Bodyguard Father. Alice Sharpe
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Parker must have finally retrieved her voice mail and called the sheriff. A car stopped on the other side of the wrecked vehicles still plugging the top of the driveway. Though giddy with relief, Annie waited for a moment to see who emerged from around the wreck. She wasn’t about to get herself into another out-of-the-frying-pan-into-the-fire scenario.
Car doors closed. The silhouette of two men backlit by headlights circled the wreck and met again on Annie’s side. She lifted a foot to step outside the barn.
And then one of them spoke. It wasn’t his words that halted her forward progress, it was the hushed, guttural sound of his voice.
“Looks like Skye had an accident.”
“Maybe he already bought the farm.”
A flashlight briefly flicked over the wreckage and then went out. “I don’t see a body, but the car has Nevada plates. I wonder where Ryder’s daughter is?”
“She’s no match for Skye,” the other said. “By now she’s probably dead and buried under a bush.”
Both of them chuckled.
Annie’s feet froze to the ground. Their chuckles were dry and sarcastic and cut through her like a polar wind. Plus, they knew about her. That meant they knew Shelby Parker, as Annie had told no one else she was coming here. But why weren’t they also looking for her dad? She’d tried to make her message sound like he was with her.
“Go around back, I’ll take the front,” one of the men said. “Remember, don’t shoot to kill, we want Skye alive.”
“What if the girl shows up?”
“If she gets in the way—”
Annie’s feet did an instant thaw as she shrank back inside the barn. Those men were not with the sheriff’s department. What in the world was going on?
She watched from her hidden position as one man slunk past her, stray shafts of moonlight clearly revealing the gun held down by his leg. Unsure what to do next, she all but stopped breathing.
Should she risk leaving the barn?
She couldn’t bring herself to step out into the open so she moved farther into the barn instead. All bravado abandoned her. What she wanted to do was find a dark corner and hunker down like a scared child. She should try to make a run for it. But the night sky was fickle, overcast one minute, moonlit the next. She kept seeing that gun and could almost feel the burning trail of a bullet piercing her spine, the sudden lack of feeling in her legs….
Thank heavens she wasn’t still tied up in the house.
She moved deeper inside until she backed into a ladder and then she climbed. The ladder emptied into the loft with an open hay door through which moonlight shone. The loft was full of straw and what looked like old tarps. She knew she couldn’t use the flashlight. Was the straw deep enough to burrow into? Wait, she had a kitchen knife. She could stab someone.
Before the other one shot her dead?
Caught in an agony of indecision, she approached the hay door, able to see only the night sky from her vantage point. The scene outside looked so peaceful. The moon high, clouds drifting in front of it, snow glittering on the tops of tree boughs.
There was a part of her that felt sure she could explain herself to those two men and hitch a ride out of here once they found Garrett had already left. There was a part of her that wanted this interminable day to be over, that couldn’t quite believe these men were the murderers they sounded like.
They move as though they’ve slithered through the dark a hundred times before. Use your head, Annie.
The voices, when they came again, sounded even closer. She moved toward the edge of the hay door in able to scan the ground. One of the men stood in the open doorway of the cabin, the other stood on the front porch. The cabin light illuminated them both. One was a huge, bald brute, the other shorter with straight dark hair and a twist to his mouth that seemed more sneer than smile. They both wore overcoats and polished shoes and looked as though they’d just stepped off a city sidewalk.
“He’s not in here,” the bald man said from the cabin door.
“He hasn’t been gone long, though. The fire’s still burning in the stove.”
A moment of silence, followed by, “Torch the house. That should cover our bases. I’ll check the barn.”
Annie ran to the ladder. She had to escape the barn right now. If they planned to burn down the house, the barn might be next. Her foot had touched the second rung when she heard one of them holler, “Skye? If you’re in there come on out. There’s no use hiding.” He stepped inside the barn, gun held out in front.
Had he heard her? She stood perfectly still, hoping the shadows hid her foot on the ladder.
“He’s not in the barn,” the man said, his voice softer as though he had turned away to speak.
The other thug moved into view. Thanks to the flaming piece of wood he held in one hand, Annie could see the top of his dark head through the open spaces on the ladder. Apparently he’d taken care of his arson job and brought the means to start another fire. As they continued talking, Annie slowly raised her bottom foot and shifted her weight on the ladder.
And once again fought the desire to announce herself and take her chances.
“Looks like he got away.”
“Burn this place down, too. It’s unlikely he left it, but you never know. Time we start back to Reno.”
“Without Skye? And what about the girl? There’ll be trouble—”
“We’ll stake out the Reno place tomorrow. We’d better get out of here before someone calls the fire department.”
Annie glanced to the hay door which now glowed with light given off by the flaming house next door. She glanced back at the men who both turned and walked out of the barn, one of them still carrying the makeshift torch. Maybe the plan was to let the house fire catch the barn. At the last moment, the flaming wood came sailing back into the barn where it landed against the new bales of hay Garrett had bought that morning. The bales instantly caught fire. Annie raced across the loft.
The men had stopped to look at the car/truck wreck at the top of the drive and she caught herself just in time at the hay door. “Go away,” she muttered, willing them with her desperation to get in their car and drive off before the fire caught the straw in the loft.
And as if hearing her, they threw one last look toward the cabin and barn, then circled the wreck and got in their car. Annie barely heard the slam of doors and the revving of the engine over the increasingly loud roar of the fire.
She raced back to the ladder to find it engulfed. She’d have to jump which would mean a broken leg. Could she crawl to safety with a broken leg? No. She couldn’t jump twenty feet. She needed a rope. She could shimmy down a rope. She had gloves to protect her hands. She began tossing hay, looking for a piece of rope while knowing it was unlikely one would be hidden under loose hay or old tarps. She’d lost the knife somewhere.
Smoke rose in the barn faster than the flames and she doubled over, coughing.
“Annie!”
She straightened up, listening.
The voice came again, louder this time. “Annie! Where are you?”
She ran across the loft to the hay door, shielding her face with her arm. “Up here!” she yelled. Was that Garrett’s voice? But he’d been gone so long….
“I see you,” he yelled.
Annie peered through the smoke. She finally made out a big bay horse and the man astride it. Her heart rate quadrupled as adrenaline pumped through her body.
“Jump,” Garrett called.
Jump? What, like the Lone Ranger from the top of a giant rock onto the willing back of his noble