“I know.”
Dillard wiped his hand across his mouth. “Let him in, distract him and—” Dillard heard a vehicle approaching, recognized the sound of Jesse’s busted muffler. The engine cut off a moment later and Dillard assumed Jesse must’ve parked just beyond the rise.
He met Linda’s eyes, they were wide and anxious. “You ready?”
She nodded, but he could see her hands were shaking.
JESSE HEFTED THE Mac-10, loaded a clip. He shoved the extra clips in his pocket, opened the door, and got out. He pushed the door to without slamming it and glanced up and down the wooded road. The homes along this stretch were few and far between, the next nearest mailbox at least a hundred yards back. He slipped the gun strap around his neck, setting the machine pistol beneath his arm. The light snow had turned into a miserable drizzle. He flipped up his jacket collar and, sticking to the trees, headed over the rise toward Dillard’s.
Jesse hunkered down in the bushes at the edge of Dillard’s yard, wishing he had a cigarette or something to calm his nerves. The cruiser was gone, which meant there was a real good chance Dillard was, too. And if Dillard happened to be home, hopefully he’d still be in bed, giving Jesse some chance at catching him by surprise. Are you prepared to shoot him? Jesse recalled the last time he had had to make that choice. This is different. This isn’t about me. This is about Abigail. I will shoot him if I have to. He took a deep breath, pulled the bolt back on the Mac, hoping to hell he wouldn’t have to shoot anybody. He broke cover and headed down the slope.
Jesse crept along the front of the house, trying to peek into the windows, looking for lights, any clue to who might be inside. He started to climb onto the front porch when the door opened. Jesse jumped, jerked the gun up, finger on the trigger.
Linda stood in the crack of the door, and for a moment he forgot about Dillard, the General, even Krampus, only felt the ache in his heart.
“Jesse,” Linda said, looking shocked. “What are you doing here?”
He darted up the steps, trying to see inside, keeping the gun ready. “Is he here?” he hissed. “Is Dillard here?”
She shook her head and a rush of relief washed through him.
Linda glanced up and down the road. “Quick, get in here before someone sees you.”
Jesse ducked inside the foyer. “Where’s Abigail?”
She looked him over and he could see in her eyes what a mess he must be.
“Jesse, I’m so worried about you. What is—”
“Is she here? Is Abigail here?”
“Jesse, would you please put that gun away.” He caught the quiver in her voice, noticed she was talking to him carefully, the way you’d talk to a crazy person.
“Please,” she said. “Just put it down and talk to me, Jesse. Please.”
He saw it then, the fear in her eyes. “Oh, Linda. Oh, no . . . you got it all wrong.” He yanked the gun strap from around his neck, sat the weapon on the hall table beneath an oval mirror, and stepped toward her. “Baby, last thing I meant to do was scare you.”
She backed away.
He couldn’t stand the pain in her eyes. He reached for her, taking another step. “Linda, please just listen. I can explain every—”
From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a shadow rushing out from the dark den. It hit him before he could turn, driving him into the wall with a tremendous thud. His feet were kicked out from under him and he hit the floor, his head bouncing off the river-rock tile. For a moment everything went bright-white and syrupy. A crushing weight landed on his back, hard hands twisted his arms behind him, and cold steel clamped around his wrists. He was patted down, then a big boot kicked him over. When things came back into focus, he found himself staring up into Dillard’s cold eyes.
“That ought to take some of the spit out of you,” Dillard said.
Jesse searched for Linda, found her clutching her face in her hands. “Linda . . . why?”
“Jesse, I’m so sorry. I . . . just . . . I thought . . . just wanted to do what was best. I was scared you were gonna end up getting hurt. Scared you might hurt somebody. Scared for Abi.” She gave him a pleading look; opened her mouth to say more, then burst into tears. She hid her face in her hands and sobbed.
For Abi? Then it hit him: Linda had no idea. “Linda, no. You got it all wrong. It’s the General that means to hurt Abi. Don’t you see, baby? Dillard, too, they’re all in on it. They’re playing you to—”
Dillard drove his boot into Jesse’s stomach. Jesse doubled up, groaning.
“Stop it!” Linda shouted.
Dillard ignored her, picked the Mac-10 up off the table. “How’d you come by this?”
Jesse glared at Dillard, but didn’t answer.
“I asked you where this goddamn gun came from.”
“Pulled it out of my ass!” Jesse shouted.
Dillard leaned over, grabbed a handful of Jesse’s hair, and slammed his face into the floor. Jesse felt something snap in his nose and his head exploded in a burst of bright pain.
“Stop!” Linda screamed and grabbed Dillard by the arm. “Stop it!”
Dillard stood up, locked his stony-gray eyes on her. She fell back a step. “Linda, I’m gonna tell you this one time.” His voice cold, void of emotion. “Go down the hall to Abigail’s room and stay there.”
Linda’s lips tightened; she was shaking. “No, I won’t.”
Dillard tilted his head as though he weren’t hearing right, then sat the Mac-10 back on the table and took a step toward her.
A vehicle—a truck, by the sound of it—pulled up outside. Jesse heard doors slamming, excited voices, then the drumming of feet on the porch. The front door burst open and Chet and Ash Boggs rushed in, weapons leveled. Chet carried a pistol and Ash a scattergun. They saw Jesse on the floor, grinned, and lowered their weapons.
Ash let out a whoop and all three hundred pounds of him practically danced over to where Jesse lay. He jabbed a finger at Jesse and said, “Picked the wrong son’bitch to steal from. Didn’t you, cocksucker? Why, the General’s gonna boil you alive, boy.”
Linda’s eyes shot to Dillard. “What’s he talking about?”
“Ash,” Dillard said. “Why don’t you shut up.”
“Dillard?” Linda pressed.
“They threatened to kill Abi,” Jesse spat. “Dillard’s part of it! Open your eyes, Linda, before it’s too—”
Dillard kicked him again.
“Dillard!” Linda cried. “What’s he talking about?”
Dillard didn’t answer.
“He’s not going with them,” Linda said, and Jesse saw the stubborn, take-no-shit-off-no-one gal he’d fallen in love with. “I won’t let ’em take him. I’ll call the sheriff if I have to. But he’s not going anywhere with them.”
Chet and Ash exchanged a glance.
Dillard stared at Jesse, his eyes burned into him, nodding to himself. Slowly, he lifted his head, fixing those burning eyes on Linda. “Linda,” he said, his tone tight and strained. “Leave.”
“I won’t.”
Dillard closed his eyes and Jesse started to shout, tried to warn Linda, but Dillard was already on the move. He swung, caught her in the face with his open palm, spinning her around. Her feet tangled and she tumbled into the living room.
“You fucking piece of shit!” Jesse cried and tried to make his feet. Ash, a man easily double Jesse’s weight, dropped atop of Jesse, pinning him with his knees.
Linda sat up, touched her busted lip, and looked at the blood on her fingers.
“Mommy?” Abigail stood in the hallway in her pajamas. She clutched her doll, her eyes confused. She saw Jesse. “Daddy? Daddy!” she cried, and dashed toward him. Dillard grabbed for her arm, missed, and caught hold of her hair, yanking her back. Abigail screamed, a sound full of terror and pain.