Page 108 of Strangers She Knows

“Last time, it was thirty minutes.”

Mara cocked the shotgun. “Run.”

45

Kellen raced out the door onto the front porch.

The wind blew lingering clouds across the island and fed Kellen a much-needed boost of clean, glorious oxygen.

She jumped off the steps onto the lawn.

Shadows chased across the land.

Kellen knew Mara couldn’t—wouldn’t—keep her word. Any minute, she expected Mara to walk out of the door, shotgun in hand and ready. The problem was…Kellen needed every last minute to complete her absurd and desperate scheme. She hoped everything went exactly as planned, and her hand, her slowly-getting-better hand, would perform as her slowly-getting-better brain required. But in the Army, she had learned the true meaning of SNAFU—situation normal, all fouled up.

Except no one in the military used the wordfouled.

Mara had to know that with every moment of clear sky, the chance of rescue increased. She didn’t want that.

Nor did Kellen. If Max had survived, he would send law enforcement. Law enforcement would save Kellen’s life. But they would also try to save Mara.

Mara had to die today.

Kellen ran across the green lawn toward the biggest oak. As soon as the yard dipped, she cut left, toward the garage.

Behind her, at the house, she heard a bark.

Luna. Please God, not Luna!

A scream. Mara’s scream.

Kellen half turned to see Luna barking and lunging at Mara to keep her from following Kellen too closely.

Mara backed toward the door, screaming obscenities. She lifted her shotgun.

Kellen shouted, “Luna, run!”

Luna turned, leaped the railing and raced toward the corner of the house.

The shotgun blasted.

The dog fell.

The shotgun blasted again.

Kellen stumbled, sobbed, righted herself. She sprinted through the tall, wet grass that slapped at her knees and gave Mara a trail to follow.

Luna. Rae’s darling dog. Old Angel’s assistant. Kellen’s staunch defender.

All dogs go to heaven,Kellen told herself.

But she cried as she ran.

The air smelled freshly washed, as if the breeze had wiped away the blood and horror of the last days.

An illusion, of course.Luna was dead.Yet more blood would spill. More horror would follow. The question remained—whose blood, and what horror?

Kellen’s route took her to the garage in three-point-eight minutes. She hit the back door hard, pushing it open, going into the musty, grease-scented garage, then shoving the door closed…

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