Watch Me (Last Stand #3)(89)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Not far. Any little side road will do.”

Panic surged through Karen. He intended to kill her. And he didn’t have a twinge of conscience about it. She could imagine him talking about her as distantly as he did Amy. “It was unfortunate, but she found the shovel and the ski mask so I had to take care of her….”

Grabbing the steering wheel, she jerked it to the right. He cried out and tried to fight her off, to straighten the tires.

Karen heard the squeal of brakes, smelled burning rubber as they spun. Then she saw the steep drop-off falling away to the river below, just before he got the truck under control.

They were both breathing hard as they came to a stop in the middle of the road. Fortunately, there was no one behind them. Gratitude for that filled Karen with hope, gave her the presence of mind to go for the door handle. But Owen grabbed her and punched the gas pedal. They lurched forward, gaining speed as they wrestled.

Somehow, he managed to fend her off, drive and pull a gun from under his seat almost all at the same time.

Karen’s heart jumped into her throat. She saw her mother standing over her, kissing her goodbye before sending her off to kindergarten, the principal of her high school as she was awarded her diploma, her boyfriend in college laughing as he tackled her under a tree, Cain sitting in her class, doodling, John smiling as he proposed. The images rushed toward her in the split second she realized she was about to die.

Then the gun went off.

29

Cain had spotted Sheridan’s car out front. He knew she had to be here somewhere. But he couldn’t see her anywhere inside and, other than the plastic that was missing from the window, nothing seemed disturbed. He wished he hadn’t let the dogs go home ahead of him. They’d smelled familiar ground and been so eager to run he’d given them the whistle that sent them off before they’d reached the old cabin. When he didn’t arrive behind them, they’d eventually backtrack, but they weren’t here now and he could’ve used their incredible sense of smell.

He poked his head into the woodshed attached to the kitchen and saw that the cellar door was open, but it was completely dark inside.

A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he went to retrieve his flashlight from the backpack he’d left on the counter. Was Sheridan in that hole? Someone had been here; he knew he’d closed the door when he’d cleaned up after the kids who’d broken in and vandalized the place—and discovered that rifle.

If she was down there, what would he find? Sheridan on the ground, bloody and bruised and nearly dead, like she’d been in the woods?

Or would she be dead this time?

Why had she come here? And where the hell was Skye and that trusty gun of hers?

Snapping on the flashlight, he went back to the cellar door and angled the beam down into the hole. He couldn’t see anyone. But neither did he find a body.

“Sheridan?”

“Cain?” A wan light went on as he descended the stairs, and he sighed in relief. She was wedged into the corner between two shelves. How she’d managed to get into such a tight space, he had no idea, but it wasn’t easy for her to get out.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked.

He’d planned to stay out in the woods, to escape all the turmoil that recent events had caused inside him. But it didn’t bring him the peace it used to. He’d changed since Sheridan came to town. All he could think about was her. “This was on my way home. I was heading back.”

“You scared me!”

“I could say the same! Do you know what I imagined when I couldn’t find you upstairs and I saw the cellar door open?” His voice was a little too gruff, but he’d been so busy fearing the worst that his heart was still pounding.

“It must not’ve looked good.”

“No.” Someone else could’ve run into her here—the man who’d nearly buried her the night Cain’s dogs went crazy. That was what upset him so much. “You shouldn’t be running around out here alone. It’s not safe.”

“I just wanted to see where those kids found the rifle. It’s odd that they uncovered something so well hidden, without doing any damage or rummaging around the place or anything.”

“They did plenty of damage. I cleaned it up.”

“Oh.”

“Where’s Skye?” he asked.

“She went home.”

“I thought she was going to stay. At least for a while.”

“She wanted to. But she has a young family and a lot going on at The Last Stand. And our partner, Ava, is new. There’s no way she could handle our cases as well as her own, especially the ones where she was coming in late on the action.”

“You should’ve gone with her,” he said.

She stared up at him, her eyes defiant. “Is that what you want? You want me gone?”

“I want you safe.”

Her flashlight dimmed and went out. Cain had his pointed at the ground. “And if I’m gone, then you’re safe, too, is that it?”

He’d be safe from the worry, safe from the fear. And maybe he wouldn’t think about her every time he closed his eyes. “I’m safe, regardless. You’re just another woman to me.” He scowled and looked away, hoping to appear as indifferent as his words, so she couldn’t read that statement for the lie it was.

“You haven’t changed? Making love is still all fun and games to you? You won’t invest any emotion, won’t form an attachment?”

It was safer to let her believe he was that shallow. Then she’d go away and never contact him again. And he wouldn’t be tempted to risk more of his heart than he’d ever risked before. “Quit blaming me,” he said. “You’ve known all along that I’m not the kind of man you need.”

She frowned at him. “Did you sleep with Karen Stevens?”

He didn’t answer.

“Cain?”

“What do you think?”

“You did.”

He wanted to tell her how much he regretted it, what a mistake it had been, but he refused to hide behind excuses. “That’s right.”

“Recently?” she pressed.

“God, give me some credit.” He turned to go up the stairs, but she grabbed his arm.

“If I don’t mean anything to you, what’s wrong with here and now, Cain? Why not take what you want one more time? What do you have to lose?”

Everything. He lost a little more of himself with every touch, was already consumed by the thought of her. “I’m not in the mood.”