media would run with the
story, the EPA would get involved. Silas had already provided Abe
with enough evidence to give them after Silas’ death to put his
brother away for life—including plots of land where the bodies were
buried and a long laundry list of detailed, illegal activity.
But for the first time since his wife’s
death, Silas had found something—someone—worth living for.
“Goodbye, Isabelle.” He pulled his mask off
and threw it aside, turning and walking into the forest, heading
for home.
* * * *
Jolee should have known. Silas would have
been on guard the moment he walked into the yard, she realized
later as she bounced up and down, once again locked in her
husband’s trunk, zip-tied and duct-taped. Right back where I
started. Déjà-fucking-vu .
But hindsight was 20/20, and she’d been
distracted, worried about Silas. Should she have stayed with him?
What was he going to do? Would he be okay alone? So she didn’t
notice the muddy tracks, men’s shoes, not boots, on the wooden back
steps. She hadn’t noticed the tire-tracks either—definitely made by
a car, not a truck—running up the rain-softened driveway. She
hadn’t even noticed that the back door was open. Because she’d
probably left it open, in a hurry to run after Silas, hadn’t
she?
But she noticed all of those things on the
way out, Carlos dragging her by the hair in a blind rage. She
didn’t know how he’d found her and it didn’t matter. Silas was gone
and couldn’t protect her, and while she’d fought as hard as she
could, even managing to stab her husband in the upper arm with a
meat fork—she’d been aiming for his jugular—hard enough to impale
it three inches, it had all been in vain. She was still locked in
his truck heading toward her death for the second time in a
year.
And she still regretted that she’d never
really loved a man who truly loved her back. Carlos had never
wanted or cared for her—to him, she’d been a trophy, something to
win and display. And Silas? Did he love her? The last time she’d
done this, she’d been full of thoughts of escape. This time, the
ride was shorter, and she didn’t have as much time to plan, but she
thought about Silas almost exclusively.
Would he believe she got lost? Or worse,
would he think she left?
Or would he realize what had happened and
come for her?
Even as the car bumped down the old familiar
two-track and she flashbacked to that day last winter, her pants
wet with fear, her heart hammering in her chest just as it was now,
she couldn’t help hoping for the latter.
* * * *
Silas should have paid attention to his
instincts. Miles from home, he thought he heard someone traveling
on the old two-track. Too wet out there, he thought. Gonna get stuck. The rain had been heavy this spring, making
everything soft and muddy. But he’d second-guessed himself as the
sound faded.
Besides, he was changed, everything was
different, his eyes just adjusting to a new light. He felt
off-balance and was trying to get his bearings. Or perhaps he
needed new bearings.
He’d buried Isabelle and now he was going to
see Jolee. And he was anxious to be home. Even if she walked away
after she saw his scars, he thought, stepping over a log and
running a hand over the rough skin of his cheek—and some part of
him was sure she would—he wanted to see her again, to tell her that
he loved her, to give her that much, at least.
He saw the tracks in the driveway in the
dappled afternoon sunlight as soon he stepped out of the woods, his
senses immediately awake, telling himself it was a trick of the
light and already knowing it wasn’t. The man’s footprints through
the driveway, up the steps and down again—a second set of smaller
tracks beside it on the way out—had his hunting knife unsheathed
and ready as Silas slipped silently into the house. She wasn’t in
there, he was sure of it, but he had to be ready just in case.
Silas’s assessment had been correct. The
note on
story, the EPA would get involved. Silas had already provided Abe
with enough evidence to give them after Silas’ death to put his
brother away for life—including plots of land where the bodies were
buried and a long laundry list of detailed, illegal activity.
But for the first time since his wife’s
death, Silas had found something—someone—worth living for.
“Goodbye, Isabelle.” He pulled his mask off
and threw it aside, turning and walking into the forest, heading
for home.
* * * *
Jolee should have known. Silas would have
been on guard the moment he walked into the yard, she realized
later as she bounced up and down, once again locked in her
husband’s trunk, zip-tied and duct-taped. Right back where I
started. Déjà-fucking-vu .
But hindsight was 20/20, and she’d been
distracted, worried about Silas. Should she have stayed with him?
What was he going to do? Would he be okay alone? So she didn’t
notice the muddy tracks, men’s shoes, not boots, on the wooden back
steps. She hadn’t noticed the tire-tracks either—definitely made by
a car, not a truck—running up the rain-softened driveway. She
hadn’t even noticed that the back door was open. Because she’d
probably left it open, in a hurry to run after Silas, hadn’t
she?
But she noticed all of those things on the
way out, Carlos dragging her by the hair in a blind rage. She
didn’t know how he’d found her and it didn’t matter. Silas was gone
and couldn’t protect her, and while she’d fought as hard as she
could, even managing to stab her husband in the upper arm with a
meat fork—she’d been aiming for his jugular—hard enough to impale
it three inches, it had all been in vain. She was still locked in
his truck heading toward her death for the second time in a
year.
And she still regretted that she’d never
really loved a man who truly loved her back. Carlos had never
wanted or cared for her—to him, she’d been a trophy, something to
win and display. And Silas? Did he love her? The last time she’d
done this, she’d been full of thoughts of escape. This time, the
ride was shorter, and she didn’t have as much time to plan, but she
thought about Silas almost exclusively.
Would he believe she got lost? Or worse,
would he think she left?
Or would he realize what had happened and
come for her?
Even as the car bumped down the old familiar
two-track and she flashbacked to that day last winter, her pants
wet with fear, her heart hammering in her chest just as it was now,
she couldn’t help hoping for the latter.
* * * *
Silas should have paid attention to his
instincts. Miles from home, he thought he heard someone traveling
on the old two-track. Too wet out there, he thought. Gonna get stuck. The rain had been heavy this spring, making
everything soft and muddy. But he’d second-guessed himself as the
sound faded.
Besides, he was changed, everything was
different, his eyes just adjusting to a new light. He felt
off-balance and was trying to get his bearings. Or perhaps he
needed new bearings.
He’d buried Isabelle and now he was going to
see Jolee. And he was anxious to be home. Even if she walked away
after she saw his scars, he thought, stepping over a log and
running a hand over the rough skin of his cheek—and some part of
him was sure she would—he wanted to see her again, to tell her that
he loved her, to give her that much, at least.
He saw the tracks in the driveway in the
dappled afternoon sunlight as soon he stepped out of the woods, his
senses immediately awake, telling himself it was a trick of the
light and already knowing it wasn’t. The man’s footprints through
the driveway, up the steps and down again—a second set of smaller
tracks beside it on the way out—had his hunting knife unsheathed
and ready as Silas slipped silently into the house. She wasn’t in
there, he was sure of it, but he had to be ready just in case.
Silas’s assessment had been correct. The
note on
Similar Books
