Page 68 of Double Obsession

Her father peered over his shoulder to shush them. “Arkansas,” he called, “not only am I a friend of your grandmother’s, but I have someone else with me.”

“Jenna,” yelled Hunter. “If it’s you, don’t come down here! She’s insane.”

“Ahhh!Take it back. I am not insane!”

“I’ll rip your fucking heart out,” came Hunter’s muffled threat.

“Stay.” Her father’s intense eyes indicated he was serious. “Stacie, keep her here.” He disappeared into the stairwell.

Stacie held Jenna close as the shouting grew more heated.

Helpless to stop the battle beneath her, Jenna tapped 911 into her phone. The dispatcher answered, and she whispered the address. “My sister just called. Please hurry,” she begged. “The woman is out of it and has a knife.”

A moment after she disconnected, something crashed and the house shook. Then came her father’s agonized cry.

“Dad?” Stacie sprinted to their father’s rescue while Jenna froze.

Why was she such a prissy wimp?Breathe two three. Exhale two three four five…

It took her forever to leave the safety of the kitchen. Wanting to protect the dogs, she closed the door behind her, and headed into whatever waited below.

Shaky legs made it difficult to descend the narrow stairwell. With each step, her heart thumped and the wood creaked.

“Jenna, don’t come down here,” yelled Hunter.

She halted to ask, “Is my dad okay?”

“Jenna. I’m serious,” Hunter said.

What in the heck kind of answer was that? She continued her downward trek. The closer she got to the bottom, the mustier the air became. She had three steps to go when her resolve abandoned her. She should sprint back up the steps and wait for the police.

“Fuck! Ouch!” Stacie cried.

Jenna clenched her fists. Slowly—cautiously—carefully, she descended those last three steps, then peeked around the wall.

Never in her wildest nightmares could she have imagined the scene that greeted her. A bruised and bloody Hunter wore only underwear. He sat on the floor, ankles bound. Her father lay motionless, his legs sticking out from under a pile of bricks. And a blood-covered shirtless woman had Stacie locked beneath her forearm with a knife pressed into her neck.

Stacie’s boudoir slippers lay a foot from where the woman dangled her. A monstrous old furnace loomed behind them. Her sister had one hand on the knife’s hilt; the other was wrapped around Arkansas’ wrist. The only thing keeping the blade from plunging into Stacie’s jugular was her palm around the handle, and perhaps Hunter’s pleading eyes.

“Jenna Gibson?” asked the bizarre woman.

“Yes, Arkansas. It’s me. I brought your book. That is my sister. Please don’t hurt her.”

“Where is it?”

Stacie groaned.

“Go get it,” Arkansas demanded as she tightened her grip.

A moan came from beneath the bricks.

Jenna fought tears and pointed. “And that is my father.”

Hunter pulled the rope from his ankles. Unsteadily, he rose to his feet.

Protectiveness, love, and exhaustion whirled together, and Jenna’s temper flared. “Why did you hurt Hunter and my dad?”

Wearing a furrowed brow, the woman’s gaze roamed around the room. Her eyes softened in what might have been confusion. She appeared so disoriented that Jenna’s anger morphed into compassion.