Page 29 of The Woman in the Woods

I heard the crunch of tires on the road, making me realize it wasn’t really all that far away. Maybe ten or fifteen yards.

But I was so, so tired.

And everything hurt so, so much.

Storm moved in at my side, warming me with his body, and I wrapped an arm protectively around him.

And let myself drift off.

CHAPTER FIVE

Silvano

I was just fucking asking to be caught and brought in on charges at this point.

There was no goddamn reason for me to still be upstate, crashing in a shitty motel where I had to wear slides in the shower because it didn’t look like it had been cleaned in this century.

But I couldn’t seem to force myself to head back to the city either.

Too much was bothering me about the woman in the woods.

I wasn’t gonna be able to put my mind to rest until I knew a little bit more about her.

I was mentally kicking myself for not following her to the store where I might be able to get in her car, and check the information in her glovebox. Get a name. Some way to look into her.

Regret would get me nowhere, though, as I got myself dressed, and made my way back to the car, telling myself I was just going to camp out near her land, see if she went anywhere. If she did, I would make sure I checked out her car.

Then, armed with that information, I could go home.

Or, at least, that was the story I was telling myself. Whether it was true or not was up for debate.

So, armed with a bag of food on the passenger seat, and the biggest coffee I could buy, I drove out toward the property again, all the while knowing that each time I made my way there, I was upping the chances of being linked to the bodies six feet under.

Still, I found myself parking, rolling down the windows to let the biting early spring breeze move through the stuffy car, and sipping my coffee.

I was maybe only parked for a minute before I heard it.

Barking.

Close.

Closer than I felt it should be, given how deep the hunting cabin was nestled on the property.

And it wasn’t a normal bark, either, the kind a dog might do if it saw a squirrel or heard a weird noise.

It almost sounded, I don’t know, frantic.

It stopped for just a moment, then started up again. And something about it had the hairs on the back of my neck raising as a cool, liquid sensation flowed through my gut.

You didn’t survive long in the criminal underbelly by ignoring your gut instincts.

Mine were telling me that something was wrong.

I shouldn’t have cared.

It wasn’t my fucking business.

But I found myself turning the car over anyway, and driving downward toward the road that would eventually lead to the cabin.

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