Page 3 of Peril in Piney Woods

The perp had pulled Jennifer from behind the counter and was dragging her toward the short corridor that led into the back storage area of the building. Meg had only been back there once. She’d come over for paper towels, and Jennifer had been too busy to leave the counter to go into the back for more since she hadn’t had a chance to restock that night. Meg had a general idea of the layout. There was a back door. The guy could do whatever he had in mind and then slip out the rear of the building.

Dread swelled in Meg’s chest.

There was only one reason for him to take Jennifer into the back...before taking off with whatever cash had been in the register. He either wanted to play with her, or he intended to kill her...maybe both.

Deputy Battles absolutely would not get here in time to stop either situation.

“Damn it,” Meg muttered.

She tightened her grip on the knife and lunged toward the entrance. With her free hand, she grabbed the door handle and held her breath. Opening it wouldn’t be the problem. It was the door’s closing that would trigger the little bell that sounded off with each customer’s arrival.

She released the door, raced to the counter. She launched herself over it, landing quietly on the large black rubber antifatigue mat as the bell jingled. Crawling quickly, she made herself as small as possible at the end of the counter closest to the front of the store, where she would be able to watch for the deputy’s arrival.

Assuming she was still breathing when that happened.

The near silent tread of rubber soles on the shiny tile floor blasted across her senses.

The guy with the gun was coming.

She didn’t have to see him to know he would be scanning the aisles and surveying the parking area around his truck. He’d heard the bell on the door.

He stopped at the front of the counter and leaned across, expecting to find the trouble hidden behind it.

Meg didn’t dare breathe.

She had, at best, one shot at this.

As he walked toward the end of the counter where she was hiding, her muscles bunched in anticipation of lunging for him.

Tension vibrated inside her, fingers tightening on her knife.

A scream from the back of the building stopped his momentum.

“Help me!” Jennifer’s trembling voice. “Please help me.”

He swore, and that single, muttered word told Meg that he was nearly on top of her—just around the corner of the counter—maybe two feet away from her position.

Meg dared to move her head, leaning back just far enough to see him from the shoulders up. His back was turned to her. He was torn between shutting up his hostage and ensuring no one else was inside the store with him.

Jennifer screamed again.

Meg readied to move.

Now or never.

She shot upward.

He twisted...the weapon in his hand leveled on Meg.

The logo of a rock band on his tee, ragged jeans and biker boots flashed through her brain in that single second before she propelled herself forward. She swiped her knife across his throat. Twisted her body into a roll. Hit the tile and rolled.

The gun went off.

The ping of the bullet hitting the floor next to her had her scrambling farther away.

Then the gun bounced on the floor.

Meg scrambled to her feet.

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