Showdown at Shadow Junction. Joanna Wayne

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СКАЧАТЬ hunting or fishing. Ex-stepfather number two had done both.

      She went back to tugging on the bed. A few more inches and she was able to reach the knife.

      Heart pounding, she picked it up and examined it. The blade was rusted and dust bunnies had cuddled up to it and the handle. Still, it might work.

      She dropped back to the bed and tried to remember exactly how number four had taught her to pick the lock. Holding the edge of the faded sheet, she managed to swipe the point of the blade across it.

      She had to work with her hands at a weird angle as she poked at the keyhole with the knife. The attempt was useless. The blade was too wide and thick to fit into the hole.

      She needed something with a much smaller tip yet strong enough to push down on the part of the lock that made contact with the thingamajig.

      Exasperated but no less determined, she laid the knife on the bed and went back to tugging the heavy bed frame across the wooden floor. When she finally reached the table and examined the scattered contents of her handbag, her frustration swelled. She saw absolutely nothing that might work.

      Unwilling to give up, she reached into the sequined clutch and ran her fingers along the inside of the thin interior pocket and the folds in the lining at the bottom of the bag. The thumb of her left hand slid along what felt like a paper clip.

      Tears wet her eyes and she pulled it out. This had to work. She had to make it work.

      Jade had done this years ago with a hairpin. If she could do it then, she could surely do it now that her life was riding on success. She opened the clip as she’d been shown, bending it into an L-shape.

      Once in place, she turned gently. Nothing moved except the paper clip.

      She tried again, just the way number four had shown her, push and turn. This time her fingers slipped from the paper clip and it fell to the floor and bounced under the table.

      Her nerves were frayed to the point of breaking. But she couldn’t give up.

      Down on her knees again, she spotted and retrieved the paper clip. This time she sat down on the bed and tried to calm her anxiety to the point her hands weren’t trembling.

      Nice and easy. Fit the end of the paper clip into the lock and firmly turn.

      She squealed when the handcuffs clicked open. No worry. No one was around to hear.

      Free from bondage. Jade’s spirits rebounded, reviving her energy and her brain. She raked the items into her open handbag, picked up her shoes by the narrow straps and rushed to the door.

      It was locked tight.

      The bastard.

      Grim determination took hold. She’d get out of here if she had to dig the door lock off with the dull knife. And then she’d probably find that he’d fit some kind of brace across the door to make sure she couldn’t open it.

      Think positive. Pray.

      She did both as she went back for the paper clip. She looped the handbag’s wristband and the shoes straps around the doorknob to free her hands as she worked on the lock.

      A huge clap of thunder rattled the windows. A few seconds later, the lights went out, leaving the room in pitch-darkness. Even the weather was contriving against her. If she dropped the paper clip now, she might never find it.

      The next clap of thunder sounded as if it was going to tear the house apart.

      Jade took a deep breath. She had to do this. She had to get out of here. Using her fingers as a guide, she worked to fit the clip back into the lock. Her grip was tight and sure as she turned it in the lock.

      Another clap of thunder.

      No.

      This time it wasn’t thunder. It was the slamming of a car door. Reggie was back. He’d be furious when he discovered she’d gotten out of the handcuffs. But not nearly as violent as he’d become when they reached the hotel and she couldn’t produce the necklace.

      Panic rushed through her in waves. Maybe someone else had found the necklace. Maybe he was back merely to kill her and there would be no other chance for escape.

      The paper clip slipped from her fingers. She rushed back to the bed and grabbed the knife. She had to try something. She wasn’t ready to die.

      Stepping behind the door, she held the rusty-bladed knife over her head, poised to strike the second Reggie opened the door and stepped into the room.

      One chance. One split-second chance to plunge the knife into the dirty cop’s back and hope it at least slowed him down enough she could make a run for freedom.

      The doorknob turned and someone stepped inside, letting in light from the hallway. Life or death. This was it.

      Without being able to see a face, Jade struck, pushing the knife through clothes, skin and muscle with all the strength she could muster.

      “You bitch.” Reggie screamed a stream of vile curses.

      She’d hit her mark, put the knife right between the shoulder blades, but not nearly as deep as she’d been going for.

      Reggie didn’t fall, but staggered a few steps and then grabbed on to the bedpost. Blood from the wound wet the back of his shirt and dripped down his trousers.

      Jade didn’t dare go for his car keys. With only her instincts for survival to rely on, she yanked her purse from the doorknob and took off running. She tripped over an open duffel that had been left on the floor between the kitchen table and a filthy orange sofa. Somehow she managed to stay upright.

      By the time she reached the front door, she could hear Reggie’s footsteps behind her, slower than normal but still coming.

      She yanked open the front door. The rain was pouring from an almost black sky. But there on a table right near the door was a large shopping bag and a dingy gray raincoat, dripping wet but with Reggie’s keys dangling from the pocket.

      She grabbed the bag and the keys without stopping. Now, if his car would only start and not crank uselessly the way it always happened in horror movies.

      She looked back as she climbed into the car. Reggie was still coming, his gait like a drunken Frankenstein’s, his eyes glazed like a madman’s.

      She slipped the keys into the ignition and the beautiful hum of an engine met her ears. She drove away in the storm, having no idea where she’d go.

      She had to think this through, had to go somewhere she could slow down and regroup. Somewhere far away from New York where the media was surely playing up the story of Quaid’s murder and splashing her picture all over newspapers and TV.

      She needed to head for the last place anyone would expect her to show up.

      Only one possibility came to mind.

      A place with cows and mosquitoes, wasps and skunks—the four-legged kind. And rattlesnakes and big, hairy spiders. Her mother had told her about those.

      The Dry Gulch Ranch, home СКАЧАТЬ