Page 58 of Lightning in a Mason Jar

The open barn doors framed a shadowy couple, a man and a woman I didn’t need lighting to recognize.

“Stop,” I screamed, my hand wavering as I pointed. “It’s Libby. He’s got Libby.”

The station wagon jerked to a halt, flinging me into the dash. My ribs exploded with pain. But it didn’t change what I saw. The man eased out into the rain, with his fist in Libby’s long hair. Her legs pedaled as she thrashed alongside him. Was he somehow connected to her? Or one of the other women who’d come through Bent Oak over the years?

I clawed at the door handle, desperate to get out. To help Libby. To save her. I didn’t know how, but inaction wasn’t an option.

Russell gripped a hand on my arm. “Wait.”

Pivoting, I slapped at his arm. “Let me go. We have to do something.”

“Stop,” he said softly, his voice low and reasonable. “We need to think, not just react.”

His words made sense, although the logic still made me mad. How could I do anything other than react? “Fine. I’ll get him talking while you come up with a plan.”

I lunged out of the door with barely a glance back at Destiny. My feet slid on the mud until I landed hard on my bottom. My teeth slammed together. I clamped a hand against my ribs, the pain so excruciating I saw sparks behind my eyelids. Or maybe more lightning. Through the sheeting rain, I took in the man about fifty yards away, mid-height with hair darkened by rain and his face full of hate.

Libby grabbed at his soaked shirt until she regained her footing, her eyes pleading with me. “Winnie, get Keith out of the barn. Take him.”

She had to know I couldn’t just leave her here.

The man shifted his attention to me, and as much as I tried to hold my ground, I backed up a step.

“His name is Freddie,” the man growled. “Fred Gordon Jr.”

My stomach dropped at the fury in his tone.

Russell’s voice cut through the night, calm, reassuring. “Sir, let’s get out of the rain, and you can tell us all about what’s on your mind.”

The man yanked that fistful of hair harder. “Listen, buddy, this is none of your concern. This is between me and mywife.”

His words stole the air from my lungs. So this was Libby’s husband. Fred Gordon Sr. Rain hid tears streaming down my face for my friend and what she must have endured. How difficult it had to have been for her to escape. The harsh reality of how quickly we could be found sent ice through my veins.

The monster in front of me made Phillip look like a choirboy. This man was pure evil. The violence in his eyes alone made my throat sting with bile.

And he held sweet, gentle Libby up by her hair with one hand, a knife glinting in his other. Even in the dark I could see the surrender in her eyes.

“Fred,” she pleaded, “just take me. Let them go.”

Fred shook his head, hauling her around in front of him. He pressed the knife to her throat, the jagged blade glinting. “A son needs his father. Nothing would keep me from finding my boy.”

Should I run to Keith? I didn’t know how to help, and I was terrified of doing something to make this man even angrier.

Keith stumbled out of the barn, his hands trembling as he reached toward his parents. “Mama, I’m sorry. It’s my fault—”

“It’s okay, baby.” Libby choked out hoarse reassurance, her voice gurgling from rainwater, maybe, or from whatever violence had beendone to her before we arrived. “I love you.” Then she mouthed the wordRun.

Her order launched Keith into action. He bolted past his parents, sprinting toward the station wagon. Rain slicked over him, plastering his hair over his eyes. The station wagon began rolling, gaining momentum, and for a moment my heart went into my throat until I realized Destiny was behind the wheel.

She leaned out the window and shouted at Keith, “Get in.”

Keith only hesitated for a moment before diving into the passenger side. Destiny floored the gas, tires spinning, spewing mud. Finally lurching free with the taillights winking in the night.

At least the teens were safe. Two less people to worry about so we could focus on Libby.

Fred backhanded her, once, twice. “See what you made him do?”

A scream of denial tore from my throat, mingling with Russell’s growl. Calm was fading fast. He strode forward with measured, determined strides. His gaze locked with Fred’s as the man arced his fist upward again. And I realized he’d dropped the knife. Russell was making his move.

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