Page 39 of Her Dying Secret

He stepped out from behind it, glaring down at her. Josie took note of his faded flannel shirt and dirty, torn jeans. No weapon in his hands but he’d already assaulted her with the door.

“Stop,” she said, the word coming out breathless.

Had Turner really heard nothing from downstairs?

Josie’s hand still throbbed mercilessly as she unsnapped her holster. Seth lunged for her. She threw her arms up, sure he was going to punch her or try to choke her, but his palms caught her shoulders, pushing forcefully, sending her into the hallway flat on her back. For a split second, he loomed over her. She bent her knees, using her feet to push her back, away from him. Her abs held her shoulders off the carpet as she went for her pistol again. But Seth kept coming, falling toward her, his hands outstretched like he was going to choke her. Josie rolled to the side, hitting the wall, but staying out of his grip. Her pistol, still in the holster, was under her hip.

Losing his balance, he fell forward, using his hands to break his fall. Josie rolled back, throwing an elbow into his kidney, eliciting a grunt. She speared him twice more in the same place but without the momentum of the roll, her strikes weren’t as effective. Seth was breathing heavily as one of his hands clamped down on her shoulder and whipped her onto her back. He slid over her like a snake, straddling her and pinning her upper body to the floor with one forearm pressed against her chest. She tried to reach her pistol, but it was trapped between her hip and his inner thigh. He rose up and lifted his arm from her chest, taking away the pressure. A second later, the same arm was drawn back, and a fist flew at Josie’s face. She got her forearms up but not in enough time to take the full brunt of the strike. Seth still managed to make contact with her cheek. Her head whipped to the side. Her teeth sliced into the inside of her cheek. Blood filled her mouth.

It disoriented her long enough for him to slip his large hands between her forearms and wrap them around her throat. His thumbs pressed into her windpipe. Panic numbed every feeling in her body. Her vision narrowed to Seth’s face—bearded now—blue eyes flashing with fury. Spittle gathered on his bottom lip as he squeezed harder. Josie’s good hand slid along one of his forearms, up his wrist to his fingers until it found his pinky finger. Finding the tip of it, she peeled it away from her skin until there was enough room for her to grasp the first knuckle. Her vision grayed. Fire erupted in her lungs. She yanked the pinky all the way back as hard as she could, feeling a perverse satisfaction at the sound of bone cracking.

Seth roared, raining saliva onto her face. His grip loosened. Josie folded both of her arms over his forearms and pressed down. It brought his face closer to hers, which turned her stomach, but it broke his hold on her throat. While she had his forearms pinned against her chest, she bent her knees until they touched his rear and then pushed with her feet, rolling her hips toward the side. She bucked him off fast and hard enough that the drywall caved in.

She shimmied away from him, trying to put as much space between their bodies as possible—which was pretty much impossible given the narrow hallway—and lurched to her feet.

He was on his knees already and as she drew her weapon, one of his strong arms shot out, sweeping her ankles out from under her. She landed on her back. Her fingers still throbbed from earlier. The pistol flew out of her hand, toward the master bedroom.

“Stop,” she said, gasping for air.

Before she could say another word, Seth jumped to his feet and sprinted for the stairs. Josie scrambled upright, searching the floor of Mira’s bedroom until she found her pistol. Retrieving her weapon cost her precious seconds. Seth was gone. She bolted after him, taking the steps two at a time.

“Turner!” Josie tried to shriek as she reached the landing, but her voice came out a rasp. When she swallowed, it felt like there were razor blades in her throat. She banged a fist against the front door. Seth wasn’t in the living room. Something crashed in the kitchen. Wood splintered. Glass shattered. As she ran toward the noise, she finally heard Turner’s voice but decided she must be having an auditory hallucination because he used her actual name.

The kitchen table and chairs were on their sides. The roses were scattered across the tile. Pieces of the glass vase sparkled. The back door hung open and Josie ran through it into the unending green of the communal yard. A shadow darted to her left, heading toward the edge of the development. There was no time to go to her vehicle and grab her flashlight. Josie veered in the direction of the movement, legs pumping. The shadow resolved into Seth Lee, running toward the trees that separated the town houses from the backs of a row of large Victorian homes on Denton’s historic register. Misty and Harris lived only two blocks away.

“Quinn!” Turner was behind her.

“It’s him!” she said over her shoulder. Again, her voice came out much quieter and raspier than she intended. “It’s Lee! Call for backup!”

Seth Lee disappeared into the tree line. Josie plunged in after him. Low-hanging branches whipped at her, snagging on her clothes and scraping against her forearms. She heard Turner crashing through the brush behind her.

“Turner! Call for backup!”

She emerged from the wooded area and onto a thin strip of grass, no more than three feet wide, that separated the trees from the yards of the city’s oldest houses. Most yards were hidden by wooden or vinyl privacy fences anywhere from six to eight feet high. A few were hemmed in by old stone walls. Wide alleys stretched between each house. No Seth. An exterior light glowed two doors down and rear windows in many of the houses were lit up. Still, where she stood it was almost total darkness. To her left, dogs started barking. Huffing, Turner drew up beside her.

“This way,” she said, turning toward the noise. Keeping her pistol up and at the ready, she ran, stopping at the end of the first fence where an alley opened up. She didn’t want to cross the alley blindly without ensuring that Seth Lee wasn’t waiting there to attack. She didn’t think he would be—her money was on him running as far and as fast as he could away from them—but she didn’t want to be surprised by him twice in one night. “Turner!” she hissed, pain burning her throat.

Staying close to the fence, he crouched so his height didn’t give him away and drew his weapon. With one hand, he squeezed her shoulder, signaling for her to go first. Josie led with the barrel of her gun, moving into the mouth of the alley, scanning it for threats while Turner ran past her to the next section of fencing. Methodically, they continued past the backs of the houses in that fashion. The barking dogs ahead grew more frenzied. At least one of them snarled. More exterior lights from the houses snapped on but it was still quite dark where she and Turner raced along in pursuit of Seth Lee.

From somewhere in front of them a creak sounded. Then wood slammed against wood. Josie only had seconds to register that someone was opening a gate. From the blackness of an alley two houses ahead, a shadowy form about waist-high charged at them. It crossed a patch of light coming from the back of the next house.

“Oh fuck,” said Turner.

Teeth bared, a hulking German shepherd ate up the space between them. Josie felt a squeezing in the center of her chest, almost painful. They couldn’t outrun it. Turner aimed his pistol at it.

“No!” Josie said. “Don’t shoot it.”

It went against every survival instinct she had but she didn’t want to see a dog shot, even one that might tear the two of them limb from limb. It was only protecting its home from strangers skulking around near its territory.

Turner hesitated.

There was nowhere to go.

Spinning, he holstered his pistol and with lightning-quick motions, positioned himself behind her. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if he was going to use her as a human shield but instead, his large hands clamped around her hips, and he lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all. The privacy fence beside her was vinyl and on the shorter side but still, only Turner’s height enabled him to toss her over it like a sack of potatoes.

With a yelp, Josie hurtled through the air. Her pistol flew out of her hand again. She landed on her right side, pain streaking into her shoulder. Something soft brushed her face and arms. A myriad of floral scents invaded her nostrils. She’d landed in someone’s garden bed. Hopefully there were no dogs in this yard. Rolling onto her back, she saw the fence shake violently and then Turner’s body flew over it. There was no time to move so she curled into a fetal position and hoped he didn’t land directly on top of her. It was the only bit of luck she’d had so far that he landed inches away from her and on his feet, no less. The German shepherd threw itself against the other side of the fence, still barking and snarling ferociously.

Josie heaved a sigh of relief. Light washed over the yard. The back door opened and a woman appeared. She took one look at them and screamed over her shoulder, “Someone’s in the yard! Call the police!” Then she slammed the door closed. Josie heard a lock click into place.

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