stringent odor of urine?
Another tortured, strangled groan.
New terror crystalized.
Dear God, had she just shot another human being?
Please, please, no!
What was this? She started shrieking in terror behind her gag, struggling to get away, but the lunatic held her tighter, kept his hand over hers and quickly untied her blindfold.
She immediately retched, just as her abductor yanked the gag from her face.
In the glow of a single small lantern she witnessed what she’d done. A man who was vaguely familiar was seated in a chair, a thin pillow strapped around his torso. His hands were bound behind him, his ankles strapped to the metal legs of the chair. He was slumped forward, and beneath him, in an ever-widening pool, was the blood draining from his body. Feathers were still drifting toward the floor, like wispy snowflakes, slowly settling into the oozing reddish stain.
Mary lost the full contents of her stomach and she threw up on the floor and the front of the white dress he’d forced her to wear. She was crying, trembling as she watched the man die. His eyes glazed in the soft golden light, and Mary, tears tracking from her eyes, sobs erupting from her throat, was certain she saw his spirit leave his body.
Dear God, she’d murdered an innocent person, tied to the chair. She moved her gaze to focus on the small gun still clutched in her hand…her gun…. the little pistol her father had given her for protection.
And with it she’d killed a man.
No, Mary. Not you. The monster who kidnapped you. Take the gun. It’s still in your hand. Turn it on him. God would never punish you for taking his filthy, sin-filled life.
Just as the thought reached her, his grip on her hand tightened. “You killed him, Mary,” he said almost endearingly, as if he wanted to caress her.
She shivered, started to protest, but felt the pressure in his grip increase. He yanked her backward so that her body was pressed to the hard wall of his chest, the back of her legs wedged against his thighs and shins, her rump nestled against his crotch, his erection bulging against her cleft again. Her heart hammered wildly. Sheer terror paralyzed her.
“Killing’s a sin.” His breath was hot and silky, the air filled with his depravity. “But you know that, don’t you?”
She didn’t respond, just felt the rain of her own tears against her cheeks. It didn’t matter what she said. She was doomed. She knew it. There was no escape.
“You just sinned, Mary,” he whispered seductively and she swallowed hard. Searched desperately in her soul for her inner strength. Knew what was coming.
Father, forgive me…
“And we all know the wages of sin is death…”
Slowly he rotated her hand in his, then pushed the muzzle of her own pistol to her temple.
CHAPTER 3
“T hree o’clock would work out,” Abby said, cradling her cellphone between her shoulder and ear. Two days after she’d listened to Luke on the radio and made a pitch for the Nolan-Smythe nuptials, Abby was carrying a sack of groceries in one arm and her portfolio in the other. She’d spent most of the day before and the early hours of this morning at her studio in town, going through her bills and consulting with some college seniors for their graduation pictures, before stopping at the store, then racing back home.
She dropped the sack onto the kitchen counter where Ansel was seated by the window, his tail switching as he watched birds flutter near the feeder hanging from the eave. “Shoo,” she whispered as the woman on the other end of the line made arrangements to view her house.
Her FOR SALE BY OWNER sign had been up less than seventy-two hours and she’d already received several calls from potential buyers, this being the first who actually wanted to “view the property,” after hearing the price and details.
As Ansel stretched on the counter and patently ignored her command to hop onto the floor, Abby walked into the living room, where she placed her portfolio
Another tortured, strangled groan.
New terror crystalized.
Dear God, had she just shot another human being?
Please, please, no!
What was this? She started shrieking in terror behind her gag, struggling to get away, but the lunatic held her tighter, kept his hand over hers and quickly untied her blindfold.
She immediately retched, just as her abductor yanked the gag from her face.
In the glow of a single small lantern she witnessed what she’d done. A man who was vaguely familiar was seated in a chair, a thin pillow strapped around his torso. His hands were bound behind him, his ankles strapped to the metal legs of the chair. He was slumped forward, and beneath him, in an ever-widening pool, was the blood draining from his body. Feathers were still drifting toward the floor, like wispy snowflakes, slowly settling into the oozing reddish stain.
Mary lost the full contents of her stomach and she threw up on the floor and the front of the white dress he’d forced her to wear. She was crying, trembling as she watched the man die. His eyes glazed in the soft golden light, and Mary, tears tracking from her eyes, sobs erupting from her throat, was certain she saw his spirit leave his body.
Dear God, she’d murdered an innocent person, tied to the chair. She moved her gaze to focus on the small gun still clutched in her hand…her gun…. the little pistol her father had given her for protection.
And with it she’d killed a man.
No, Mary. Not you. The monster who kidnapped you. Take the gun. It’s still in your hand. Turn it on him. God would never punish you for taking his filthy, sin-filled life.
Just as the thought reached her, his grip on her hand tightened. “You killed him, Mary,” he said almost endearingly, as if he wanted to caress her.
She shivered, started to protest, but felt the pressure in his grip increase. He yanked her backward so that her body was pressed to the hard wall of his chest, the back of her legs wedged against his thighs and shins, her rump nestled against his crotch, his erection bulging against her cleft again. Her heart hammered wildly. Sheer terror paralyzed her.
“Killing’s a sin.” His breath was hot and silky, the air filled with his depravity. “But you know that, don’t you?”
She didn’t respond, just felt the rain of her own tears against her cheeks. It didn’t matter what she said. She was doomed. She knew it. There was no escape.
“You just sinned, Mary,” he whispered seductively and she swallowed hard. Searched desperately in her soul for her inner strength. Knew what was coming.
Father, forgive me…
“And we all know the wages of sin is death…”
Slowly he rotated her hand in his, then pushed the muzzle of her own pistol to her temple.
CHAPTER 3
“T hree o’clock would work out,” Abby said, cradling her cellphone between her shoulder and ear. Two days after she’d listened to Luke on the radio and made a pitch for the Nolan-Smythe nuptials, Abby was carrying a sack of groceries in one arm and her portfolio in the other. She’d spent most of the day before and the early hours of this morning at her studio in town, going through her bills and consulting with some college seniors for their graduation pictures, before stopping at the store, then racing back home.
She dropped the sack onto the kitchen counter where Ansel was seated by the window, his tail switching as he watched birds flutter near the feeder hanging from the eave. “Shoo,” she whispered as the woman on the other end of the line made arrangements to view her house.
Her FOR SALE BY OWNER sign had been up less than seventy-two hours and she’d already received several calls from potential buyers, this being the first who actually wanted to “view the property,” after hearing the price and details.
As Ansel stretched on the counter and patently ignored her command to hop onto the floor, Abby walked into the living room, where she placed her portfolio
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