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Was someone watching them?

Demon eyes peering through the dark foliage near the abandoned old logging road?

Why did the damned dog keep watch, staring at the darkest part of the forest?

The spit dried in Prescott’s mouth. He suddenly wanted to pee. Bad. “I think we best git outta here.”

“Why?” Billy Dean was already on one knee, slitting the buck’s belly from sternum to his privates.

The dog growled again.

Low.

A warning.

“I got me a buck to gut,” Billy said, “then I figure we’ll dig up the grave.”

“What? No way!”

“Hey, there might be more where that there ring came from.”

“Maybe we should call the police.”

“Why?”

“Cuz there’s somethin’ evil here,” Prescott whispered, edgy as he eyed the other side of the clearing where the brush was dense and dusky. The dog showed his teeth and began to circle, his eyes never moving from the shadowy trees. Prescott’s insides nearly turned to water. “It’s somethin’ we don’t want to mess with.”

“Speak fer yerself. I ain’t goin’ nowhere till I field dress this sumbitch, dig up the grave and see what’s what. Maybe there’s some more damned jewels—some kinda treasure.”

“Why would there be?”

“Who knows?” Billy Dean rocked back on the worn heels of his boots and squinted one eye up at the sky as if to see better.

Dark clouds shifted. An omen if ever there was one.

Billy didn’t seem to see it that way. “I figure this here is God payin’ me back fer all the times He shit on me.” Billy turned back to his work. He’d already sliced the four-point’s hide just far enough not to puncture any innards. The guts rolled out on the ground in one glistening lump. “I know, I know I shouldn’t talk that way about the Lord, but He never did much fer me. Till now. I figure He finally’s squarin’ things up a bit.” Shoulders hunched, Billy worked at cutting the buck’s bowel and tying it off.

“I don’t reckon so,” Prescott argued, fear making his skin crawl as stubborn Billy worked. “Come on, Billy Dean. We need to get out of here. Now.”

“I’m not leavin’ my kill. And I’m diggin’ up the damned grave. What’s got into you?” Billy stood, then turned, still holding his hunting knife in his left hand, blood dripping from the blade and staining his fingers. The skin across his face appeared more mottled than ever as he glared at his cousin. “Ye’re scared, ain’t cha? Jesus H. Christ.” His voice was filled with disgust. Billy’s eyes moved to the shaded woods. “What is it? What’d you see?”

“Nothin.’ I ain’t seen nothin’, but that don’t mean there ain’t somethin’ there.” Prescott caught a movement, shadow on shadow, a bit of l

eaf twisting unnaturally in the wind. The dog’s growl was low enough to seem unworldly. “Come on,” Prescott ordered, starting back up the trail at a jog. “We need to get goin’,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Now!” He didn’t stop to see if Billy Dean was following him, just took off as fast as he could, running hard up the trail. The dog streaked past him on the fly, tail between his legs.

Damn it all to hell, Billy Dean had better come along. No deer or no damned ring was worth dealin’ with the pure evil Prescott sensed had trod through this stretch of backwoods. The path was steep, his feet unsteady, his lungs threatening to give out as he breathed hard enough to fog his glasses. Sweat poured down his face, into his eyes, under his collar. God, please help me git outta here alive and don’t blame me for Billy Dean’s attitude. He’s an idiot, God, please…His lungs were on fire, his heart pumping crazily as he stumbled past a fork in the path and around a steep switchback. This was the right way. Or was it? Had he passed that split oak—

Something moved…shifting in the hazy light filtering through the trees. Jesus! Whatever it was, slid through the undergrowth. A person? A dark figure. A man? Or the embodiment of Satan himself? Prescott’s heart froze. He spun around too quickly, twisting his ankle.

Pain splintered up his leg.

Oh, shit! Prescott let out a squeal, then bit his tongue. He didn’t want Lucifer to find him.

Run! Now!

He had to hide. He bolted. Up. Down. Wherever the trail led while the pain in his leg shrieked through his body.

Don’t think about the pain. Don’t think about Billy Dean. Just get away. Fast!


Tags: Lisa Jackson Savannah Mystery