Staggering to her feet, she tried to run. If she could get away, hide in the trees… She had to stop the blows somehow, couldn’t sustain many more. But her legs wouldn’t carry her quickly enough. He grabbed hold of her shirt.
When he started kicking her, she couldn’t help crying out. She tried to kick and hit him back, but she felt completely defenseless. He was like a vicious animal bent on tearing her apart. He felt nothing, heard nothing, cared for nothing except her demise.
Her only chance was to slip in close and get the gun.
“You won’t…win!” She wanted to show him that she could still talk, that she could still function. He hadn’t bested her yet. But her voice sounded so odd. It echoed through the forest. Or maybe it only echoed through her head. Had she said anything at all?
His hands found her throat, and he began to shake her. “I hate you!” he cried, muscles bulging beneath the short sleeves of his T-shirt. “I hate you and your brother. And I’m going to kill you both!”
He sounded like a child, she realized distantly. He was a child, emotionally. Almost everyone else matured as they grew older, but Ink had been stuck in the tantrum-throwing toddler stage for all of his thirty-something years. She wanted to laugh at this, to laugh at him. She would have if she could draw breath, but he was choking her, and he seemed to have more upper body strength than she would’ve believed possible.
She surprised him by going limp before he expected it, and that forced him to catch her if he wanted to keep them both from falling.
He instinctively tried to do just that and twisted something in his back. She heard a pop as if a twig had snapped, but from his screech she thought it might be a bone.
“You…bitch!” he wheezed. His breathing was as strained as hers, but he’d landed on top of her and was still gripping her clothes.
He clearly had a high tolerance for pain, could function with it because he was accustomed to it, but his injured back also gave her an opportunity. She could wrestle him for the gun, she told herself, and was determined to try.
“You’re nothing!” she screamed back, and head-butted him in the nose.
She must’ve hit him just right because the blow stunned him. There was a pause during which he couldn’t seem to do anything. Then he released her clothes in order to wrap his hands around her neck again. He was going to kill her now; she could tell. She felt his fingers dig into her skin as he tried to get a good hold when she sank her teeth into his forearm.
The salty taste of his sweat hit her tongue as the rank odor of his body filled her nose. But when he screamed like a little girl, she clamped down even harder, hard enough to break the skin. Then it was his blood and not hers she tasted.
Sickened, she wanted to recoil in disgust, to vomit, but she locked her jaws and held fast.
Gasping, he tried to grab her by the hair so he could yank her head back, but his fingers slipped through her short locks and, for a brief moment, he had no hold whatsoever. That was when she felt the gun. She didn’t try pulling it from his pants. She knew he’d only take it away from her if she did. She barely had a second, just long enough to squeeze the trigger.
The blast seemed to ricochet off the trees and bounce back at them from the sky. He jerked, his scream a paroxysm of agony, and that was how she knew she’d hit whatever the gun had already been aimed at.
Judging from his position, she was pretty sure she’d just shot him in the balls.
The gunshot that gave Vivian and Ink’s position away turned Myles’s stomach. They weren’t far. Had Ink just killed her? Had he missed reaching her by that little?
Deputy Peterson, who’d gone into the woods ahead of him, beat him to the scene. When Myles came upon it, Peterson was standing over Ink, who lay prostrate on the ground. Peterson had his foot on Ink’s chest and his revolver pointed at his head.
“Kill me! Kill me, you bastard!” Ink screamed. “Pull the trigger.”
Peterson kept his flashlight pointed right into Ink’s eyes. “Sorry, buddy. I’m not like you. You’re going back to prison for the rest of your life.”
Myles took that in while using his own flashlight to scan the ground immediately surrounding them. He saw blood. Lots of it. Where was Vivian?
Then he found her. Although badly beaten, she’d managed to drag herself several feet away and sat shivering in stunned silence, watching the interplay between officer and felon as if she feared there might still be a chance that Ink could escape.
Afraid she was in shock, he lowered his flashlight and hurried over to her. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked as he knelt beside her. He prayed she wasn’t too badly hurt.
Her eyes shifted from Ink and locked with his. Then tears began to stream down her face.
“It’s over,” he said, and gathered her gently in his arms. “He’ll never be able to hurt you again.”
“What about—” she winced as she tried to speak “—Virgil?”
Myles couldn’t believe that was her first question. He’d never known a sister to care more about her brother. “He’s fine. He’s going to make it. And so are his wife and baby.”
She dabbed at the blood on her busted lip. “You know about Peyton?”
He wiped away her tears. “Rex called me with the good news when he couldn’t reach you. Peyton had the baby this morning—a girl, weighing nearly seven pounds.”
“Both are healthy?”
She was obviously in a lot of pain, didn’t seem fully capable of grasping what he’d said. “Perfect.”
The tears came faster. “And my kids?”
“They’re fine. Rex said they’re so excited about the baby that’s all they can talk about.”
“Does Virgil…know about the…the baby?”
“I’m sure he does.” He lifted her into his arms. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
Epilogue
It rained ten days later at Ellen’s funeral. Which was fitting. Nothing about her mother had ever been easy, but Laurel—she’d gone back to her old name, after all—was glad she could be there. She wanted to do the right thing, and that included taking responsibility for the person who could’ve made such a difference in her life, who should have made a difference, but had let her and her brother down so badly.
Myles stood on one side of her, Marley on the other. Sometimes Marley was a bit shy with her, but Laurel could tell Myles’s daughter liked her. They were taking things slow, giving her time to adjust, but Laurel had been seeing both of them a lot. Marley smiled up at her now, and Laurel put an arm around her slim shoulders.