But that might be more fun, anyway.
“What are you doing?” she asks him as he reaches into his pocket. “You need to keep your hands where I can see them.”
He laughs, pulls out the razor, and snaps it open.
Cold, wet, tired, hungry . . .
That’s it. I’ve had enough.
Mick has found no sign of Brianna along the paved trail by the river.
He’s not giving up the search entirely, though. No way. She needs him.
He’s just taking a short break. He needs to change his clothes, eat something, and rest for a little while in a warm, dry place.
Luckily, home is right down the path. He heads in that direction.
The first strike catches Noreen in the arm as she tries to get away from the intruder. The razor blade slices neatly through the sleeve of her blouse and into her flesh. Stunned, she looks down to see blood seeping over the white silk fabric. The stinging pain doesn’t hit her for a few seconds after that.
Those seconds are spent realizing that the attack was meant for her sister. If she corrects his mistaken assumption that she’s Rowan, he might stop and flee.
But he might not. He might continue to hurt her, and then go after Rowan, too.
Rowan’s not as strong as Noreen. She won’t be able to fight him off. She’ll get hurt.
I told her I’ll deal with this, and I will.
There’s searing pain now in her right arm where he cut her, and he’s holding her left so tightly that she can’t wrench herself free. She lifts her leg and kicks him, hard, going for the groin.
Not hard enough, not high enough.
The razor flashes again.
Suddenly, Noreen is afraid.
What if he hurts her badly?
What if . . .
It’s easier to say good--bye if you focus on what lies ahead instead of what lies behind you.
Her mother hadn’t realized what lay ahead when she said those words years ago, before she got sick, before she died.
For all her planning, maybe Noreen, too, is destined to— She feels the blade slash into her side.
No. Her kids. The girls, Sean . . .
They need her. Nothing can happen to her. She won’t let it.
She lifts her leg to kick him again and the blade catches it. More pain, more blood . . .
“You son of a bitch!” As she goes down, she kicks him with the other leg.
But then he’s on her again, and this time, the blade slashes into her throat.
In the parking lot of the high school, Rowan unlocks the door of the minivan with shaking hands, then shoves the keys back into her pocket.
This is crazy.
She just revealed her deepest, darkest secret to Ron Calhoun, and what did he say?
“I’m sure that doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
That’s what he said, and she could see the disapproval in his eyes. “But we’ll look into it,” he added. “I promise.”
Too little, too late.
I shouldn’t have told him. Why did I tell him?
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe it’s a stretch to think that . . . what? What does she even think? That Rick Walker kidnapped Brianna Armbruster?
What, exactly, would that accomplish in the grand scheme of things?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It makes no sense. She’s just dizzy with stress and exhaustion, and that damned song is still looping through her head: I Would . . . Die 4 . . . U . . .
As she climbs behind the wheel, she catches sight of the red snowflake still pinned to her lapel and lets out a frustrated cry. She strips off the coat and tosses it into the backseat.
She needs to get home. Thoughts spinning, she quickly texts Noreen that she’s on her way. Rick must be there by now, but she just has to find Mick. Noreen can help her.
Her keys . . . where are her keys?
Why can’t she ever find her damned keys?
She slams her fists against the steering wheel and leans her head back, eyes closed.
Get a grip. You can’t fall apart now. Come on.
Okay, her keys . . . keys . . .
Pocket of her coat?