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CHAPTER NINETEEN
SIERRA WATCHED EVAN—or Damien, or whoever he was—move through the thick scrub. He probably thought he was being stealthy, but he was making enough noise for her to follow his path. But then what did he really care? He had the gun, after all.
She was crouched down behind a big, old sugar gum that reached its tall branches far above her. What to do now? She couldn’t let the murderous bastard go back to the cottage, she needed to protect Reed and Jessica. So, she had to somehow distract the man, overpower him if she could. And try not to get shot at the same time. It was only mid-afternoon. No one would be looking for her, yet. Kylie wouldn’t start to worry that she hadn’t brought her car back until she got home from work, which was still a few hours away. How long till someone started looking for Reed? She had no idea what excuse he’d given Don so he could come out here and check on her. And even if Don was getting irritated about his lack of attendance, it didn’t mean they knew where Reed was. She was on her own.
Sierra still couldn’t reconcile the Evan she knew from the newsstand with this man. A dirty ex-cop. A serial stalker. And a serial pedophile. Her brain was having a hard time believing such a mild-mannered man could do all those horrible things.
Evan turned away from her, following some non-existent trail through the long grass. He was going the wrong way. She was going to have to do something to draw him back toward her, otherwise he would miss her completely and probably give up and go back to the cottage.
Staring up into the branches of the tree, an idea began to form. She was good at climbing, did a lot of it while checking on the Glossies’ nesting sites. Admittedly, she was usually roped up for safety when she did. But with her long arms and legs, she was sure she could climb this sugar gum with ease. A quick search around on the ground turned up a few good-sized, small rocks she could use. Then she spied a large, dead branch lying in the grass, and knew it would make another good weapon.
A minute later, she was perched on a branch three or four meters off the ground. Evan was still going the wrong way; he’d be out of sight in a few seconds if she didn’t do something now. Taking one of the rocks she’d stashed in her pocket, she threw it with all her might, so it landed with a plunk halfway between her and the pedophile. He turned sharply at the sound. She threw another rock, this one landing a little closer to her tree. Evan raised his gun and crouched lower in a hunter’s stance. Sierra wondered if he knew just how silly he looked. But then she reminded herself he was dangerous. She shouldn’t underestimate him. He was an ex-cop. Just because he looked innocuous didn’t mean he couldn’t handle a gun. And look how he’d broken into her house. Spied on her. Killed her chickens and tampered with her car.
He came closer. She’d have to time this just right. She gauged the distance to the ground again, and her eyes raked over the bit of wood she’d leaned against the trunk of the tree. Evan came closer still; he was going to walk right underneath her branch.
She drew in a deep breath and froze, not moving a muscle, getting ready.
She counted down silently in her head. Three. Two. One. Go.
She leaped, landing on Evan’s back, knocking him down to the ground. He gave an involuntary shout, and then she heard a whoosh as the air was knocked out of him. She landed on her butt, the shock of the impact dazing her for a second.
Evan got to his feet. “What the fuck?”
She scrambled backward on her hands and feet, like a crab. The gun. The gun was missing from his hands. He must’ve dropped it when she jumped him.
Her back hit the tree trunk and she used it to lever herself up. Without taking her eyes off Evan, she felt around behind her for the stick. It wasn’t there. Had she knocked it over?
He was coming at her. Fast. With a wild roar like an enraged bull. She ducked at the last second and bent under his swinging arm and he careened into the tree. But he turned, much quicker than she would’ve thought. She would be no match for him on the ground and unarmed, even without the gun. He was heavier than her, although not faster. But he knew how to handle himself, how to bring down a felon. She caught sight of her stick, still leaning against the tree, just farther around than she thought. But Evan was now between her and her weapon.
“You little bitch. Just give up now, we both know how this is going to end.” As he spoke, his gaze darted around on the ground behind her, and it took her a few seconds to figure out what he was doing. Looking for the gun. Where was it? Should she turn around and try and find it? Or keep to her plan of using the stick to overpower him?
Evan was studying her now, crouched and ready to spring, but not diving in like he had before. His little piggy eyes screwed up in concentration behind his glasses, which’d been knocked askew. If this wasn’t so real, she might laugh at how comical he looked.
She took a step backward. Then another one. Quiet and slow.
“Stay where you are, bitch,” Evan snarled. He took a menacing step toward her just as she went back another one, like they were dancing in some macabre, slow-motion scene. He didn’t want her to get out of range; if she ran, he wouldn’t be a match for her. Not unless he found his gun again.
With a burst of speed, she feinted left and then surged forwards, dodging right past him, shocking him with her choice of direction. He was bigger and stronger than her, but she had speed on her side and so she used it, darting past him to the tree. She grabbed the large bit of wood with both hands, already swinging it in a wide arc as she turned to face him.
The stick glanced off his shoulder as he lumbered to keep up with her and turn around. It wasn’t enough to disable him completely, but it was enough to knock him off balance. As he stumbled to the left, she gathered up her strength and swung the club again. A yell left his lips a split second before the stick collided with his chest, knocking him backward.
Shit, why couldn’t she hit him in the head? That’s where she was aiming, but she couldn’t seem to connect. She danced around him in a semi-circle, trying for a better angle. Before she could lift the stick above her shoulder to take another swing at him, Evan charged at her. She got in a glancing blow, but not enough to stop both of them going to the ground in a heap. The broken branch spun away from her.
She used all her might, fueled by a kick of adrenaline, to twist away, try and get out of his grasp. She managed to crawl a few feet before a vise-like grip took hold of her ankle.
“You ain’t getting away from me now, Sierra. I’ve been dreaming of this day for twelve years. Ever since you wrote your namby-pamby news articles, pointing your finger at the police. At me. Making up those lies. Who do you think you are? If you got people looking at the cops, raking through our investigation with some kind of commission, well, that would’ve been no good. No good at all. I had to leave that plum job in Port Pirie because of you. Move into a stinking big-city station, just to get away from all the prying eyes your new article left behind.”
Sierra was being dragged backward by his hand on her ankle, and she kicked out at him with her other foot, trying to dislodge his hold. But he gave an almighty wrench on her foot, twisting it, trying to flip her over, and she felt something snap. She screamed in pain. Her fingers tore at the long grass, looking for something, anything to grab hold of as he dragged her slowly toward him. It was useless. Her mind was shrieking at her to give in. She sobbed as knives of agony sliced up her leg every time she moved. Had he broken her ankle? It sure felt like it. Evan had hold of her other foot now, and she had nowhere to go.
She drew in a deep breath. There was only one option left to her. And it was going to hurt like hell. She flipped over onto her back, at the same time sitting up and landing blows on his hands, trying to dislodge his clasp, screeching at the top of her lungs at the torment of her broken ankle. With a grunt, Evan let go one of her legs and swung a fist, catching her on the nose. She let out a howl of pain. Blood gushed down her face, and she threw both of her hands up to staunch the flow. His weight on her legs got heavier as he hauled himself toward her, his chest now pinning her feet, his glowering face coming closer to her. The torment from her ankle was excruciating.
No. He was overpowering her. Turning her hands into talons she began to rake at Evan’s head and face. Her nails dragged through his skin, leaving deep scratches. He yelled loudly, but didn’t release his grip, inching up along her body, until, with a grunt, he lunged forward, head-butting her with his forehead. He hit her right on the scar from her old accident, and pain shattered through her head as her sight blurred and briefly went dark. She closed her eyes, trying to shut it all out.
Evan planted his weight on her stomach, and she opened her eyes to see him sitting on top of her.
“This is going to be fun.” Evan smiled down at her, leaves and small bits of dirt clinging to his normally neat beard, giving him a deranged look. She’d misjudged him. Badly. And now she was going to die.
She let out an involuntary whimper.
