t see him through the shroud of snow, didn’t understand that he was observing her closely while plotting the details of her death. He mentally chastised himself. Do not unravel. Do not fall victim to your own paranoia! You have a mission. Do not be distracted by lust or fear. . . . Goddamnit, be strong!

Sucking air in through his teeth, feeling the cold burn through his lungs, he forced his thoughts clear. To center. Then he saw her again, peering through the night and a new power overtook him. It was as if he could talk to her through his mind

You asked for this, bitch. You wanted to find me. . . . He felt a smile twist the corners of his lips as he eyed the farmhouse with its gabled roof. Most of the windows were darkened, especially those on the second floor. Shifting his rifle from one gloved hand to the other, he realized exactly how he would deal with her.

Another gust of bone-rattling wind cut through him and the lights in the house blinked nervously.

Again, she looked his way, her beautiful face drawn into an expression of worry. Oh, if she only knew. . . .

Get ready, Acacia, he thought grimly, heading through the snow toward the front of the house, where the porch was dark. I’m coming.

Where the hell was Trace? Just how long did it take to check on horses and cattle that Ed had already fed?

“Come on,” she said and thought about putting on her coat and boots and plowing her way to the outbuildings. But she didn’t want to leave Eli alone. What if he woke up again and called for his mother?

Feeling like an idiot, she decided to call Trace on his cell, and using her own phone, punched out his number and waited.

A phone rang inside the kitchen, and she jumped. Then realized the cell belonged to Trace. He’d left his damned phone on the counter.

He’s fine! He has to be!

The lights shivered once more; and this time Kacey was spurred into action.

Remembering Ed’s advice, she drew water in the tub of the bathroom downstairs, found buckets and a flashlight in the kitchen. The fire was already blazing, wood stacked near the hearth; as she returned to the living room.

Klunk!

A noise overhead. From the floor above.

“Eli?” she called, her heart hammering. She started for the stairs, had taken two steps when the lights failed. Darkness fell in an instant, only the fire offering a flickering red-gold illumination that cast the room in shifting, uneasy shadows.

She hadn’t been aware of the furnace rumbling or the refrigerator humming, but now there was total silence, a frightening quietude broken only by the howl of the wind and that same damned branch beating against the house. Waiting, she hoped to hear a generator switch on, prayed the lights would flicker and hold, the furnace would churn to life.

Nothing.

Now what?

She felt cold as death, as if the wind outside were blowing through the bones of this old house. Her skin crawled as she thought of all the things that could go wrong in the dark, without heat, without light, with a homicidal maniac on the loose....

“Stop,” she told herself sternly.

Fumbling her way to the kitchen, where she’d left the flashlight, she banged her knee once, bit back a curse, then automatically groped for the light switch before stopping herself, then finding the flashlight on the counter. She pushed the button; and a weak yellowish light signaled that the batteries inside were nearly gone.

Eli.

He would know where more batteries were; and besides, she needed to haul him and his blankets downstairs so they could stay close to the fire.