He checked his watch. Four o'clock. Nobody seemed to have stayed on to clean up-Sally was alone. She wouldn't go out like she did last time. It had been a long day and she was tired. She'd go inside and rest, maybe take a bath.
With that interesting thought in mind he watched the last SUV drive out of the driveway with a flourish of dust. The slow cloud drifted off and disappeared into the golden afternoon sunlight and all became quiet. He watched her cross the yard carrying an armload of bridles and halters. She was a knockout, dressed in western riding boots, jeans, and a white shirt, long blond hair streaming behind her. She came toward the barn and entered it, and he could hear her moving around, hanging up stuff, talking to the horses. At one point she was no more than a few feet from him on the other side of the flimsy wooden wall. But this was not the time; he needed to seize her inside the house where the confined space would deaden any noise she might make. Even though the nearest neighbors were a quarter mile away, sound did carry and you never knew who might be walking or riding around within earshot.
He heard more activity in the barn, the horses blowing and pawing, the scraping of a shovel, more murmurings to the animals. Ten minutes later she emerged and went into the house by the back door. He could see her through the kitchen window, moving around, filling a kettle at the faucet and putting it on the stove, bringing out a mug and what looked like a box of tea bags. She sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the water to boil, flipping through a magazine. Tea and then a bath? He couldn't be sure, and it was better not to wait. She was where he wanted her anyway, in the kitchen. The making and drinking of the tea would take at least five minutes, giving him the opportunity he needed.
He worked quickly, slipping on the plastic booties, the plastic raincoat, the hair net, shower cap, and stocking. He checked the Clock 29, popped out the magazine, and slapped it back in place. As a last step he unfolded the map of the house and gave it a final scrutiny. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.
Maddox moved around to the other side of the barn, where she couldn't see him from the kitchen window. Then he straightened up, walked easily across the yard, in through the gate leading to the patio, and then quickly flattened himself against the side of the house, with the patio doors on his right. He peered into the living room and saw it was empty-she was still in the kitchen-and he swiftly inserted a shim into where the door latched, worked it through to the other side, then pulled it down. The door latch released with a loud click; he slid the door open, ducked inside, shut it, and flattened himself behind an angled wall where the hall led from the living room to the kitchen.
He heard the chair scrape in the kitchen. 'Who's there?'
He didn't move. A few soft tentative footsteps into the hall to the living room. 'Is someone there?'
Maddox waited, controlling his breathing. She would come in and see what made the noise. He heard several more hesitant steps down the hall, which paused as she evidently halted in the entryway to the living room. She was just around the corner, close enough that he could hear her breathing.
'Hello? Is someone there?'
She might turn and go back to the kitchen. She might go for the phone. But she wasn't sure . . . She'd heard a noise, she was standing in the doorway, the living room looked empty ... it could have been anything-a falling twig hitting the window or a bird flying into the glass. Maddox knew exactly what she was thinking.
A low whistle started from the kitchen, climbing in shrillness. The kettle was boiling.
Son of a bitch.
She turned with a rustle and he heard her footsteps receding down the hall to the kitchen.
Maddox coughed, not loudly, but distinctly, as a way to bring her back.
The footsteps halted. 'Who's that?'
The whistle in the kitchen got louder.
She suddenly came charging back into the living room. He leapt out at the same time that he saw, to his complete shock, that she had a .38 in her hand. She whirled and he dove at her legs at the same time the gun went off; he hit her hard and dropped her to the carpet. She screamed, rolled, her blond hair all in a tangle, her gun bouncing across the carpeted floor, her fist lashing out and dealing him a stunning blow to the side of the head.
The yellow-haired bitch.
He struck back wildly, connecting with his left somewhere in a soft place, and it was just disabling enough to get himself on top of her, pinning her to the floor. She gasped, struggled, but he lay on her with all his weight and pressed the Clock to her ear.
'You bitch!' His finger almost-almost-pulled the trigger.
She struggled, screamed. He pressed down harder, lying on top of her, pinning her flailing legs in a scissor grip between his. He got himself under control. Christ, he'd almost shot her, and maybe he would still have to.
'I'll kill you if I have to. I will.'
More struggling, incoherent sounds. She was unbelievably strong, a wildcat.
'I will kill you. Don't make me do it, but so help me I will if you don't stop.'
He meant it and she heard that he meant it and stopped. As soon as she was quiet he slid around with his leg, trying to snag the .38, which lay on the rug about ten feet away.
'Don't move.'
He could feel her under him, hiccuping with fear. Good. She should be afraid. He had come so close to killing her he could almost taste it.
He got his foot on the .38, pulled it to him, picked it up, shoved it in his pocket. He pushed the barrel of the Clock into her mouth and said, 'We're going to try this again. Now you know I'll kill you. Nod if you understand.'
She suddenly twisted hard and gave a vicious kick backward to his shins, but she had no leverage and he checked her struggling with sharp, wrenching constriction of his arm around her neck.
'Don't fight me.'
More struggling.
He twisted the barrel hard enough to make her gag. 'It's a gun, bitch, get it?' She stopped struggling.
'Do what I say and nobody'll get hurt. Nod if you understand.' She nodded and he loosened his grip, slightly.
'You're coming with me. Nice and easy. But first, I need you to do something.'
No response. He pushed the barrel deeper into her mouth.
A nod.
Her whole body was trembling in his arms.
'Now I'm going to release you. No sound. No screaming. No sudden moves. I'll kill you fast if you don't do just what I tell you.' A nod and a hiccup. 'You know what I want?' A shake of the head. He was still lying on top of her, his legs entwined around
hers, holding her tight.
'I want the notebook. The one your husband got from the prospector. Is it in
the house?'
Shake of the head. 'Your husband has it?' No response.
Her husband had it. That much he was sure of already. 'Now listen to me carefully, Sally. I'm not going to screw around. One false step, one scream, one bullshit trick, and I'll kill you. It's that simple.' He meant it and once again she got the message.
'I'm going to get off you and step back. You will go to the telephone answering machine over there on the table. You will record the following message: 'Hi, this is Tom and Sally. Tom's away on business and I'm out of town unexpectedly, so we won't be able to get back to you right away. Sorry about the missed lessons, I'll get back to everyone later. Leave a message, thanks. 'Can you do that in a normal voice?' No response. He twisted the barrel. A nod.
He removed the gun barrel and she coughed. 'Say it. I want to hear your voice.' 'I'll do it.' Her voice was all shaky. He got off her and kept the gun trained on her while
she slowly got up.
'Do what I said. I'm going to check the message on my cell as soon as you're
done, and if it isn't right, if you've pulled some kind of stunt, you're dead.'
The woman walked over to the phone machine, pressed a button, and spoke the message.
