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Heavy footsteps chased her down.
Closer.
Faster.
Oh, dear God, help me! Help my baby!
She willed her legs to move, but she was losing ground. She’d been crazy to come looking for him, should have known he’d get the upper hand. You’re not dead yet, she told herself and saw the fence in front of her. With missing pickets, like a gap-tooth smile, it was still a barrier. Could she vault over it or would she have to find the gate? Where was the damned opening?
She spied a break in the graying pickets and turned.
Too late!
He leapt through the air, his heavy body catching her and driving her to the ground. She hit hard, her jaw banging into the sand, grit on her lips and tongue. “Stupid woman,” he snarled, yanking her to her feet.
She was a rag doll in his arms, head lolling, blood staining her sleeve a dark red.
He shook her. Hard. Lips pulled back in a triumphant grin.
“Finally! Finally, I have you!”
Becca couldn’t move. She felt played out. Spent. Done.
His evil face glared into hers. “Nothing to say, bitch?” He hauled his right hand back and slapped her.
My baby, she thought. My baby. Have to save my baby…
As if reading her mind, he snarled, “That abomination will die before it is born. You will all die. I’ve been waiting. Waiting! And now the time is right.”
“Please…”
“That’s right. Beg. It will do you no good. The devil’s own will be returned to him. Now!”
No way was Hudson going to sit in the car like a trained dog while Becca’s life was in danger. No effin’ way!
Nor was Mac waiting for backup. He parked his Jeep on a stretch of road less than a quarter of a mile from the cabins, and with strict instructions for Hudson to wait for the sheriff’s department, he slid into the night.
Hudson gave him thirty seconds, then checked the glove box and lo and behold, there was Mac’s backup weapon. Perfect. He checked the chamber. It was loaded.
He wasn’t going to wait for the damned backup.
Not with Becca’s life in danger.
Not with his unborn kid’s life at risk.
Sliding the heavy sidearm into his waistband, he stole into the night, circling around the north end of the property, spying Mac, barely discernible in the security lights near the front porch.
He crouched along a broken fence line, his finger on the trig
ger. Tonight, that son of a bitch who’d been terrorizing Becca was going to die.
She had to move. Had to! The knife was still in his hand though he seemed intent on shaking some truth from her.
He glared down at her, enjoying the capture. “Nothing to say?” he whispered.
She flung herself forward, intending to bite him but he held her back, then turned her roughly around, pressing her back against him, the knife blade cutting into her throat. “You couldn’t help yourself, could you, slut? I knew you’d come. Just like Jezebel. You’re so much the same.”
Terrified, she tried to think of a way to escape, any avenue that would set her free.
