“He’s been miserable without you. Damned thing whined day and night. Kept wanting to go into the house and search for you. I obliged him a couple of times, then decided he’d just have to tough things out.” Nate was serious, his blue eyes dark with the night. “So, how’re you doing?”
“Been better,” she said, forcing a smile. “Actually I’ve been a lot better.”
Aaron climbed down from the cab. “I think Shannon should get her rest. You’ll be here?”
“Yep.”
Aaron didn’t comment as he and Shea walked Shannon and the galloping dog into the house. But then they started arguing about who should stay with her.
“No one!” she finally had to shout after suggesting twice that she’d be okay. “Nate’s next door and you’re both a phone call away.”
“I’d feel better if someone was in the house with you. How about Lily?” Shea suggested.
Shannon exhaled a puff of air. “Lily’s got a husband and three cats. You,” she pointed a tired finger at Shea, “have a wife who barely sees you as it is, and Aaron, you and I both know that if you were to stay here we’d be at each other’s throats in twenty minutes. Really, I’ll be fine,” she said, showing them the door. They grumbled and looked unhappy, but they finally headed back to Shea’s truck.
As soon as they were gone Shannon bolted the front door, then she pulled the poster of Dani Settler out of her pocket. Staring at the picture she felt something shift in her soul.
“Oh, baby,” she whispered. “Where are you?” She gazed tenderly at the image of the fresh-faced girl. She had to be alive. Had to. Surely God wouldn’t tease her this way by offering her a glimpse of her child only to snatch her away.
“Please let her be safe,” she whispered and, for the first time in half a dozen years, made the sign of the cross over her chest.
So far, the Beast—that’s what Dani had decided to call him—hadn’t discovered her project. She lay on her cot, staring up through the skylight wishing she had another way, an easier way, to make good her escape.
For the past three nights she had worked with the stubborn nail for as long as she could stand, trying to ease the rusted spike out of its hole, forcing it upward.
She knew she was making progress, the nail head was now about a quarter of an inch above the board and easier to move, but it was still stubborn and she couldn’t risk making her fingers bleed.
He would notice.
And be suspicious.
If this was going to work she had to be really, really careful.
But she had the feeling that she was running out of time. The guy was getting antsy. She sensed a change in him, saw the restlessness and anticipation in his eyes.
God, he was creepy and that weird rite of getting naked in front of the fire, slathering himself in oil, then pissing into the flames was just plain whacked! So far the routine hadn’t changed aside from the fact that he seemed pleased with himself a few nights ago and she noticed some blood on his shirt.
Again she was reminded of the bloodied bag he’d left in that garage in Idaho. Who was inside? What kid had he killed and left to rot and stink in that garage at the abandoned farm?
Don’t think like that! Forcing herself off the cot, she crawled into the small, airless closet and tried not to listen to the rats chewing and clawing beneath the floorboards. She took off her socks again and ignoring the fact that they reeked, used them as gloves, doubling the toes over, giving herself extra padding as she started to work removing the nail.
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.
Sweat slid down her face, along her nose.
Her fingers hurt immediately, but she kept working.
Working the spike to and fro, pulling it upward, her muscles straining as she tried to keep hold of the small head. So intent was she in her work that she almost didn’t hear the engine.
She froze.
He was back?
So soon?
The engine died.
Maybe it was someone else.