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“I think at the rear of the house, lower level. Any idea who it could be?”
“Yeah, maybe somebody’s bringing me another dead body.”
“Anything of value in the house?”
He started to shake his head and then stopped. “Shit. The gun from Loretta’s backyard. It’s in my lockbox in the study.”
“You really think…?”
“Yeah, I really do.” He picked up the phone to call the police but put it back down.
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “It’s dead?”
“Where’s your cell phone?”
She shook her head. “I think I left it in my truck.”
They slipped down the stairs listening for any more sounds that might pinpoint where the intruder was. It was dark and quiet. The person could have been anywhere, watching, waiting to pounce.
King looked at Michelle and whispered, “Nervous?”
“It is a little creepy. What do you do when it gets dicey?”
“Go get a bigger gun than the other guy has.”
The bang came from the direction of the staircase leading to the lower level.
Michelle looked at him. “Okay, I say no confrontation. We don’t know how many or how well armed.”
“Agreed. But we have to get the gun. You have your car keys?”
She held them up. “Way ahead of you.”
“I’ll drive. We’ll call the cops once we’re out of here.”
With her covering him, King slipped into his study, got the lockbox and made sure the gun was inside. They went quietly out the front door.
They climbed into the Land Cruiser’s front seat, and King put the key in the ignition.
The blow struck him from behind, and he fell against the horn, which started blaring.
“Sea—” yelled Michelle, but her voice was cut off, along with most of her wind, when the leathery garrote went around her neck and ripped into her skin.
She desperately tried to dig her fingers under the leather, but it had already sunk in too deeply. Very quickly her lungs were bursting, her eyes bulging in their sockets; her brain felt like it was on fire. From the corner of her eye she saw King slumped against the steering wheel, the blood running down his neck. Then she felt the rope twist and tighten and a hand reached over the front seat and grabbed the rusty gun. The rear truck door opened and then closed, and footsteps moved away, leaving her to die.
The garrote kept tightening, and Michelle put her feet up against the dashboard to try and arch her body, to get some leverage and separation from the person who was doing his best to kill her. She dropped back down, her breath nearly gone. The sound of the horn was exploding in her ears; the sight of the unconscious and bloodied King only added to her hopelessness. She arched again and slammed her head into the face of the person strangling her. She heard him cry out, and the rope loosened, but only a bit. Next she reached back, trying to seize hair to pull, skin to tear or eyeballs to gouge. She was finally able to grip her attacker’s hair and pulled as hard as she could, but the pressure on her throat kept up. She scratched and clawed at the face, and then her head was ripped back, almost pulling her over the seat. She thought her spine had cracked, and Michelle went limp and slid forward.
She could feel the breath of the person who was killing her, exerting every ounce of strength to finish her off. Tears of desperation and agony slid down her face.
The breath was right in her ear. “Just die,” he hissed. “Just die!”
His mocking tone suddenly revitalized her. With her last bit of energy Michelle’s fingers closed around her gun. She pointed it backward, against the seat, her index finger finding the slender bit of metal. She barely had any strength left, and yet she found the small reserve of will she needed to do it. She just prayed her aim was true. She wouldn’t get a second chance.
The gun fired, and the bullet ripped through the seat. She heard the impact with flesh and next the grunt, and the garrote immediately loosened and then fell away. Free, Michelle sucked in huge amounts of air. Dizzy and sick to her stomach, she pushed open the truck door and fell out onto the ground.
She heard the rear door open. The man climbed out, holding his bloodied side. She raised her gun, but he kicked the door fully open and it slammed into her, knocking her down. Beyond furious now, Michelle bounced back up and aimed her pistol even as he turned and ran.
However, before she could fire, she dropped to her knees and was violently sick to her stomach. When she looked up, her vision was so blurred, her head pounding so hard, that there seemed to be three men running away. She fired six shots; all were placed in a tight bunch at what she thought was the real flesh and blood of the man who had done his best to murder her.
