Page 7 of Hunted

“I know who you are, Lexia Stoltz,” the man with the gun whispered into her ear, and his accent made his words seem even more frightening. “You will take us to your father or we will kill you. A simple choice, really. Take us to him, and we let you go.”

“But my father isn’t?—”

The gun pressed harder. “No talk. You will take us to him.”

She bit her lips to stop them from trembling. She had a feeling that no matter what she said, this animal would kill her anyway. And she couldn’t have spoken a coherent phrase even if she’d wanted to, with her heart racing, and that sensation of no air. Her words were whispery at best.

Could her father have been sane all along? Was this what he’d been running away from? Had he been telling the truth when he’d told her that someone might come after him?

The man in the ski mask pulled her backward, through the front door. He stopped just outside, turning again, staring down the gravel driveway into the darkness beyond. “If you do not cooperate, it will be most unpleasant for you. And in the end, you will talk all the same. Better to do so now, and spare yourself a lot of pain.”

Lexi stared into the darkness, across snowy meadows and forested hills, but there was no help for her out there. The wind was icy on her cheeks. Pine boughs sighed in time as it whispered through their needles. Early winter’s chill laced the air, and it tasted like snow. It seemed like such an ordinary night. Clean and crisp and cold. She wished the cold would snap her heart back into rhythm. It might, if she could get a handful and press it to the back of her neck.

He backed down the front steps then turned to wave, and she saw a black van parked at the end of her driveway like a shark waiting there to devour her. Even the windows were tinted.

The van’s headlights flashed on and it rolled closer. Ski Mask shoved her forward as the van stopped and its side door slid opened.

The interior lights came on. She planted her feet, resisting as the thug tried to shove her toward that open door. And then she saw a form crumpled on the van’s floor, dressed entirely in black just like the one who held her. From inside, a booted foot nudged the body, and it rolled out and dropped to the ground.

The man holding her pushed her to down to her knees, shouting a curse, lifting his gun, and firing at the van.

The other man—the hollow-eyed stranger who’d come to her door tonight—came out of nowhere and took Ski Mask right to the ground, yanking his gun from his hand on the way, then with a bash of the butt to his skull, either knocked him out cold or killed him.

Panting, he looked up at Lexi. Her eyes never leaving his, she backed away a step, then two. He’d saved her, but for what purpose?

He bent down to pat the other man down, yanking weapons from him and shoving them into his own pockets and holsters and whatever. Then he straightened and she saw the blood on the front left side of his shirt.

It didn’t matter that he’d been hurt, she told herself. He was no better than the other one, and she was getting the hell out of here.

She turned to run and wondered if she should or even could in a state of tachycardia.

“There’s more of them on the way, Lexia. You won’t get far.”

The words were low, and she could hear the pain that laced each one. It was enough to make her pause and look back. He was pointing the gun at the ground, but he hadn’t put it away. “You’re either going to have to deal with me, or more like these two. Believe me, they won’t be far behind.”

She shook her head, shock seeping like ice water through her veins. She lifted her hands to press them to either side of her head, biting her lips to keep them from trembling. She was dizzy and her heart was still pounding far faster than it ought to.

“Dammit, get a grip. Tell me where your father is or he’ll end up dead … or worse.”

He was bleeding a lot. The gleaming scarlet stain on the front of his shirt grew and spread. His left arm hung useless at his side while his right one gestured with the gun as he spoke.

She took another step backward. Her car was in the garage, she thought. If she could only get to her car …

One of the men on the ground moaned, and she went still.

“Snap out of it, Lexi! Your life is in danger, or haven’t you figured that out yet? You don’t really want me to drive off and leave you to these two, do you?”

She dragged her eyes from the man on the ground, to the one standing in front of her. His hair was tousled and wild and his eyes were intense. His arm must be hurting. His unshaven jaw was rigid and she could see the corded muscles in his neck standing out. Yes, he was in pain. A lot of it. He came closer, lifted his wounded arm, gripped her shoulder in a hand that dripped blood. “Dammit, where is your father?”

She blinked, tearing her eyes from his to look down at one of the forms on the ground— the one that groaned again and moved a little. Then she focused on those intense eyes. In the moonlight, she saw them, pain-glazed, but piercing.

“My father is dead,” she whispered, because she couldn’t seem to speak louder. Fear and the tachycardia made her throat swell nearly shut.

“Dead?”

She nodded, and he swore fluently.

“All right. Okay, we’ll have to search the house.” His hand finally fell away from her, but she felt the sticky warmth it left behind. “Get me some rope, or duct tape or whatever you have, so I can keep these two from kicking the hell out of me. And make it fast. We have a couple of hours at most.”

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