ChapterNine
Audrey paced the cabin. She’d managed to choke down a can of cold pork and beans with canned pears for dessert. Adrenaline had faded, and now the chill air sapped her energy. Add to that pregnancy-exhaustion hormones and she was yawning in a perpetual loop. Forty-five minutes ago, she couldn’t imagine sleeping, but now, she had no idea how she would manage to stay awake until Xavier returned.
So she paced, talking to the baby, or maybe she was muttering because she was falling apart. She wasn’t quite sure. But really, after the night she’d had so far, a mental breakdown was fully justified.
She reached the front window and pivoted on her heel, turning too fast. Dizziness swamped her. She swayed on her feet.
It was unlike her to lose her balance so easily, but nothing was normal tonight. She fixed her gaze on a thick log beam. She took a deep breath to steady herself.
Rain pounded on the roof and wind rattled the shutters. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself. She’d keep walking to generate heat and stay awake. But no more fast turns. She placed her hand on her belly. “Your daddy is coming back for us,” she whispered. “He’s going to turn off the signal jammer and call for help. An hour, maybe two, and helicopters will swoop in. We’ll be rescued.”
But could helicopters fly in this storm?
Probably not.
When hikers were trapped in the mountains due to weather, search and rescue was often grounded until the storm abated. Black Hawks might be better equipped to fly at night and in a storm, but the basic physics of flight in bad weather remained the same. And this storm was a nasty one. The lake and lodge were nestled in the western foothills of Mt. Olympus. There were no taller peaks between the lodge and the Pacific Ocean to redirect or disperse the storm.
This was Mother Nature in all her Pacific Northwest January wrath.
The back door rattled, and she jolted, then twirled to face the door, again moving too fast, but this time keeping her feet. Was Xavier back already?
She took a few silent steps toward the door.
It rattled again. The knob turned, but the dead bolt prevented it from opening.
She froze, fear pulling the blood from her head and sending it straight to her belly. Someone was out there, and it wasn’t Xavier. He would have knocked, using the pattern he’d chosen.
Could it be one of the SEALs checking out the cabin or seeking shelter? Would a SEAL have hiked this far, or was this out of bounds for the training? Of course, if they knew it wasn’t a training anymore, nothing was out of bounds.
Her gut said this wasn’t an ally, this was someone searching for her and Xavier. The SEALs in these woods didn’t even know she was here, and weren’t they supposed to be trying to breach the lodge?
She was going to vomit. Or faint. Maybe both.
She couldn’t make a noise. If whoever was outside that door knew she was in here alone, armed only with a paint gun, they’d hack through the shutters and break a window. Entering the cabin would be easy.
They’d opened Jeb’s throat with an axe.
She took a silent step backward and grabbed her coat from where she’d draped it over the cold woodstove and donned it, then she snatched her backpack from the floor. She’d exit through the door to the deck that overlooked the lake.
A thunk sounded from the deck, then that door’s knob rattled at the same time the back door shook.
Icy terror slid down her spine.
There were two men, blocking both exits.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she faced fear unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She could—probably would—die here. Tonight. By axe, knife, or gun.
Axe…
She turned to the woodbox next to the woodstove. The box was built into the wall of the log structure, so one could split wood outside, toss it in the box, and then from inside the cabin, grab logs to fill the woodstove.
There could be a hatchet in the box along with other tools, another weapon to add to her arsenal. But even more important, inside the cabin, the box looked small—not large enough for a person, but she might fit, and, even better, she might be able to slip out of the cabin via the box.
She gingerly lifted the lid, wincing when the hinges squeaked, but the storm had probably covered the sound. The front of the box was a third-full of wood, leaving a tight space for her to slip through.
A soft pop came from the direction of the back door. Were they shooting the dead bolt? Xavier had said their guns might have suppressors.
She scrambled into the box, wiggling backward into the narrow space, having no idea if she’d fit or if wood filled the back of the box and she was trapping herself. She’d just managed to fold herself into a ball and close the lid when she heard a door slam against the wall. If the outside hatch was locked, she was cornered, but her only choice was to hide or flee, and this box had the potential for both.