from the basement.
Stevie is screaming.
He stepped silently down the stairs. He couldn’t wait.
Stevie sucked in a breath and screamed again.
Donald had taken a step back with fear on his face at the first burst from her lungs, but now he was angry. She didn’t care. The green light hadn’t stopped flashing. Someone was still ringing the doorbell, and she would scream her lungs out while she had the chance.
He lunged at her and tried to wrestle the rope around her neck as she jerked her head back and forth, never letting up on her screams. He bent over the bed, his face close to hers, and spit flew out of his mouth as he shouted at her to hold still. She thrashed, jerking her bound hands and feet, wishing she could get a fist or toe into his ribs. Behind his thick lenses, his eyes were crazy.
Eyes of a killer.
Yanking her hair, he looped the rope around her neck and pulled it tight.
Her screams were cut off. She couldn’t breathe. The rough rope burned her neck as he tightened it again, and her vision immediately tunneled, leaving only his face. The skin on her hands ripped as she tried to tear her hands out of the shackles. She felt the metal dig into the tendons of her hands.
Donald grinned, knowing he’d won.
She didn’t want his face to be the last thing she ever saw.
Behind him the door crashed open and Zane stepped in the room, his gun and glare leveled at Donald. Stevie turned her head, the rope mangling her neck, her tunnel vision finding Zane. She breathed in the sight of him, committing it to memory.
“Drop the rope.”
Donald spun around and held up his end of the rope like a weapon. “Put down your gun or she dies now.” He started a steady pull, strangling her. Her vision shrank to nothing and Zane’s face vanished. She wrenched her head, sinking the last of her energy into finding a way to breathe.
The rope held strong.
Zane! Shoot him!
She heard the single gunshot.
“Stevie!” Zane’s hands were on her throat, yanking loose the rope. She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the pain in her neck, and blinked hard as her vision abruptly returned.
Zane’s face was inches from hers, terror in his eyes.
“Donald?” she asked.
“He’s down.”
Several pairs of boots thundered down the basement stairs. Shouts of “Medic!” and “He found her!” filled the room as the county deputies entered. Stevie tuned them out.
Zane didn’t break eye contact with Stevie. “You’re going to be okay,” he said three times, running his shaking hands over her face as if comforting a child.
She knew he was saying it for his own benefit, reassuring himself that he hadn’t been too late.
“I know I am.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“When’s the wedding, you two?”
Stevie smiled. “Sometime this summer,” she repeated. Nearly every person at the town party had asked her the same question. Zane simply nodded at the curious local and then spun her away on the dance floor of the grange. Stevie had rushed to get ready for the New Year’s Eve party, needing a shower to scrub the odor of illegal fireworks from her hair and skin. She and Carly had initiated Brianna into their secret rite a few hours earlier, explaining how their father had always taken his daughters far out of town to set off fireworks on major holidays. After his death, the tradition had evolved as they moved the launch site near his grave.
Brianna had been delighted to be included, and they’d made her formally swear not to share their ritual with the male members of the Taylor clan.
Now two mirrored balls scattered a thousand pieces of light through the hall, and Bruce’s band played a slow country tune. Bruce sat in a chair on the stage, his fiddle blending with the other instruments. Her heart swelled with happiness to see him finally play again after Amber Lynn’s death.
New Year’s Eve. A time for new beginnings and a chance to put the past behind us.
Donald Montgomery hadn’t survived Zane’s bullet to his
Stevie is screaming.
He stepped silently down the stairs. He couldn’t wait.
Stevie sucked in a breath and screamed again.
Donald had taken a step back with fear on his face at the first burst from her lungs, but now he was angry. She didn’t care. The green light hadn’t stopped flashing. Someone was still ringing the doorbell, and she would scream her lungs out while she had the chance.
He lunged at her and tried to wrestle the rope around her neck as she jerked her head back and forth, never letting up on her screams. He bent over the bed, his face close to hers, and spit flew out of his mouth as he shouted at her to hold still. She thrashed, jerking her bound hands and feet, wishing she could get a fist or toe into his ribs. Behind his thick lenses, his eyes were crazy.
Eyes of a killer.
Yanking her hair, he looped the rope around her neck and pulled it tight.
Her screams were cut off. She couldn’t breathe. The rough rope burned her neck as he tightened it again, and her vision immediately tunneled, leaving only his face. The skin on her hands ripped as she tried to tear her hands out of the shackles. She felt the metal dig into the tendons of her hands.
Donald grinned, knowing he’d won.
She didn’t want his face to be the last thing she ever saw.
Behind him the door crashed open and Zane stepped in the room, his gun and glare leveled at Donald. Stevie turned her head, the rope mangling her neck, her tunnel vision finding Zane. She breathed in the sight of him, committing it to memory.
“Drop the rope.”
Donald spun around and held up his end of the rope like a weapon. “Put down your gun or she dies now.” He started a steady pull, strangling her. Her vision shrank to nothing and Zane’s face vanished. She wrenched her head, sinking the last of her energy into finding a way to breathe.
The rope held strong.
Zane! Shoot him!
She heard the single gunshot.
“Stevie!” Zane’s hands were on her throat, yanking loose the rope. She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the pain in her neck, and blinked hard as her vision abruptly returned.
Zane’s face was inches from hers, terror in his eyes.
“Donald?” she asked.
“He’s down.”
Several pairs of boots thundered down the basement stairs. Shouts of “Medic!” and “He found her!” filled the room as the county deputies entered. Stevie tuned them out.
Zane didn’t break eye contact with Stevie. “You’re going to be okay,” he said three times, running his shaking hands over her face as if comforting a child.
She knew he was saying it for his own benefit, reassuring himself that he hadn’t been too late.
“I know I am.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“When’s the wedding, you two?”
Stevie smiled. “Sometime this summer,” she repeated. Nearly every person at the town party had asked her the same question. Zane simply nodded at the curious local and then spun her away on the dance floor of the grange. Stevie had rushed to get ready for the New Year’s Eve party, needing a shower to scrub the odor of illegal fireworks from her hair and skin. She and Carly had initiated Brianna into their secret rite a few hours earlier, explaining how their father had always taken his daughters far out of town to set off fireworks on major holidays. After his death, the tradition had evolved as they moved the launch site near his grave.
Brianna had been delighted to be included, and they’d made her formally swear not to share their ritual with the male members of the Taylor clan.
Now two mirrored balls scattered a thousand pieces of light through the hall, and Bruce’s band played a slow country tune. Bruce sat in a chair on the stage, his fiddle blending with the other instruments. Her heart swelled with happiness to see him finally play again after Amber Lynn’s death.
New Year’s Eve. A time for new beginnings and a chance to put the past behind us.
Donald Montgomery hadn’t survived Zane’s bullet to his
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