Page 87 of Mountain Protector

“You… what? But I?—”

“Nope.” He grins at me. “He called me after you shot him, panicking. He wanted to go to the hospital, didn’t care about getting in trouble. So I told him to wait forme, that I’d take him to a private doctor I knew. But instead, you know what I did?”

I’m pretty sure I know, but since it seems like Ed’s waiting for me to respond, I ask, “What?”

“I smothered him. Used a pillow I brought with me. He was weak, so it took almost no effort. Then I dumped him further in the woods so it would look like he wandered off to die. Pretty smart, huh? But oh no, your father doesn’t see it. All he sees is his precious daughter?—”

He stops abruptly. The gun digs between my ribs. “Pull off the road. There. Into that driveway.”

The driveway in question is a long, winding path that looks like it hasn’t been plowed since the last snowstorm. At least six inches of untouched snow cover it, crunching as I obligingly make the turn.

Icy tendrils of dread and fear run down my back.

Driving is one thing. It’s unlikely Ed will shoot me considering it would put him at risk. But a driveway means stopping. And stopping means…

Panic takes over, and I babble, “Ed. Please. Don’t do this. I’ll quit my job. You can have it. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Pull over.”

“No. Please. I?—”

He points the gun at my head.“Pull over!”

Oh. God, no. I don’t want to die.

I want Knox. Oh, I want him here. I don’t know what to do. None of my self-defense skills involve fighting someone who has a gun to my head.

Shaking all over, I slow the car to a stop. Ed reaches over to the gearshift and throws it in park.

“Please, Ed.” I’m crying now. Staying calm is an impossibility. “I never did anything to you. My dad likes you. Please. Don’t kill me.”

“Oh, Lark.” He smiles. “I’m not going to kill you yet. Since this all was a bit… unexpected, I had to make some rushed decisions. We have a way to go yet before I actually kill you.”

Could I jump out of the car now that it’s stopped? Try to do that throat punch I’ve heard the guys talking about?

“But this is where I’m taking over. Because honestly, Lark, I’m sick of hearing you talk. I’m sick of looking at you, really.”

“What—”

And then.

A flash of metal.

Something slams into my head.

Hard. Agonizing.

Searing pain.

My vision blurs.

Everything spins.

As I slump down in the seat, I hear him say faintly, “I think I’ll much prefer you in the trunk. Fitting for garbage like you.”

Darkness edges in.

And the sorrow.

---