In Seconds

she’d made, allow all those confusing emotions she’d stirred up to dissipate so their relationship could return to what it had been before, what it had to remain.

Besides, if The Crew was waiting inside, Vivian couldn’t think of a better time to confront them. At least her children weren’t with her. No other innocent bystanders could be hurt. It was just her —and them. And she had a gun.

Come on, you bastards. I’m done. Let’s finish this here and now.

Taking the Sig from her waistband, she removed the safety and crept silently across the porch. She imagined the sheriff hearing a series of gunshots, knew he’d come running, but by the time he showed up, whatever was going to happen could well be over. Either the men who were trying to kill her would be dead, or she would, at which point she hoped The Crew would flee without hurting anyone else.

If only her shooting skills weren’t quite so rusty. Could she hit a man? Especially one who might be moving? And, if so, could she fire fast enough and absorb the recoil of each shot in time to aim and shoot again?

They did it all the time in the movies. But this wasn’t a movie. She could be confronting three or four men, maybe more. The one called Ink still appeared in her nightmares. She’d seen what he could do, what they could all do. They killed with no remorse.

But Ink was in prison, and he was the one who frightened her most. She wouldn’t have to deal with him.

Calm down. If she could pull this off, she’d be doing Virgil and his wife and son, even the new baby, a huge favor. She’d be freeing the people she loved, including—and perhaps most of all—her own children. That made it worth the risk, didn’t it? She was so tired of running, so tired of living in fear that someone she loved would be hurt.

Besides, she no longer wanted to be the person The Crew had twisted her into: Trying to reach you is like…grasping at smoke!

She hadn’t chosen to be that way…?.

The door creaked as she gave it a gentle push.

Moonlight streamed across her living room floor in elongated squares. The landlord she’d just bought the house from hadn’t provided blinds for the old heavy-paned windows. Not in the front rooms. And she’d never gone to the expense of getting them herself. Her neighbors weren’t close enough to be able to see in, and thanks to the bears there weren’t many people walking around the lake after dark. With all her family’s other needs, blinds hadn’t seemed like a high priority, not when she did the majority of her work in the basement once the kids went to sleep. That was where she had her work-room.

The rattle of her own breathing spooked her. Holding her breath, she slipped through the door, then paused to listen. If there were people in her house, they weren’t ransacking the dressers and cupboards. She couldn’t hear a sound…?.

Maybe The Crew had come and gone. Or maybe they hadn’t come at all, and she was worked up over nothing.

She was just beginning to chide herself for being paranoid, when she spotted two footprints on the hardwood floor framed by one of those ethereal-looking squares. Someone had come in, and it wasn’t her children. Those footprints were too large. They had to belong to a man. And they were fresh. As meticulous as she was about keeping this wood floor polished, she would’ve noticed them earlier.

A hard lump formed in the pit of her stomach. Was her intruder alone?

Fortunately, she saw only one set of prints. But that wasn’t conclusive. Maybe his companions wore different kinds of shoes, ones with soles that didn’t pick up enough dust to stick to the polish.

A bead of sweat rolled from her hairline. This was it, all right. She’d soon come face-to-face with the end, one way or another.

Praying she’d survive, she swallowed hard and forced her legs to carry her forward. The adrenaline that was supposed to come in so handy during a fight was actually sapping her strength, making her light-headed. With her heart chugging a mile a minute, and her body slick with sweat, she couldn’t even hold the gun steady.

But she so badly wanted this to be over that she didn’t give up and turn around. Eyes as wide as possible, so she could take in every bit of light, she made herself move farther inside. She studied the darker recesses, searching for any indication of where her visitor had gone.

The footsteps led to the kitchen. At least, they seemed to. Was someone waiting for her?

Swinging doors, which she’d almost removed a million times because she thought they were so ugly, kept her from being able to see what lay beyond. But she was more familiar with the layout of the house than anyone else. That gave her an advantage.

She did what she could to steel herself for the worst, then quietly pushed through.

The kitchen was darker, and she blinked several times so her eyes could adjust. Then she saw it. A shadow. Outside. Moving fast.

Hoping to catch a glimpse, she rushed to the windows only to realize it was Marley’s cat, who made himself at home in both yards. But just as she sagged in relief, she heard a creak.

Chills rippled down her spine as she whirled, ready to defend herself, but she didn’t get off a single shot before a pair of strong hands wrenched the gun from her grasp.

A child’s voice interrupted Myles’s sleep. Positive that he’d only gotten to bed a few minutes ago, he didn’t want to open his eyes, but when he did he saw a change in the color of night that indicated it’d been hours. He also saw a little boy’s face a few inches above his own.

“You awake yet, Sheriff King?”

He was now, not that he was very happy about it. “What time is it?” he croaked.

“Morning time.”

Looking for something a bit more specific, he rolled over to check his alarm clock, which confirmed his initial suspicion. It was barely five. Damn, when he’d told Vivian he wouldn’t mind if her children woke him early, he hadn’t been referring to predawn hours.

“Jake, buddy, I’m really tired.” He cleared his throat in an effort to speak in his normal voice. “You need to go back to bed, okay?”

No response.

“Okay?” Myles prodded.

The boy slouched onto the edge of the bed. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m afraid it’ll be too late.”

He sounded so dejected that Myles had to ask, “Too late for what?”

“For the fish! They’ll go bad, won’t they?”

“What fish?” he asked. Then the memory of Vivian’s son asking him to gut some trout right before he took Vivian out last night helped him make sense of the boy’s words. He’d put Jake off, said he’d do it first thing in the morning. But he’d never dreamed he’d have to fulfill that promise before the crack of dawn.

“You think another hour’s going to make a difference?” he mumbled, burying his head beneath his pillow.

“I’m afraid it’s already too late. Aren’t you supposed to gut them right away?”

The answer to that question was yes. They would be inedible if it didn’t happen soon. And it was the boy’s first catch. Myles didn’t want to ruin that for him. He also felt a little guilty for procrastinating just because he’d hoped to get lucky with the kid’s mother and didn’t want to smell like fish guts. “That’s true. How many are there?”

“Three,” he said proudly.

“Not bad.” Myles pulled his head out from under the pillow. “And you put them…where, exactly?”

“In Nana’s cooler.”

“Which is…”

“On your back porch.”

Of course. He was all prepared. Myles had to drag his tired ass out of bed. He planned to, but when he didn’t move quickly enough, Jake leaned closer. “I’ll give you one if you help me. You could have it for dinner.”

That was just too damn cute. Myles couldn’t hold out any longer, no matter how reluctant he was to start his day after another short night. “Fine.” He motioned to the jeans he’d tossed over a chair. “Hand me my pants.”

Jake hurried to do as he asked. “How tall are you?” he asked as Myles climbed out of bed.