Page 113 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

She kept reeling forward, ignoring the dull ache pounding up her calf. Staggering, she threw herself forward, toward the door. Only a few more steps!

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he yelled, on the stairs, running down, his flashlight trained on her as she staggered toward the door. She grabbed the knob as he dropped his flashlight. It hit the floor and rolled, its beam wobbling crazily. Oh, Lord, he was close. So damned close! Yanking on the knob, she forced the door open, only to have it slammed back with the flat of his massive hand. “Gotcha!” He sounded so pleased, his breath hot against the back of her neck.

He grabbed hold of her hair, but she twisted, turning, and before he could use his damned knife, rammed her knee into his groin.

With a roar, he let go and doubled over.

She yanked the door open and ran outside, all the while fumbling for the stun gun and her keys.

Where the hell were they?

Wind was rushing over the lake, her hair blowing in front of her eyes as she half-ran, half-hobbled across the porch, all the while searching her pockets. The keys in her jacket pocket were her uncle’s; the other key was in her jeans.

Her ankle nearly gave way on the step, and she heard the door open behind her.

“No you don’t!” he yelled.

Across the yard she flew, her ankle throbbing, yanking the car key from her pocket, but he was behind her again, propelling himself across the porch and onto the yard.

He caught her at the hood of her CR-V, and this time when he grabbed her, he wrapped a meaty arm around her abdomen, and her keys slithered to the ground.

Oh, Jesus!

Before he could use the knife, she jabbed the stun gun against his arm and hit the button.

Electricity jolted through him, and he screamed, withering and flopping onto the ground. The stun gun slipped from her grasp.

She found her phone and hit the dial button, all the while skirting the big man, who flailed as he tried to grab at her ankles. His reflexes were off, and he was jerking uselessly in the moonlight, but she knew the effects wouldn’t last for long.

“Where’s Effie?” she demanded as he trembled at her feet. She grabbed his knife and stood over him. “Damn it, Camp, where is she?”

Reed’s phone went to voice mail. “Reed, it’s me,” she said, never taking her eye off Camp. “I’m at the cabin with Roland Camp and Effie, I think. It’s not good. Send a unit. ASAP!”

Camp was still muttering and shaking.

Slowly, with her eyes still trained on him, the knife in her hand, she crouched and felt on the ground for her keys or the damned stun gun. It was too dark to see much—even Camp was just a big, dark figure on the ground—but she knew they had to be here.

She felt blindly for the keys or the gun. Where the hell were they? Through the wet grass and the mud, her fingers scrabbled, nails breaking.

Camp had stopped flopping, but still he was groaning.

“Don’t move,” she warned, waggling the knife with her free hand, still searching the wet ground with the other. She felt the edge of sharp metal in the grass. Finally! Just as she grabbed the keys, he sprang. His huge body slammed into hers. Awkward but heavy, still twitching, he pinned her flat to the ground, her face driven into the wet grass, her nose squished with his weight.

“Y–yoou f-f-f-uckin’ bittttch,” he said, ripping the knife from her fingers. For a moment he lay breathing on top of her, gathering his strength. He was still feeling the effects of the stun gun; through his jacket she felt him move, his muscles seeming to writhe.

Desperately she tried to wriggle free. “I’ll cut you,” he warned, his voice low and deadly against her ear. “You fight me and I swear, I’ll cut you to ribbons.” She froze as she felt the blade of his knife against the soft tissue of her throat. He was still a little jumpy from the volts that had swept through his body; the knife in his hand felt unstable.

“You . . . you couldn’t leave well enough alone. You and Effie,” he said in disgust as he took in a long breath and, with what seemed to be supreme effort, hauled both himself and Nikki to their feet.

CHAPTER 31

Reed’s cell phone went off again. He’d ignored it for the first few minutes of June O’Henry’s ravings, but now he checked his messages as June was on her third rant about the violation of her civil rights or religious rights or whatever rights crossed her mind at the moment.

“I swear to God, I will take this all the way to the Supreme Court, if I have to! I’m going to sue the city of Savannah and the police department and both of you!” she declared, pointing a long finger at first Reed and then Morrisette.

“You do that,” he said as he stepped into the hallway, leaving Morrisette to deal with the indignant woman in the interview room.

As he closed the door behind him, Nikki’s message came through loud and clear.

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