Page 132 of Reaper and Ruin
We piled into her white hatchback that smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke. I rolled the window down a little, claiming fresh air helped the nausea.
And then wanted to punch myself in the face again when the space between Francine’s eyes pinched.
I’d clearly been hanging out with X too long. I’d officially stuck my foot in it way too many times, and I needed to give up speaking altogether.
Francine seemed to appreciate that. The silence in the car would have been unbearable if it hadn’t been for the hum of the engine and the mindless chatter of the radio DJ. I stared out the window, watching the streets of Saint View pass by, not really paying attention to where we were since Francine was navigating and seemed to know exactly where to go without turning on the car’s GPS.
She was right. This pregnancy probably would slow me down and limit the sorts of jobs I could take on, especially as I came into the final months. I would need to get a car somehow. I couldn’t drag two children and a baby around on buses for the rest of my life.
A car like Francine’s might be good. I gazed around it, considering how much room there was in the back seat.
“What are you looking for?” Francine’s tone was sharp, her fingers white-knuckling the steering wheel.
I glanced at her tense jaw and knew exactly what I wasn’t going to tell her. Saying I was checking out her car to see if there was room for my family was definitely off the table.
I tittered out a laugh. “Just making sure I picked up new sponges for my caddy.”
Francine said nothing, and I had a feeling she knew I was lying.
Why was this drive taking so long?
As soon as she stopped the car in front of a house somewhere on the border of Saint View and Providence, I got out, grabbing my things from the back seat and piling them up into my arms before Francine could tell me not to.
I hurried toward the front door, rapping my knuckles across the wood while Francine followed more slowly behind me.
There was no noise from within, and I peered back at Francine coming up the path with a mop in her hand. “Did the owners say they wouldn’t be home?”
She nodded. “There’s a key beneath the mat.”
I bent and lifted it, finding the single silver key beneath and fitting it to the lock. Juggling my supplies and purse in one hand, I pushed through the doorway, calling out loudly, “Cleaning!” just in case someone was actually home and just hadn’t heard my knock.
A noise came back, and I stopped, just inside the large living area. “Hello?”
The noise came again.
Not a person calling back from the kitchen or one of the upstairs bedrooms. It was a weak moan.
One filled with pain and terror.
Hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My fingers trembled. My body reacting to the situation before my brain could even comprehend what I’d walked into.
A teddy bear sitting on the bookshelf caught my eye.
I spun around.
Francine stood in the doorway; a gun pointed right at my belly.
I shook my head, backing up a step. “Francine?”
Her eyes were dull. Her mouth twisted in a line. “Three…” She whispered. “Two…”
My entire body screamedno. My brain shut down.
I was back in that warehouse. Back on the bluffs.
Back at the mercy of a madman.
Or a madwoman.
