old women have that she hadn’t seen him around before. He told her he was in town for the fair.
As he turned back onto the road, his pulse raced at the knowledge that it wasn’t far now. He rounded a bend and slowed the car. In the distance, a gravel road came into view. The directions indicated that he was supposed to turn but he didn’t stop the car. If Erin was home, she would recognize his car immediately, and he didn’t want that. Not until he had everything ready.
He turned the car around, searching for an out-of-the-way place to park. There wasn’t much. The store parking lot, maybe, but wouldn’t someone notice if he parked it there? He passed the store again, scanning the area. The trees on either side of the road might provide cover… or they might not. He didn’t want to take the chance that someone would grow suspicious of an abandoned car in the trees.
The caffeine was making him jittery and he switched to vodka to settle his nerves. For the life of him, he couldn’t find a place to stash the car. What the hell kind of a place was this? He turned around again, getting angry now. It shouldn’t have been this hard and he should have rented a car but he hadn’t and now he couldn’t find a way to get close enough to her without her noticing.
The store was the only option and he pulled back into the lot, stopping along the side of the building. It was at least a mile to the house from here but he didn’t know what else to do. He brooded before turning off the engine. When he opened the door, the heat enveloped him. He emptied the duffel bag, tossing his clothes on the backseat. Into the duffel bag went the gun, the ropes, the handcuffs, and the duct tape—and a spare bottle of vodka. Tossing the bag over his shoulder, he glanced around. No one was watching. He figured he could keep his car here for maybe an hour or two before someone got suspicious.
He left the lot, and as he walked down the shoulder of the road he could feel the pain starting in his head. The heat was ridiculous. Like something alive. He walked the road, staring at the drivers in passing cars. He didn’t see Erin, even a brown-haired one.
He reached the gravel road and turned. The road, dusty and potholed, seemed to lead nowhere until he finally spotted a pair of small cottages a half mile down. He felt his heart speed up. Erin lived in one of them. He moved to the side of the road, hugging the trees, staying out of sight as much as possible. He was hoping for shade but the sun was high and the heat remained constant. His shirt was drenched, sweat dripped down his cheeks and plastered his hair to his skull. His head pounded and he stopped for a drink, straight from the bottle.
From a distance, neither of the cottages appeared occupied. Hell, neither one looked habitable. It was nothing like their house in Dorchester, with its shutters and corbels and red front door. On the cottage closest to him, the paint was peeling and the planks were rotting in the corners. Moving forward, he watched the windows, looking for signs of movement. There was nothing.
He didn’t know which cottage was hers. He stopped to study them closely. Both were bad, but one looked practically abandoned. He moved toward the better one, angling away from the window.
It had taken thirty minutes to get here from the store. Once he surprised Erin, he knew she’d try to get away. She wouldn’t want to go with him. She would try to get away, might even try to fight, and he would tie her up and tape her mouth shut and then go get the car. Once he returned with the car, he would put her in the trunk until they were far away from this town.
He reached the side of the house and flattened himself against it, staying away from the window. He listened for movement, the sound of opening doors or water running or dishes clattering, but heard nothing.
His head still hurt and he was thirsty. The heat poured down and his shirt was wet. He was breathing too fast but he was so close to Erin now and he thought again how she’d left him and hadn’t cared that he’d cried.