Page 63 of Killer on the Homestead
Duncan didn’t fully understand the question, the information, but if they were looking into Terry… He just had to answer the questions and then this could all be over. “No. I wasn’t, I can ask my dad but… No, I think he’d have mentioned it if he’d known.”
“It also appears he’s been stockpiling weapons—legally, in fairness—and storing them on this property. We haven’t been able to get a search warrant yet since it’s across state lines, but since the weapons confiscated from your parents’ house don’t match the murder weapon, we’re trying.”
Duncan felt like his foundation was crumbling. “You think he did it.”
“It’s a lead we’re following, and your added information is helpful. It should put some weight behind the search warrant.”
Which was essentially a “yes, we think he did it.” But… “What about Rosalie?”
“She might be driving. She might be at her office or following a lead. What do you want me to do? She’s a grown woman. I can’t go searching for her when I’ve got a murder to solve.”
“Fine. Don’t do anything,” Duncan muttered, and he hit End on his phone. “I’ll do it.”
He was in his truck before he’d shoved the phone into his pocket. And he was out on the highway in under a minute.
Rosalie ran.
She’d managed to unbuckle herself, kick open the door of her truck, and then crawl out of it. The pain didn’t register at first. She was moving on adrenaline and the desperate need to get away from Terry and his gun.
She didn’t look back at the wreck of her car. Didn’t worry about seeing how long it would take him to crawl out of the wreck. She had to get out of gun range, then she could worry about all that.
She knew where she was, and the closest safe place to run would be toward Bent and the sheriff’s department. The ranches were too far away and so was the hospital.
Oh, she was miles from Bent, and it’d be a miracle if she reached it considering there was a wet sticky substance dripping down her face. She didn’t allow herself to think of it as blood. Acknowledging just how hurt she was would only slow her down.
She risked a look back toward the truck as she ran. She could see Terry crawling out of the back door. So she turned her attention forward and focused on running.
She had to get off the side of the road, even though someone might see her there and that might be help. It was too big of a risk considering how little traffic existed on this road. She needed to get out of Terry’s line of sight. Or at least out of the range of his gun.
She pawed at her hip as she ran toward a cluster of trees. Her gun wasn’t there. She’d lost it somewhere along the way. In the crash or the scramble out of the truck.
“Stupid,” she muttered to herself. Careless.Panic. She knew better than to panic, but that’s what she’d done. She cursed herself some more, but did it inwardly, so she could save all her breath for the run.
Once she was in the shade of the trees, she tried to get a better sense of her surroundings. She couldn’t run much more. Her vision seemed to be getting…fuzzy, and not just from the sticky substance that kept leaking into her left eye. She was unsteady. Much more running and she’d fall and really hurt herself.
She leaned against a tree with both hands as she tried to catch her breath, tried to think through the whirling, nauseating chaos in her head. Pounding, pounding pain. By ducking the gun’s aim when she’d crashed, the dashboard had given her a hell of a knock to the head.
But she wasn’t shot, was she?
Luckily, her legs seemed to be holding her up. She just had to catch her breath and come up with a plan. She twisted so now it was her back leaning against the tree. She blinked her eyes a few times until she could see straight. Sort of.
She was in a copse of trees, probably planted by some long-dead pioneer. It gave her some cover, but no doubt if Terry thought she was hiding, this was what he’d go for.
She couldn’t stay here. Not without a weapon. Not without her damn cell phone, which she’d left in the console of the truck.
But that wasn’t too big of a mistake. If someone was smart enough to trace it, they’d find her truck crashed in that ditch. They could hopefully track her.
If Terry didn’t first.
If worse came to worse and she was the next victim, surely some of Terry’s prints or DNA would be in her truck. They’d find him. Justice would be served.
She tried to find some comfort in that, but was that all she wanted?Justice?
She thought about what this would do to Audra. Franny. Vi. The people who loved her.
Duncan. And maybe love wasn’t in that equation. Too early, too soon for all that, but in this moment, Rosalie could be honest with herself, as little as she liked to be. It was somewhere in there, like a seed planted. Possibilities in all the things that brought them together, tied them together, made themlikeeach other.
And sure, that was scary, but inthismoment, the scarier thing was not getting a chance to see all that through.
