To Love and to Perish - By Lisa Bork Page 0,77

the brakes and we swung wide, narrowly missing Brennan’s mailbox.

I stifled a scream.

Cory roared up the driveway and hit the brakes.

My head almost collided with the windshield.

He flung open his door and raced onto the deck surrounding Brennan’s stunning cedar cottage.

I chased after Cory, thinking we should proceed more cautiously.

But his fear for Brennan overcame his common sense. He tried the front door and found it locked. He rang the doorbell wildly.

I heard it ringing inside the house over the wind, which gusted around the side of the house, pushing me off balance and swirling the new fallen leaves into mini tornadoes.

Cory started around the side of the house. “I’ll try the back door. Wait here.”

A few seconds passed. I wrapped my suit jacket more tightly about my chest and peeked in the etched windows alongside the gold trimmed oak door, noticing nothing amiss. Then I glanced back toward the road and spotted a Honda Accord parked in the county road past Brennan’s driveway.

Beth Smith was here.

A chill unrelated to the wind flowed through me.

Hurried footsteps approached from inside the house. The door flew open.

I turned to see who had opened the door.

And found myself face to face with the barrel of a gun.

TWENTY-NINE

MY GAZE MOVED UP the gun past the sparkling pear-shaped diamond and black leather-clad arm to the shoulders and white turtleneck beyond. Then I stared at her face. Hatred, pure hatred. That’s all I saw.

Beth Smith motioned for me to enter the house by wagging the end of the gun. “Come on in. I know I can’t keep you out.”

I stepped inside, staying clear of the gun barrel, and scanned the area.

Brennan’s home had an open floor plan. I saw gleaming hardwood floors, a floor-to-ceiling grey stone fireplace, chocolate- colored leather couches, chrome and glass tables, the television broadcasting the midday news, and a panoramic view of the lake from the windows. No one was visible in the living room, nor in the dining area beyond. The granite kitchen countertops jutted into the living room, forming a breakfast bar over a line of stools, but I couldn’t see inside the kitchen. A few leaves followed me inside on a gust of wind to swirl in the foyer.

“Brennan’s in the kitchen. So’s your friend Cory. Why don’t we join them?” Beth used the gun again to point.

She moved away from the door, leaving it ajar.

I walked ahead of her, looking for a weapon—or at least a phone—and finding neither.

We entered the cherry kitchen with its black granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Brennan stood in front of the stove where a tea kettle whistled softly as though he’d been ready to brew a pot. It would be hard for him to do now because handcuffs kept his right hand locked to the handle of the stove. They weren’t regulation like Ray’s but they seemed sturdy enough to do the trick. A file box sat nearby on the countertop. I wondered what, if anything, of interest it held.

A second scan of the room revealed Cory lying facedown on the floor, just inside the back door, immobile. I didn’t see any blood, although only his head and shoulders were visible.

Brennan tipped his head in my direction, acknowledging my arrival. He must have read the concern for Cory on my face. “She hit him in the forehead with the butt of the gun when he came through the door. I think he’s unconscious.”

I moved closer to check if Cory’s back rose and fell to prove he still breathed. It did.

Something poked me in the shoulder. “Stand over next to him, facing me.”

I crossed the floor and turned to face Beth.

She kept the gun trained on me as she rummaged in Brennan’s kitchen drawers with her other hand. “Don’t you have any cords in your drawers, Brennan? I need to tie your friends up. Otherwise, I’ll have to shoot them now.”

Brennan didn’t respond.

She yanked open the drawer next to the refrigerator. “Ah hah. Everyone has cords.”

She yanked out what looked to be a cell phone charging cord and threw it at me. It fell at my feet. “Tie up Cory with his hands behind him.”

When I made no move to pick up the cord, she stamped her foot, “Tie him up or I’ll shoot him.”

I stooped and picked up the cord. Then I loosely wrapped it around Cory’s wrists.

“Tighter.”

I tied it tight enough to satisfy her but not tight enough to hold Cory for too long if he came to. He hadn’t