“Is that man really here?” the woman asked. Riley gave her a closer look, his heart clutching as he saw how much she looked like her daughter.
“Yes, ma’am. But we’re going to stop him.”
“I’m going with you,” the older man said.
“No, Dad, you need to stay here with Mom.” Aaron didn’t say the rest of what he was clearly thinking. If Kyle Layton managed to kill Hannah, he might come back to the bait shop to tie up the rest of his loose ends.
“You’re right,” Mr. Cooper agreed, fear and rage battling it out in his expression.
“My boat’s here.” Aaron’s terse, impatient voice drew Riley’s attention back to the deputy. “You coming?”
Aaron led him on a weaving race through a maze of narrow docks to a mid-sized powerboat near the end of one of the piers. He jumped in, and Riley followed, settling into the passenger seat. He pulled the Ruger from his holster and checked the clip. He had a second clip in his jacket pocket.
He hoped he wouldn’t need either.
“Her phone’s set to go automatically to voicemail,” Aaron called over the roar of the outboard motor. “But I think I know where she’d have started fishing.”
Assuming Kyle Layton let her get that far before making his move, Riley thought grimly.
“Hey!” Aaron suddenly started waving wildly at another boat. Riley followed the direction of his gaze and saw a bass boat skimming across the lake. The driver apparently spotted Aaron’s signal and throttled down, easing the bass boat across the water until he came up beside Aaron’s boat.
A tall man in his early thirties sat behind the steering wheel, a quizzical expression on his face. Another brother, Riley realized, seeing the resemblance to Hannah.
“What’re you flagging me down for, doofus?” He nodded to a slightly sunburned man watching curiously from the passenger bench behind him. “I’ve got a client.”
“Hannah’s in trouble, Jake.”
Jake’s expression immediately shifted. “Where? What’s happened?”
“That guy from Wyoming who attacked her-we think he’s with her, posing as a client.”
Jake scowled. “I saw her about an hour ago, heading toward Papermouth Cove.” He looked at Riley as if noticing him for the first time. “Who’re you?”
“The cowboy,” Aaron answered for him, throttling up the motor. “Let’s go!” he called back to his brother.
The other boat kept pace with them as they flew east, snippets of Jake’s explanation to his passenger rising over the roar of the motors and the wind. Apparently, even the client knew about Hannah and her Wyoming ordeal. Small towns were small towns, whether Wyoming or Alabama.
“We’re close,” Aaron told him. “Just around that bend.”
Riley just prayed they’d be in time.
“SO, I WAS RIGHT.” Hannah was surprised by how calm she felt, now that the moment of confrontation had arrived. Maybe it was the feel of the knife in her right hand. She whispered a silent prayer of thanks that she’d been conscientious about keeping the hinge oiled; the blade had easily and silently opened for her with just a flick of her fingers.
“I certainly gave you enough clues,” the man who called himself Ken Lassiter said with a soft chuckle. He reached into the tackle box beside him and pulled out a yellow, nylon fish stringer.
Hannah eyed his hands as he started wrapping the end of the stringer around one hand. One loop. Two.
“No blitz attack?” she asked aloud. “No face full of pepper spray?”
He shook his head. “You’d be expecting that. I like to keep an element of surprise.”
“Your name isn’t Ken Lassiter.”
“No, it’s not.” He smiled more broadly. “Nice clue, though, wasn’t it? Ken Lassiter, Lassiter Oil-you do remember that, don’t you?”
Hannah ran her finger over the flat side of the knife blade, clinging to the steady calm she’d so far managed to retain. “Is this really all about proving me wrong?”
“You didn’t listen to my warning.”
“I didn’t realize that was a killing offense.”
His smile faded. “You never think about the people whose lives you destroy with your recklessness. What about your parents, waiting at home for your return? What if you’d had a husband or children?”
“You’d have made sure I didn’t get back to them, if you’d gotten your way.” She felt panic and anger battling in the pit of her stomach. She tamped down both emotions. “What’s your real name?”
“Kyle Layton.” He answered the question as if he was swatting away a bug. His face reddened and his voice rose. “I didn’t get my way. You chose your own path. You tempted fate.” His voice dipped to a disgusted growl. “You all do.”
It was a little harder maintaining her calm when he was starting to unravel in front of her, but she forced herself to react as if he was rational, knowing that if she could stall for time, someone would eventually wander by the cove and she’d have a better chance at a clean escape. She kept her voice steady as she asked, “You know a lot of women who’ve tempted fate?”
“My whole life,” Layton answered, his voice softening to an almost childlike tone. “He told her not to go to Laramie. He could’ve made ends meet by himself. She didn’t need to take a job so far away.”
Somewhere behind her, Hannah heard the sound of motors nearing the opening of the cove. She’d have a narrow window of opportunity to get their attention, but she didn’t dare telegraph her plans to the man coming apart in front of her.
“Are you talking about your mother?” she asked him.
He looked up, his gaze swimming into focus as if he’d forgotten she was there with him. “Yes. My mother.”
“What happened to her?” she asked, trying to keep her voice sympathetic.
“She was working late at the store. That bastard she worked for had her close up alone.” The little boy timbre of his voice grew more pronounced, tinged with a childlike anger and hurt. “Daddy told her not to take the job, and he was right!” Layton turned a wounded animal gaze on her. “She did this to us! She didn’t listen, and she did this to us!”
Behind her, nearing the cove’s mouth, the sound of motors grew louder. At least two, running close together. It was odd enough to distract her for a moment.
Long enough for Layton to grab the heavy, metal tackle box and swing it at her head.
She ducked at the last minute, and the tackle box grazed her temple. It hurt like hell, but she didn’t see stars or lose her balance. As he started to swing again, she pulled out the knife and slashed at his arm.
He roared in pain and rage, body-slamming her in response. They both toppled from the boat into the lake.
The shock of the cold water almost made her gasp, but she was half submerged, and the last thing she needed was a lung full of water. She rose back to the surface and drew a long breath, struggling to free herself from Layton’s flailing grip.
Suddenly, something pressed against her throat, pulling tight. Black spots dotted her vision as she tried to stay focused. He was using the fish stringer as a makeshift garrote. She felt the rough nylon digging into her throat.
She tightened her grip on the knife, fighting the onslaught of darkness and silence. Her entire consciousness seemed to narrow to the cold, hard feel of the knife clutched in her fist.
With the last of her strength, she jabbed hard behind her and felt the blade connect with something soft.
The grip on the fish stringer loosened, and the world rushed back in a firestorm of colors and sounds.
Water, cold as the tomb, swallowing her whole. The bubbly sound of Kyle Layton’s gasps for air behind her. Boat motors, shrieking at full throttle, filling her ears with white noise before the engines idled down to a low hum.
Kyle Layton released her, and she kicked away from him, racing for the rocky shoreline thirty yards away. She didn’t care who was behind her or what happened to Layton. She just wanted to get as far from him as possible.
She reached the bank and scrambled over the rocks and mud to the grassy edge beyond. Once there, she tried to stand, but the world around her went into a swirling taildive. Her knees buckled beneath her and she pitched
