Page 147 of What She Saw
“I know.” I moved toward my bedroom to grab my gun, but the phone cord stopped me.
“Can you see anything?”
I shut off the lights and returned to the window. The trees swayed. Bushes rustled in the wind. Through the darkness, I didn’t see anything that resembled a person. “No. Must have been an animal.”
“We’re on the way. And I’m staying on the line.”
“You’ll lose the signal in about two minutes.”
“We’ll keep talking as long as we can.”
“It could be the wind.”
“Since when did you embrace wishful thinking?”
“Never.”
I turned from the window and moved toward the dining room. My fingers tightened around the phone’s bulky receiver. “I must be a little jumpy after the prison visit.”
“Maybe.”
He was pacifying me. The trip hadn’t rattled me as it would most people, but he knew a possible pregnancy was weighing on my mind.
“Do you think Colton’s been in communication with his accomplice all these years?”
“He’s received lots of fan mail.” Grant’s signal was breaking up. “I should have his visitor log by morning.”
Colton had been the darling of many online groups. His good looks, which had grown more rugged with his time in prison, attracted lots of fans. “It’ll be a deep dive into decades of visitor logs.”
“Are you saying that’s too much for you?”
I chuckled. “Please. Child’s play.” The primitive part of my brain that had hummed warnings began to settle.
The line crackled again. “I’m about to lose you.”
“I know. See you in a few minutes.”
“Great.” I hung up the receiver, moved to the bedroom, and retrieved my handgun from under my mattress.
As I sat at the round table, the shadows outside shifted quickly. My body hummed with unspoken warnings.
And then a figure neared the window. The person was dressed in black, face covered with a ski mask. I tightened my grip on the gun.
I stood back, my body tense. Who had tracked me down up here?
A second later a brick smashed through the glass. Behind it was a Molotov cocktail, flaming bright red as it flew through the opening. The bottle crashed against the wooden floor, spreading burning liquid.
I wasn’t afraid, but I was hyperfocused. I grabbed a blanket off the couch and tossed it on the fire. The bulk of the flames struggled with the smothering fabric as more fire crept out from under the edges. I stamped my foot on the smaller blazes. The heat burned me, forcing me to pull back before stamping it out again.
A second brick came through another window. This time two firebombs followed it.
Smoke filled the cabin. I grabbed my backpack and raced to the cabin’s rear exit. As tempting as it was to rush outside, I didn’t. If I were the assailant, I’d have set a trap near the primary and secondary exits. Instead of using the door, I hurried into the bedroom. Smoke choked out the air. I threw open the window, taking a moment to suck in clean air. I shouldered the backpack, hiked my leg over the windowsill, and hoisted up my body.
The drop to the ground was about five feet. The ground below was rocky and uneven. The smoke and flames pressed against my back. I had to jump. I gripped the gun, leaped, and landed on the uneven ground. The backpack threw off my balance. My ankle twisted and I fell on my side. The impact sent a shock of pain up my leg. As I stumbled to my feet, my ankle protested.
Raising the gun’s sights, I leveled my gaze on the dark woods, searching for my little pyro friend. The wind rustled in the trees. Behind me the heat of the burning cabin became so hot, I was forced to hobble away toward the woods.
Footsteps crunched over dried leaves, but I didn’t see anyone. “Come on,” I whispered. “Don’t you want to keep playing? This is just starting to get fun.”
