Page 78 of Risk of a Lifetime
“Hey, JB. Open the door.” Wilson yelled. “I came all this way to help. Surely you can let a buddy in out of the cold.”
“Hold on. I’m coming.” JB’s voice sounded tired. Fake-tired for the most part.
She heard the slight movement of the sofa. The latch on the door being thrown. Her husband baited the killer into their space so she had a chance to get away. What happened after JB got his answers?
Her heart pounded with each word she strained to hear. If she missed her cue, then the set-up would be a bust. As much as she wanted to stay and help, she’d follow the plan. She would not let JB down.
“Come on in, Wilson. Glad to see you. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” JB sounded like a guy opening the door to a high-stakes poker party. These stakes were even higher. “I can use all the help I can get.”
The stomping boots from the porch walked onto the wooden floors in the living room. She swallowed hard. Her breath shallowed, quickened. Nausea vied against her nerves for first place.
“Figured as much. Cut my vacation short just to help you out,” Wilson said. “What the heck took you so long to open the door?”
“Trying to get a little sleep while Marcy takes a shower.” JB chuckled. “I swear that woman uses more water than a steam locomotive.”
Wilson laughed. The noise filled her mind with visions of elves and gnomes on crack.
The sound of her husband’s fake yawn and stretch brought her on alert. Soon. Real soon. She’d do what he planned. JB would handle the rest and make sure they survived. She had to believe that the two of them would be okay. She had to get out.
Out the window. Into the boat. Out of the cove. Had to…had to…had to.
“I haven’t gotten much sleep the past couple nights. If you don’t mind, maybe you can stand guard while I get some rest,” JB said.
“You got it, buddy.” Wilson’s voice held her attention. Somewhere between crazy and sane, his words flowed like sludge. Slow and heavy. “Can you help me bring in my gear from the truck first?”
The sofa scraped the floor a bit. “Help me move this sofa out of the way of the door.” JB’s cue. She inhaled deep. Readied herself.
The sofa scraped again. She hoisted herself to the window, looking outside. At least the fog had lifted. Loud and long, the sofa scraped and banged against the floor, slamming into the wall as she climbed outside. Her coat snagged on a nail from the window frame. She pulled. Pulled again. Had she made a noise? She slipped from the coat and left it hanging.
She ran for the trees. Through the trees. Gun. Where was her gun? The gun? Her stomach cramped. She’d left the gun in the coat…on the nail at the window. Maybe she should go back for it. No. Run. Water…where? She tripped. Slammed into a tree limb. Ran again. The thick fog held heavy in the trees as if trapped. Her feet went out from under her on slick mud, and she crashed to the ground. Slid into a clearing in the woods where the sun had found a spot to soak up the fog. Fast, she jumped back up. Finally, she had a clear skyline through the trees to find her way. Where was the dang boat? She stopped, looked around.
No. No, no, no. Not good. She’d run parallel to the lake. Hadn’t even bothered to look for the water as she ran. Wouldn’t have seen it for the fog. She’d used up valuable time going in the wrong direction. She retraced some of her steps, then turned and started down toward the dock.
Heart pounding, she knelt at the edge of the tree line. Inched forward to the edge of the lake. Moisture crept through the knees of her jeans, coating her legs in icy cold water. JB’d been right. The water was too cold for her to wade to the boat. The storm front had moved in with dropping temperature. Dangerous hypothermia might set in if she got wet and ended up in the boat for any length of time.
That was why the plan had been she walk out on the dock to the boat. That was before she ran the wrong direction and had to circle back. Too much time had passed to assume Wilson wouldn’t be looking out the window. The best she could do was stay low and crawl onto the dock. After inching her way to the side of the boat, she eased downward onto the flat bottom and braced her stance. Undid one of the lines.
The front door on the cabin opened, and she crouched down, peering over the edge of the dock. JB and Wilson walked outside onto the porch. She should have already been gone. Laying in the bottom of the flat–bottomed aluminum jon boat, she continued to watch the men. For less than an instant, she saw JB’s gaze glance across the dock. The boat. He acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
Had he seen her? No.
He had to think she was still inside the cabin. That she’d never made it out the window. Her out-of-control running through the trees in the wrong direction had cost them.
How much? How much had it cost?
…
JB’s mind worked to create a new plan. The boat bobbed on the water, still looped to the dock. Marcy hadn’t made it out. He’d hoped to gather more insight into Wilson. Try to garner a confession. See if the man had any traps set for anyone else. With enough information, the FBI could stop the threats.
Not now. The situation had changed. One priority remained. Marcy’s survival.
She must still be in the cabin.
He stretched. Stooped to retie his bootlaces. Walked down the steps. Played for more time. Time for her to get away. Why hadn’t she followed the plan? “Where’s your truck?”
Wilson walked behind him. “Not far.”
JB angled his trail in the direction of the fallen log. The fireplace poker. He still had his Glock, but a backup weapon added an edge. His instincts shouted the man wouldn’t kill him until he made him suffer losing Marcy. JB didn’t plan for either one of those scenarios to happen.
