Final Stand

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue

Bitters, Texas

Thursday, August 24, 2000

10:30 p.m. CST

With a sharp strike against the small box’s score, the match ignited. A flash of light, a ghostly puff of smoke, the nose-stinging scent of sulfur, and it was done. The arsonist’s ragged emotions were set free. Instantly, any doubt or anxiety about this decision vanished, replaced by righteous conviction.

The flame stayed steady and bright as it was lowered to the mass of dry wood piled on the board stairs leading to the church’s vestibule. Whole lengths of browned evergreen branches and other dead vegetation had been easy to collect, thanks to the wild terrain and yet another year of drought.

As expected, the brittle debris caught quickly. Flowing like liquid, the flames spread, advanced and climbed. It wouldn’t be long before they gave birth to a torch, a pyre, a veritable shaking fist against this serene night, this star-studded summer sky, luminous and wide, unmarred by the slightest hint of a cloud. This silent witness to everything.

Soon the vestibule doors would catch, and then…maybe the interior. It was possible if help was slow to respond.

Tossing the box of matches into the intensifying blaze, escape became the next focus. There might not be anyone on this remote highway tonight, but there was always the chance an alert trucker on I–10, or worse, a state trooper, would spot the distant glow and mention it on his radio, initiating an alarm too soon. However, the arsonist’s escape vehicle was parked facing the road; even that had been thought through. What hadn’t been was the unreliable nature of the vehicle itself.

It took try after terrifying try, but just as the smell of gasoline could be detected, the engine finally roared to life and the arsonist peeled out of the lot making a skidding turn west onto the unlit single-lane highway.

1

“No!”

The dog came out of nowhere, a streak of black, darker than the night, cutting across the single-lane highway, directly into the path of the van. The driver hit the brakes, but in that surreal instant, the young woman noticed that the animal was hobbling along on only three legs. The poor creature didn’t stand a chance.

Tires protested in a high-pitched squeal as she pulled at the steering wheel in an instinctive attempt to direct the vehicle away from catastrophe, and the van slid across the double yellow line. Luckily there was no other traffic on the dark, unlit road. Fully expecting the sickly thud of impact, out of the corner of her eye she caught the brief, amazing glimpse of the black mass hurling itself into a ditch. For a few seconds, she almost got to savor relief—until logic returned with stomach-roiling bitterness.

She may not be responsible for killing the dog, but that survivalist’s dive had probably finished the poor thing. Even if it hadn’t, maimed as it was, it wouldn’t last much longer out here. Either way, she couldn’t let herself care. It was imperative that she keep going.

But no sooner did the van come to a full stop than she shifted into Reverse and backed up. She angled off to the shoulder, all the way until her headlights found the animal.

A pair of glowing amber eyes watched her from the deepest part of a shallow draw.

“Damn it.”

The dog had to have a cat or two in its family tree. Just her luck, since staying in one spot for any length of time was nothing short of an invitation for trouble. She should have taken the chance and gotten on the interstate.

With a sharp, angry yank, the woman shifted into Park, set the emergency brake and turned on the flashers. This surge of compassion was as unwelcome as it was risky. Here she was prepared to kill, and what was she doing? Playing nursemaid. On the other hand, if it was her lying out there…

“Bet it was born crippled,” she muttered as she fumbled in the dark for a flashlight.

Her fingers brushed against the gun that would be hidden in the litterbag and covered with trash should police lights flash in the rearview mirror. For a moment she debated whether to take the automatic, too, but decided against it. The dog might be someone’s pet and known as the friendliest thing since Lassie; however, she’d had enough experience with canines to know they tended to react negatively to firearms, wild or not. Hopefully, this one wasn’t. But better to end up with a tooth tattoo than to disrupt the calm night with a gunshot this close to town.

The dog didn’t budge as she approached it. As she drew nearer, she understood why, and whatever resentment she’d been feeling vanished.

“Oh, hell. Who else did you have a run-in with tonight?”