Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (139 page)
Authors: Lisa Jackson
Tags: #Romance
YES!!!
His eyes flew open.
Tires crunched on the sparse gravel.
He didn’t have to see the car to know it was a Toyota. Eve’s vehicle. Anticipation zinged through his blood as he spied the headlights, mist swirling in their weak golden beams. His gloved hand tightened over the handle of the knife, with its razor thin blade, sharp enough to slice flesh quickly to the bone.
Crouching, he began to steal silently through the undergrowth and stopped near the garage, behind a rotting tree stump, close enough that he could reach her in three steps when she walked to the door.
Her headlights washed over the grayed walls of the tiny cabin and the engine died. In a split second the door opened and he caught a glimpse of her, red curls scraped away from her face, jaw set, eyes darting quickly. She cast a glance at Roy’s truck, parked beneath the overhang of a carport, then using a small flashlight, she walked swiftly toward the cabin’s door, tested it and found it locked.
“Roy?” she called, knocking loudly, a hint of her perfume wafting his way. “Hey . . . what’s going on?” Then adding more softly, “If this is some kind of sick joke, I swear, you’ll pay . . .”
Oh, it’s no joke, he thought, every nerve stretched to the breaking point. She was so close. If he leaped out, he could tackle her.
She shined the flashlight’s beam over the dilapidated siding and onto a sagging, battered shutter. What’re the chances? She reached behind the broken slats and extracted a key. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered, inserting a key into the deadbolt.
With a click, the old lock gave way.
As she stepped into the house, he started to move. He had his knife gripped tightly in his hand and he desperately wanted to use it, to watch as it slit her soft white flesh. But, just in case, there was always the pistol, a small caliber, but deadly enough.
A light snapped on inside the cabin.
Through the dusty glass of the kitchen window, he saw her, her hair pulled away from the long column of her throat. His heart kicked into overdrive and he licked his lips, envisioning the act.
She’d hear his footsteps, turn, gasp when their eyes met, then he’d move quickly, slashing that perfect long throat, slicing her jugular, crimson blood spraying.
He drew in a swift breath.
His cock got hard.
He could almost taste her.
Eve.
The original sinner.
Time to pay.
“Roy, are you here?” Eve called. She didn’t know whether to be scared or pissed as hell as she stepped through the kitchen where a thin layer of dust covered everything. “You know,” she said, feeling sweat bead in her hair as she spied a half drunk bottle of beer left on the scarred drop-leafed table, “this is creeping me out. I mean, if this is one of your games, I think I’ll just have to kill you.”
She heard a scrape, turned, her heart in her throat as a small black body scampered across the yellowed linoleum to hide beneath an ancient refrigerator. “Crap!” The mouse’s tail slid out of sight. “Oh, Jesus.” Her heart pounded crazily. She shouldn’t have come here and she’d known it from the get-go. When Roy had called, she should have insisted he come to her or they meet somewhere public. Being out here was creeping her out.
Where the hell was he? “Roy?” He had to be here. His car was parked in the carport, the hood still warm. “Roy? This isn’t funny, okay? Where are you?”
The door to the bathroom was hanging open, but it was dark inside. She tried the switch, but the bulb had burned out long ago, and when she shined her flashlight across the sink and toilet, she saw only rust, stains and dirt. She should go home. Now. Something was definitely wrong here.
She walked three steps to the living room where a lamp on an old end table was burning bright. Obviously Roy had been here . . . no, not really, obviously
someone
had been here though the room itself looked as if no one had been inside for a decade. Dust and cobwebs covered the floor, pinewood walls and ceiling. Even the ashes and pieces of burnt wood in the grate seemed ancient. A yellowed fishing magazine, its pages curled, had been published nearly eleven years earlier. It was as if time had stopped, here in this dilapidated cabin on the bayou.
So what the hell was she doing here?
To see Roy? To find out what he meant by evidence?
What the hell kind of evidence was Roy talking about?
Something to do with Dad,
she thought again.
That’s what Roy meant. You know it. You can feel it in your bones. Roy knows whether Dear Old Dad is innocent . . . or guilty as sin.
She swallowed hard and pulled her cell phone from her purse. Still no service.
“Roy? Look, you’ve got about two minutes and then I’m outta here and I don’t give a damn about whatever evidence you think you’ve got. E-mail me, okay?”
Irritated, she took one last look around. Just past the open stairway was a short hall leading to the one bedroom on the main floor. The door gaped open.
Steeling herself, she walked toward it.
Shit! She had a cell phone!
He hadn’t thought of that. The Voice hadn’t warned him about the phone. But as he stared through the window, watching her walking carefully through the house, he saw the damned phone and knew she’d call 911. The number was probably on speed dial.
He had to stop her. Fast!
Without a sound, he sheathed his knife, flicked open his ankle holster and pulled out his pistol.
Time to finish this.
* * *
Nerves on edge, she pushed open the bedroom door. It creaked on old hinges. “Roy?”
She heard the faintest of moans.
“Roy?” The hairs on the back of her neck raised as she fumbled for the light switch. With a click, the room was instantly awash with light from an ancient ceiling fixture.
She screamed.
Roy lay on the floor by the old metal bedframe. Blood slowly oozed from a huge gash on his neck and spread over the floor.
“Oh, God.” She stumbled forward. The blood was flowing. His chest moving ever so slightly as he struggled to breathe. He was still alive!
“I’m here, Roy, hang on!” she cried, terror clawing through her, bile rising in her throat. “Who did this . . . oh, sweet Jesus . . .” She tried to staunch the flow of blood with one hand while dialing with the trembling fingers of the other. The phone slid from her hand, sliding through a thick smear of blood. In an instant, still holding her fingers to Roy’s throat, she retrieved the bloody cell with her free hand and punched out 911 with sticky, shaking fingers. “Help,” she pleaded, but the screen told her there was no service. No calls were going through.
“Damn!” Panic welled up inside her. She was frantic.
Calm down, Eve. You can’t help Roy without a clear head. Don’t lose it. Think! Does the cabin have a phone? A land line? The electricity’s working. Maybe Vernon keeps phone service for emergencies . . .
Her gaze swept the room and skated over the pinewood walls. No phone outlet, but near Roy’s head, upon the yellowed pinewood walls was a message, written in blood:
212.
She recoiled and gasped.
What the hell did that mean?
Had Roy written it?
Or someone else . . . Oh, God was Roy’s assailant still here? Maybe in the house? She thought of the can of pepper spray in her purse . . . a useless weapon.
She didn’t have time to waste, she had to get help . . . the blood flowing through her fingers at Roy’s neck had eased to nothing. Oh, God . . .
Another low moan and it was over. Roy took one last shallow, wet breath.
“No! Oh, God, no . . . Roy! Roy!” But the hand on his neck found no pulse. “You can’t die, oh, please.”
A floorboard creaked.
She froze.
The killer was still here!
Either inside the house or on the porch.
Oh, God.
Heart thundering in her ears, she tried her damned phone again.
Come on, come on,
she thought, listening for any sound, her gaze moving quickly around the room and to the doorway. If she could only snap out the light, or crawl out the window.
Another soft footstep. Leather sliding over wood.
Her insides turned to water.
She reached into her purse, bloody fingers scrambling for the pepper spray as she kept her gaze moving from the doorway to the two windows to the mirror and her own panicked face. She risked glancing down, found the spray and had the canister out of her purse when she heard the footsteps again. More loudly. Coming at her.
He knew where she was.
Get out, Eve, get out now!
She shot to her feet, adrenaline fueled by horror, pushing her. She reached for the light switch, slapped it off. Darkness rained.
She turned quickly, her shoes sliding in Roy’s blood. She fell noisily, biting back a scream, holding fast to the canister. Her leg scraped down the iron bedframe. Her head thudded against the wall. Pain exploded behind her eyes.
More footsteps!
Don’t pass out. For God’s sake, don’t lose consciousness!
She flung herself toward a window.
Pitched forward.
She saw him.
In the glass.
He was holding something in his hand. Pointing it at her.
She recognized him in a heartbeat.
Cole?
The man she loved?
Cole Dennis was going to shoot her?
NO!
Bam!
A gun went off.
The muzzle blazed fire!
Glass shattered.
White hot pain exploded in her head.
Her knees buckled. She crumpled onto the floor. The dark room swirled around her and Cole Dennis’s angry face was the last image burned into her brain.
LISA JACKSON
ABSOLUTE FEAR
Books by Lisa Jackson
See How She Dies
Final Scream
Wishes
Whispers
Twice Kissed
Unspoken
If She Only Knew
Hot Blooded
Cold Blooded
The Night Before
The Morning After
Deep Freeze
Fatal Burn
Shiver
Most Likely to Die
Absolute Fear
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
To Dad.
You were, are, and always
will be the best.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
There were many people involved in getting this book to print, all of whom were intregral. I want to thank my editor, John Scognamiglio, for his insight, vision, input, support, and ultimate patience. Man, did he work hard on this one. As did my sister, Nancy Bush, who was not only my cheerleader and personal editor, she picked up the other balls of my life and juggled them effectively, never once losing her cool. Thanks, Nan.
Also, I have to thank my incredible agent, Robin Rue, and everyone at Kensington Books, especially Laurie Parkin, who also worked very hard on this one.
In addition, I would like to mention all the people here who helped me: Ken Bush, Kelley Foster, Matthew Crose, Michael Crose, Alexis Harrington, Danielle Katcher, Marilyn Katcher, Ken Melum, Roz Noonan, Kathy Okano, Samantha Santistevan, Mike Sidel, and Larry Sparks.
If I’ve forgotten anyone, my apologies. You’ve all been wonderful.
