Page 67 of Secret Stalker

Chapter Twenty-One

Bex froze, her sneakers squishing in the mud just outside the cabin that had haunted her nightmares for over a decade. She raised the butcher knife that she’d grabbed from Max’s kitchen and turned in a full circle. Was that a gunshot she’d heard? Or had the lightning hit one of the trees close by?

Rain pelted her from above, no longer blowing in stinging sheets. The storm was easing, but she was still soaked and cringing every time lightning flashed across the sky. She started forward again, using the flashlight she’d discovered in a kitchen drawer. Too bad Max hadn’t had a gun in the kitchen drawer, too. She could have searched his house for one. But she’d been too worried the rain would obliterate his trail and she wouldn’t be able to find him if she waited any longer.

Twenty minutes later, her pathetic tracking skills that she’d learned as a Girl Scout too many years ago to count had brought her to this cabin. She shined the flashlight all around, hoping to see some sign of Max. She’d called his name over and over when she’d first started looking for him. But her voice was so hoarse now she didn’t think she could scream if her life depended on it.

After testing the cabin’s doorknob and finding it unlocked, she pushed it open, shining the light inside and holding her knife at the ready. But the one-room structure was obviously empty, and drenched and dirty from rain pelting through a hole in the roof. She whirled around and headed back to where she’d last seen a shoe print in the mud. Rain had already filled the print and was distorting its edges. She ran the light along the ground, weaving back and forth, searching for the next print. Nothing. Rain was running along the ground like a stream past the cabin, obliterating everything in its path.

She ran behind the cabin, shining her light all around. And then she saw it—another shoe print, heading toward the woods. Was it Max’s? It seemed large enough to be but it was hard to tell. Not seeing any other prints nearby, and completely out of options, she started toward the trees.

* * *

MAXSLAMMEDHISFIST against Deacon’s jaw. Deacon grunted in pain and rolled to the side. Max scrambled across the hardwood floor, reaching for the rifle that he’d knocked out of Deacon’s hand earlier. Fingers circled around his ankle and yanked him backward.

He kicked his legs, slamming his boot into the side of Deacon’s shoulder. Deacon let out a howl of pain and immediately let him go.

Max pushed himself up on his hands and knees and lunged for the rifle. He grabbed it, twisting around and bringing it up toward Deacon.

Except that Deacon was gone.

The sound of boots clomping across the porch outside the open French door had Max shoving to his feet and racing for the opening.

* * *

BEXHADLOSTthe trail twenty feet from the cabin. But then she’d spotted a new trail, a recent trail. The pounding rain had distorted the prints so badly she could barely tell they were made by a human. But since any humans out in this storm had to either be Max or someone who could hopefully lead her to Max, she took off in pursuit. Jogging, head down, flashlight pointed at the ground so she wouldn’t miss any of the rapidly disappearing prints, she hurried up an incline, faster and faster.

Wait. Incline? Weren’t there cliffs around this area? She lifted her head and sucked in a breath at the black maw opening just ahead. She scrambled to stop her forward momentum, dropping to her knees in the mud at the cliff’s edge. The knife flew out of her hands and disappeared over the side. Her feet slid in the muck, her momentum continuing to carry her toward the drop-off.

“Bex!”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Max running toward her. Her heart soared with relief that he was okay even as it swelled with panic as she slid toward the edge.

“Max!” She clawed desperately at the squishy ground.

He dived like a baseball player trying to steal first base, his hands outstretched. Her fingertips brushed against his, and then she fell into open air.

* * *

“BEX, NO!” MAXyelled her name, horrified, as her frightened, pale face disappeared over the cliff. He shoved to his knees, trying to find purchase in the slick mud. Digging his fingers around some tree roots embedded in the mire, he pulled himself just over the drop-off and looked down. “Bex? Bex?”

“I’m here.”

Her voice sounded impossibly hoarse, but it was definitely her. He inched another half foot forward, and then he saw her, clinging to the side of the hill, the fingers of her left hand wrapped around tree roots protruding from the slick dirt.

“Hang on,” he called down. “Don’t let go.”

“I’m slipping.”

“Try to find a better handhold. There are roots all over the place. You might have to dig.”

She punched at the dirt with her right hand. “I’ve got another root!”

“Good. Hold on. I’m coming to get you.” How, he had no idea. But going over the edge wasn’t an option. He’d pull the whole slick hillside down on top of both of them. He needed to go back down the hill and come up from beneath her, below the cliff face.

He half slid, half ran down the hill to circle around beneath the cliff. A shadow moved off to his right. He jerked his head around just as Deacon Caldwell slammed into him from the cover of trees.

* * *

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