Page 78 of Secondhand Secrets

Mark’s jaw tightened in a show of disdain, and he kneed Sarah in the shoulder, the gun still pointed at her head. “Get up.”

She did as asked, rising as he hooked an arm around her neck and used her as a human shield. Her breaths turned to pitchy gasps, and she clawed her fingers into his arm, fighting for freedom.

Not slowing to allow her any kind of sure footing, he pulled her backward, the hiss of displaced straw following each rushed step toward the barn’s rear exit. If anyone followed, he would shoot. But time was quickly running out, and there was no knowing where he would take her.

The barn door gave a loud and rusted creak that matched the lurch of Ally’s tummy, and he disappeared around the corner with Sarah, Ally’s world turning overly still.

Dean and the sheriff’s thudding footsteps boosted the race to save Sarah, the pinpricks of light through the barn’s wooden beams betraying Mark’s direction via his shadow.

What would he do when he got Sarah to the plane?

Would he take her with him? Let her go?

Or kill her before takeoff?

Though muffled against the jet’s engines, more loud shots broke from outside. Unable to protect herself from sounds she didn’t want to hear, Ally dipped her head and buried her face in her knees, too afraid to lift her gaze long enough to see who, if anyone, would return for her through those barn doors.

Thirty-Eight

The jet took off, and its roar soon faded to the background, making room for Harlow’s rural quiet to take over. Ally dared to lift her head and open her eyes, but nothing had changed in the barn to signify who survived the commotion outside.

There’d been gunshots. Indistinguishable words. While dead or dying men lay strewn on the nearby ground around her. Chip, he remained tied with his back to hers.

“Are we the only ones alive?” Her weak voice cut through the barn’s empty stillness. “Oh God, are we going to starve here, alone?”

That’s if my injuries didn’t get me first.

“I’ll break us out of here somehow, okay?” Chip rubbed a thumb over her hands still clasped in his. “Now, shhh, what’s that noise?”

She did as told and even held her breath so she could hear. A female cry filtered through. Sarah? Ally had seen no other women here. It had to be her. Sarah was alive? Plodding steps joined the chorus. Footsteps. As in, plural.

More than one person survived.

The sheriff was the first to re-enter the barn, the afternoon’s sun behind turning him into a glorious silhouette. He removed his hat and rubbed the back of his wrist over his brow.

Dean walked through, and she almost cried, his arm wrapped around Sarah, who half-sagged against him. Still bloodied and covered in dirt, of course. A different kind of tears welled in Ally’s eyes, and her mouth dried with an inability to speak.

As this new reality settled in, a strange calm took over. Mark was gone. Everyone she knew survived.

While Dean sat Sarah on a low wall and crouched before her, inspecting her wounds, the sheriff cuffed the only surviving henchman, who groaned on the ground beside Chip.

“I’ve already radioed the medics, so you two just hang on.” He got down and placed his hat on the ground before tinkering with her cuffs. “Pulled a bit of old wire off the front fence. I might be able to work these free.”

One of her cuffs popped open, and she pulled herself loose, her hands leaving Chip to meet with the rough barn floor while she curled forward and dry heaved—her stomach already empty from her vomiting in the woods.

She lifted her gaze to the sheriff’s smile, albeit with a crosshatch of wrinkles over his forehead that denoted concern. “It’s a normal reaction, dear.”

He hooked a hand under her arm and tried to help her stand, only her world spun, and she stumbled.

Chip, still cuffed, turned, his scrunched stare darting about her face. “That bit’s not normal, is it?”

“No.” The sheriff shook his head and helped her to the ground again. “Best you stay down for now.”

So she stayed on the ground, legs folded before her, and tried not to look at Chip, though the sight of her red-raw wrists also made her want to cry.

The sheriff huddled in front of Chip and worked on releasing his cuffs, too, a light chuckle escaping him. “Seems my experience with these things have finally paid off. Figure I can open just about any pair.”

Chip’s cuffs clunked to the floor, and he shot forward, kneeling before Ally. “Your head.”

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