In Close (Bulletproof #3)(73)
Author: Brenda Novak

Was Claire even alive? Maybe that was why his father was crying. Maybe he’d killed her. He’d never been the same since Alana.

Jeremy pictured the place where he’d be sent, like the one in that Cuckoo movie his father had shown him. Then he imagined some other family moving into this home. What if that family had a boy who managed to remove the locks and went underneath the house? And what if that boy found the suitcase? The police would come to the sanatorium—that was what his father called it—and put him in prison, just like Don had told him they would.

“They’re going to knock my block off,” he whimpered. He’d been crying off and on. Didn’t seem to matter now that his father wasn’t around to yell about it. There was no one left to get mad. But he wasn’t relieved about that. Not like he’d always dreamed. As mean as his father could be, Don had been there day in and day out. At least most of the time. Without him, a big hole seemed to yawn open right in front of Jeremy. If he moved an inch, he’d fall in…?.

Oh, God…what should I do? He’d been asking himself that ever since his father killed himself, but he couldn’t think of a good answer.

It was three o’clock in the morning before Jeremy came to his feet. He had a headache, his eyes burned and his nose was plugged, but he’d finally figured out that there was really only one solution to his problem. He had to bury his father. He had to get rid of the body and clean up the mess before anyone saw it. Only then could he go on living as he’d lived in the past. With the way his father had been drinking, no one would miss him. Not for a long time. If one of his friends called, Jeremy would make up some excuse. He could always say his father was passed out. No one would question that, no matter how many times he said it.

If that didn’t work…he’d say that the same person who’d made Alana disappear had made Don disappear, too. That was true, wasn’t it? And if that didn’t work…he’d go into the forest and never come back.

He vomited the first time he touched the body. Even after there was nothing left in his stomach, he continued with the dry heaves until he’d wrapped his father up in a blanket. From there, it wasn’t so hard to carry him downstairs and around the corner. But getting him under the house wasn’t easy.

Pushing and pulling, Jeremy managed to move his burden into the crowded space inch by exhausting inch until it was right next to the suitcase. Then he sat back and let himself cry some more.

“You’ve got company,” he told Claire’s mother when he had no more tears to shed. Then he crawled into his bed. As strong as he normally was, he didn’t have one ounce of energy left.

But it was okay. No one ever came to the house. He’d finish cleaning up in the morning.

Isaac’s eyes popped open. It was dark and very late. If the moon was out, it couldn’t be more than a sliver, or it was on the other side of the house, because he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face.

What had disturbed him?

Not Claire. She was sleeping soundly at his side.

He held still for several seconds, listening to the house settle above the sound of her steady breathing. Everything seemed fine, perfectly normal. He told himself he was just anxious about what had happened recently and snuggled closer to her warm body. But a thump, coming from outside, sent a charge of adrenaline through him.

What was that?

His mind reverted to the calls he’d seen on Les Weaver’s phone bills. He believed Les was a contract killer, a person who was able to take someone out and not get caught. If Les knew he and Claire were making waves for him, he just might return to Pineview to be sure they couldn’t continue.

Isaac’s blood ran cold to think someone might have come to kill him or Claire or both of them. He’d been attacked by wolves and bears and wild dogs; he’d been bitten by a poisonous spider. But never before had he felt as if a man might try to kill him.

He slipped carefully out of bed so he wouldn’t disturb Claire—Lord knew she needed the rest, and given the number of scavengers in the forest, this could easily be a false alarm.

After pulling on the jeans he’d been wearing earlier and his boots, he got his revolver from the top drawer. He didn’t like guns. He was too much of an animal lover to enjoy hunting, didn’t understand why it was considered such grand sport to kill when it was far more exciting to document life, but he kept a weapon handy in case of emergency.

The bedroom door creaked as he opened it. Claire stirred, but didn’t wake. He waited until she’d settled again before creeping out into the living room.

Unfortunately, it was just as dark. Here in the mountains the stars were brighter than in the city, but with so many trees towering over his house that didn’t help. The only outside lights Isaac had were the ones he’d installed himself—a flood, activated by a motion sensor, on each side of the cabin.

As he waited in the living room, one of those floods snapped on. An animal could’ve tripped the sensor, something as small as a rat or a skunk, but Isaac knew it could also be something bigger.

Crouching at the window, gun ready, he peered through the glass. He didn’t see anything, but there wasn’t much time to look before a shot rang out, shattering the light.

24

Isaac tried the phone first. He knew it wasn’t likely that the police could make it to his cabin before whatever was about to happen went down. Lincoln was a sparsely populated county, with only a few small towns. Sheriff’s deputies not concentrated in Libby, the county seat, were spread out. Myles lived closest, but even Myles’s house was a fifteen-minute drive, and fifteen minutes sounded like an eternity when Isaac had Claire to worry about. It wasn’t as if he could go one-on-one with whoever was out there. He had to keep her with him or risk losing her, and he wasn’t prepared to let that happen. Fearing she’d been killed yesterday when he’d searched for hours and hadn’t been able to find her was bad enough.

But calling for help wasn’t among his options. The person who’d shot out the light had already cut the phone line.

“Claire?” He didn’t speak loudly. The urgency in his voice would probably be enough to wake her—if the gunshot hadn’t done so.

“I’m here.” She stood in the doorway. “What’s going on? What was that noise?”

“A gunshot. Get down and stay down. We’ve got company.”

“Oh, God.”

That was his reaction, too. He’d never expected anything this bold. He’d brought her here believing that would keep her safe.