Page 80 of Risk of a Lifetime
Wilson regrouped, motioning JB to step backward again and again. “That should be far enough.” Nonchalant, the man reached in his pocket. “Shame about the cabin.”
The cabin? What about the cabin?
The explosion happened like the blink of an eye. One second, the cabin sat peacefully. Blink. The cabin growled into a fireball.
Trees shook. Ground rumbled. The air echoed with the intensity of the bomb. Boulders catapulted down the hillside. What had been logs became sticks, sharp and jagged as they shot through the air. Searing heat blasted across the open ground.
“Marcy!” JB roared louder than the bellowing flames. He plastered a charge of blows to Wilson’s nose, his jaw, his kidney. JB dropped, rolled, and came up with the stashed poker from beside the log.
Wilson shot. Shot again.
Hot fire pummeled JB’s right shoulder as he swung the iron against the agent’s knee with his good arm. He swung again. Landed a second blow. Wilson staggered, then regained his footing. Smashed his fist into the gunshot wound. JB dropped.
The killer stomped the bleeding shoulder and held. “How does it feel to know you’ll never hold your sweet, little wife again? Huh? I blew her sky high. If she’d of died back in front of the bank, you’d at least have had a chance to say goodbye.”
JB spun out of the hold, crawling to his knees. Wilson back-slashed him across the face with the gun stock.
“You might as well kill me, too, Wilson. ‘Cause I’ll hunt you down one inch at a time.” JB hoisted himself to his feet. “And when I find you, you won’t even know what happened.”
He lowered his head and charged Wilson’s midsection. The man pulled his backup Glock, crashing it across the back of JB’s skull. He staggered. Still fought.
Wilson grabbed the poker. Slammed the iron across JB’s shoulders and forearm. JB grabbed his arm. No sound. No cry of pain. His arm hung at a worthless angle. Broke.
Still he fought with his good arm. Backed Wilson up with the blows. The agent smashed JB’s arm again. JB fell to his knees. Wilson stabbed him with the end of the poker right below the Kevlar.
“One more thing.” The crazed man laughed. “Wonder who ratted you out on that last job?”
JB had no doubt. Didn’t matter. The man had killed Marcy. That mattered. This fight wasn’t over. Wouldn’t be over until he took his last breath. “You didn’t even have the guts to do the job yourself, did you? Had to hire it out.”
“I hated I couldn’t be there when they branded you.” Wilson’s laugh coiled like a snake around his words. “They said you took a long time to pass out from the pain.” He raised the iron, fireplace poker over JB’s head. “Should only take one hard blow today. Goodbye, sucker.”
…
“Noooooooo!” Marcy screamed. Stood. She needed to get Wilson’s attention. Get him away from her husband.
She worked the rope on the final line. If she could get free, then Wilson would follow her. If she didn’t, he’d finish JB. She worked her fingers through the tight knot.
Wilson jerked, facing the dock as he smashed the sharp end of the poker downward.
She squinted to see if the blow had connected with JB but couldn’t tell. He hadn’t moved. What did that mean? Was he unconscious? Dead? He couldn’t be. This couldn’t be the end. Not like this.
Wilson never looked down to see if he landed his blow as he yelled with rage. Livid, he threw the poker at her. The iron plummeted onto the ground and tumbled end over end into the lake. Suddenly, he staggered. Fell. Had JB jerked on the man’s legs?
Wilson regained his footing, stumbled again, then hollering like a crazed man with no other words, he charged down the hill.
Sinister. Loathing. Rage.
He’d gone mad. All her analyzing in the world wouldn’t get her out of this. If he got to her, he’d kill her. And, JB? If he was still alive, Wilson would go back and finish him off after he finished with her.
She struggled with the knot, her fingers scraping against the dry hemp. Hard and brittle, yet set like cement in the twines of the knot. Her hand slipped. Blade-like strands of rope sliced her fingers. Blood coated her hands, the rope. She fought to ignore her reaction to the sight. Fought to push the nausea aside. Widened her eyes to battle the lightheadedness.
The closer he came, the more his face snarled with hate. Then he stopped. Glanced over his shoulder at JB.
Crazed laughter escaped from Wilson’s mouth. “Too bad JB’s gone on to his maker.” He turned back to face her, laughing even louder. “Maybe I’ll just take you with me to South America. Shouldn’t take long to convince you to cozy up to me. Do what I say…when I say…how I say.”
He charged forward. Tripped over his boots. Picked up a handful of rocks and threw them at her again and again. Like an angry child tossing their toy in the corner, he screamed through his sob. He’d gone over the edge of sanity. So crazy he had no idea what he was doing. He charged again.
Why couldn’t she get the rope free? Her bleeding fingers fumbled. The more she pulled, the tighter the rope got. Her hand scraped, ripped open. A nail? The rope had snagged on a nail. She tugged the loop upward over the rusted metal till it finally popped free. Looking up at the scene on the hillside, she shoved away from the dock with the oar.
