The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,87
His insides turned to jelly as he remembered his phone and his other gun, the pistol, were in a drawer by his bed.
Shit, shit, shit!
At that moment the dog bounded onto the back porch and yipped to go inside.
“Shh!” he hissed.
Maybe whoever it was would just leave, take whatever he wanted and . . . but why was he here? Bronco didn’t have anything of any value.
He took one step off the porch.
Click!
The distinctive sound of the Winchester being cocked.
The dog growled.
Oh, shit.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a figure in the doorway, behind the screen, backlit by the eerie light of the TV.
“No!” he yelled as the dog leapt forward.
The gun blasted, flashing white, splintering the screen door.
Hot pain seared through his back.
He stumbled.
Fell to the ground.
His head hitting the dirt.
Tried to get away.
Panic surged through him.
Who? Why? Oh, God, help me . . .
He crawled, muscles quivering, bleeding, his fingernails clawing through tufts of grass, the smell of the marsh and cordite and blood heavy in his nostrils.
Bronco wanted to plead for his life, but no words came and he tasted salt—blood on his tongue.
Oh, God, he was gonna die.
Right here in his own damned backyard.
The assailant stepped through the door.
Slowly.
With measured and evil determination.
Oh, God. Please, no!
“Don’t,” Bronco croaked, spitting blood, sneaking another glance over his shoulder, the words stalling in his throat. His entire life, all those whom he’d harmed, the names and faces of those he’d cheated who would want revenge spun through his mind. “Help me.”
He couldn’t see the person’s face, but his body, backlit by the gray light of the doorway, was visible, and Bronco watched as the would-be killer cocked Bronco’s own damned Winchester.
Again.
“No . . . please . . .” Bronco tried vainly to scurry away, but his movements were sluggish, his legs unresponsive no matter how loud his brain screamed. He tried to push himself to his feet. His arm gave way, his hand sticky with blood and dirt.
It was too late. From the corner of his eye he saw the monster level the stock of the rifle against a shoulder, then carefully take aim.
Jesus, please have mercy. No, no, no . . .
Blam!
A light flashed.
His body jerked.
He thought he heard a dog barking, but it was far in the distance and grew fainter as Bronco drew his last, wheezing breath.
Time is slipping steadily through the hour glass, I feel it, like the rapid-fire beating of my heart. After so long, so many years, now the seconds, hours and days are moving so fast. Too fast. Am I ready? I have to be.
I slow my breathing, try to find an inner strength.
I don’t think about the sisters. Don’t want to focus on the killing.
Not yet.
Not when there are so many pitfalls. So many who want to unmask me.
The worst: Nikki Gillette. But I will deal with her. The camera I bought used, the GPS tracking device now affixed to the undercarriage of her Honda, will tell me where she is. Still, it may not be enough.
With each passing day, every hour that goes by, every minute that I breathe, they are closing in. I have to find a way to slow it all down so that I can finish. All too soon the sand will have drained away, my time up and I’ll be exposed.
Naked to the world.
CHAPTER 21
“You found another body!” Nikki charged when Reed took a quiet step into the bedroom. He’d hoped she would be fast asleep when he sneaked into the darkened room, but he didn’t get lucky.
She slapped on the bedside lamp and he noticed the books and papers and notes and iPad that were strung out on his side of the duvet. “Is it Rose Duval?”
“No, we’re sure not,” he admitted, sloughing off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. “But a kid. Possibly preteen, most likely a boy, though there are more tests that have to be run.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know.”
“Murder?”
“Again, that’s unclear.” He sank down on the mattress beside her.
“You didn’t call me!” she charged.
When he didn’t answer she had the good grace to seem a little chagrined.
“Nikki—”
“Yeah, I know. What about the computer image of Rose? Has anyone come forward?”
When he took her hand, she rolled her eyes. “I can’t help it. You know how I am. And you have since we first met.” She leaned forward on the bed, pressing her face close to his. “Can’t we work on this together? I’m going to be doing a lot