| |
There wasn’t a soul in the world less equipped to deal with this scenario than me.
A man was pointing a gun at me. In an underground shelter, with only one entrance point, the one he was blocking. He’d just confessed his crimes to me. And, unlike the other person trapped inside of the shelter with us, he had absolutely no ties to me, no real emotions to consider before squeezing the trigger and sending a bullet into my chest.
But I had to try something.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said.
“Do what?” James asked.
I didn’t want to actually speak the words.
“You have options,” I said instead. “What happened to Miranda was an accident. We can explain that to the sheriff. There are tests they can run that will show cause of death, if she died of hypothermia or from a heart attack or something...that will show up. It won’t be murder.”
James shook his head. “Do you think I’m stupid? I might not have meant to kill her, but that’s first-degree murder. Premeditated. They’ll still get me on manslaughter, maybe even second-degree murder. And kidnapping charges. I’ll be put away for years.”
“Hurting someone else will just make the situation worse,” I told him.
He smiled. “Only if someone finds out.” He looked around the shelter. “I don’t know about you, but I think this place is pretty hard to find. Might take someone years to locate this, especially if they don’t know what they’re looking for.”
I tried to take a breath but I could feel myself beginning to hyperventilate. He was right. If he killed me and left me out here, no one would know where to look for me. And part of me questioned whether or not anyone would even take the time to look. If I went missing, people would notice. Of that, I was sure. But would they look for me? Would Sheriff Lewis send out search parties? Would Gunnar or Declan, or Sophia or Vivian, or Mikey or Martin, spend time looking for me? I wouldn’t put it past James to come up with a story, something he could tell someone that would quickly find its way to the town’s gossip mill.
“Yeah, I saw that Rainy woman the other day,” he might say, sipping a beer on one of the barstools at the Wicked Wich. “She said something about leaving town for a while, needing a break.”
People would believe it. They’d cluck their tongues and murmur to themselves that they’d expected nothing less from the city girl who’d tried—and failed—at small town life.
A tiny flicker of hope blossomed inside of me.
Mack.
Mack knew I was out here. He would look for me.
But as quickly as my hopes rose, they deflated. Because James would know that Mack would be searching...and I had no doubt he’d find a way to silence him, too. If he was willing to kidnap Miranda and kill me, it stood to reason that he would go after Mack with the same determination. He was willing to protect himself, no matter the cost.
I took a step backward, closer to Tim. He was standing next to the half-eaten plate of bacon, his head hung low, his shoulders stooped. He looked defeated.
I didn’t blame him.
“James, please,” I said. I knew I sounded desperate, but I didn’t care. “Let’s talk this through. There are options.”
“No, there aren’t,” he said, shaking his head.
He stepped forward, the gun raised and pointed squarely at my chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this. But I don’t have any other choice.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears leaking through my lashes and onto my cheeks. I thought about Luke, and Laura. About Gunnar and Declan. About all of the things I still wanted to do. Mack’s words from the other night came back to haunt me, about choices and decisions and deadlines.
I was in a situation where I didn’t have a choice, where someone was making a decision for me.
I was helpless. Powerless.
Someone else was deciding my fate for me. Right there, right then.
A loud crash sounded and I braced for impact, my chest tightening, a whoosh of air escaping from my mouth as I crumpled to the floor.
I lay there for a few seconds, my eyes wide open, staring at the corrugated ceiling of the shipping container. There was no pain, and I wondered if I was in shock.
But then someone spoke, and it was a voice I wasn’t expecting.
“Ouch,” Mack said, half groaning. “What is this place?”
I closed my eyes.
Maybe I wasn’t in shock.
Maybe I’d already died.