Page 17 of Bird on a Blade (Hunter’s Heart #1)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EDIE

I t reminds me of running from Sawyer fifteen years ago.

I dive off the hiking trail, plunging into the forest’s thick growth. Branches lash out at me, stinging my face and hands as I try to claw them away. Baro shouts behind me, and I can hear him following me, both of our bodies crashing through the trees.

The only difference is I’ve been hiking the last hour. Adrenaline pushes me forward, and for a little while, at least, I can ignore the heavy ache in my legs, the constriction in my lungs. But I don’t know how long.

“You don’t have to run!” His voice echoes against the mountain. “I’m just trying to help you!”

Suddenly I feel strong, firm hands around my waist, and I’m jerked sideways, dragged roughly through a patch of sharp brambles. A gloved hand clamps on my mouth; a rubber mask brushes my cheeks.

“Shhh,” says Sawyer, soft as a sigh.

He pins me against the ground, his hand pressed over my mouth. When I flick my gaze up to him, I only see a grey Halloween mask, some grimacing demon, and my whole body goes rigid. It’s nothing like the mask he wore fifteen years ago, but it still somehow takes him, instantly, from Sawyer to Sawyer Caldwell, the Fat Camp Killer.

I whimper against his glove, and he holds a finger up to the demon’s mouth.

“Mrs. Hensner!” Baro’s voice drifts through the forest, his words punctuated by crashes of underbrush. “Come on out! There’s no need for you to run.”

I shake my head at Sawyer, my eyes wide. He gives me one small nod, then holds his finger to his mouth again. I get the message: Stay quiet.

He pulls his hand away from me.

For a moment I just stare up at him, shivering in the damp. Then he slides his arm around my waist and slowly pulls me to standing. Baro cracks a branch; it’s followed a second later by a sharp, whispered, “Fuck.”

Sawyer gestures for me to follow him, and then he moves carefully through the thick forest, stepping in patches of rain-drenched ferns. I keep one hand against his back like I need to balance myself, and I step where he steps, my heart thundering in my chest.

“Edie!” Baro shouts, but he sounds further away.

Sawyer stops and turns toward me, catching my wrist as he does. His eyes glint behind the mask, fierce and glittering, and my head spins at the memory of the last time I’d seen him in a mask. He looked at me the same way then, although I hadn’t recognized it for what it was:

Concern.

He slides the mask up to the top of his head.

“Who is that?” he says, so soft I lean in to hear him.

“S-scott,” I stammer out, then shake my head. “My h-husband. Someone he sent?—”

Sawyer’s eyes darken. “Is he going to hurt you?”

There’s an unyielding darkness in the way he asks the question, and I am suddenly, painfully aware that the way I answer will determine what happens to that man.

Your husband is worried about you .

No, he’s not. My ex-husband is almost certainly not worried about me. He’s worried I’ll tell people what he’s done.

He wants me gone.

“Not him,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “But he’ll tell Scott where I am, and Scott?—”

Rage flares in Sawyer’s face. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.

“He won’t,” Sawyer says, “tell Scott anything.”

He spits out Scott’s name like it’s a curse, and I tremble. Because I know what Sawyer’s going to do.

And, even though it makes me sick to my stomach, I know that I’m not going to stop him.

“Edie!”

Baro’s voice cuts through the forest. And it’s closer now.

Sawyer shoves the mask back down over his face and points to his left. When he moves, I move, snaking through the trees. He’s impossibly quiet. I make noise, but not much. Even so, every crack, every rustle, makes me freeze.

And then we come to a creek, swollen from the rain. Sawyer leans down and murmurs, his voice muffled slightly from the mask.

“Do you still have your phone?”

I nod, not bothering to ask how he would know I had it in the first place. I don’t need to.

“Then time yourself. Follow this creek for eight minutes. At eight minutes, you’ll be near a clearing with an old church. That’s where I live.”

I look at him sharply. But the only expression I get is that twisted demon’s face, and Sawyer’s glittering black eyes.

“Edie, we don’t have to fucking do this!” Baro’s voice reverberates around the mountain .

“You’ll be safe there,” Sawyer growls. “Now go.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond, only turns and disappears between the trees. I stare at the place he’d been, numb to what I just unleashed. But then flashes of Scott’s assault flash through my head. My neck burns from where he tried to strangle me.

He’ll do it again.

A loud crack explodes through the woods, jarring me into action. I yank out my phone to check the time; still no message from Charlotte, which only adds another layer of worry. Then I walk along the creek, moving mechanically, jumping at every snap and rustle.

I’ve been walking for four minutes when a soft susurration floods the forest, and then suddenly it’s raining again, a steady misting rain that soaks my hair and clothes. My phone buzzes in my hand.

Charlotte

Holy shit are you okay? I’m calling you.

And then her face appears on the screen, the phone vibrating in my palm. I know I should answer. But I have no idea what I would tell her.

So I let the phone keep buzzing as I trudge through the rain, every muscle in my body tense and ready to run. The phone stills, and I realize I’m waiting to hear Baro scream.

I don’t hear anything but the rain.

Eight minutes.

I stop and turn in a slow circle. The creek bubbles and gurgles beside me, staticky with raindrops. All I see is trees. There’s no clearing. There’s?—

A flash of white. Just up ahead.

I move toward it, clawing through a drooping willow tree, and then, sure enough, I step into a clearing. Cold wind drives the rain into my face, but it also flattens down the tall, yellowing grass. At the center of the meadow is a run-down white church, the steeple pointing toward the storm clouds.

I stare at it. That’s where I live , Sawyer said, and for some reason, this moment feels far more weighted than when I didn’t stop him from going after Baro. Like if I cross this grass, if I go into that church, I won’t be myself anymore.

I’ll belong to Sawyer Caldwell.

Lightning splits across the sky, and when the thunder comes, it’s so loud I feel it in my chest. I look down at my phone, streaked with raindrops. More messages from Charlotte. I’ll let her know I’m okay. The rest?—

The rest I won’t tell her.

I slide the phone into my jeans pocket, my whole body shivering from the cold. The church rises in front of me.

There’s another crack of lightning. I think I hear a man scream, but maybe not. The thunder is too deafening to hear anything else.

Call 911 , whispers a voice in my head. End this now. You can end this now .

The rain stings my face. My hair plasters to my head. My clothes are completely soaked.

And I walk toward the church.

I drip water onto the foyer, staring down the aisle at the tidy row of pews and the small altar in the empty space at the front. My family wasn’t a religious one, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been in any kind of holy place.

Not that this place is holy.

It doesn’t exactly look like a killer’s lair. There aren’t bodies strewn around. No blood splattered on the walls. But I can tell that it’s been abandoned for a long time. Half the pews are clean, but the other half are filled with debris from the forest. The walls are grimy and falling apart except where they’ve obviously been repaired, and there’s something strange to me about that, Sawyer Caldwell whiling his days away repairing an old church.

Unfortunately, it’s also cold in here. The light switches don’t work, which I take to mean no electricity—and no heat. I strip off my damp sweater, hoping that will help, but it doesn’t. At least the church is dry.

I walk down the aisle and up to the altar, where I see Sawyer has laid out an array of knives, including the kitchen knife he stole from me. There’s an empty space in the row, which makes me feel kind of hollow and shuddery.

Off to the side of the altar is a small, simple door. I push it open, bracing myself for dead bodies and rotting blood. Instead, it opens into a small kitchen: a rickety card table, metal folding chairs, a couple of old coolers. Beer cans lined up neatly on the counter beside a few stacked plates and a pile of silverware.

It’s all so… normal.

Still, I’m afraid to look in the coolers. The kitchen opens into a narrow hallway, so I keep going on my little exploration. The rain sounds louder in the hallway, like the roof is thin, and I pass a bathroom and then come to a bedroom, as tidy as the kitchen.

The bed is made up with flannel sheets, and I suddenly want to crawl in and wrap myself in them. But I can’t bring myself to get in Sawyer Caldwell’s bed, even if I allowed myself in his home.

But I’m freezing, my body buzzing from the cold, so I peel off the top blanket and wrap it around my shoulders.

It smells like him.

I go back into the main part of the church and curl up on one of the clean pews and stare at the stained glass window beside me. It shows a brown-haired Jesus holding a white lamb, the colors muddy from the storm.

I pull out my phone. There are half a dozen text messages from Charlotte. I finally tap out a response, my hands shaking.

I’m in a safe place. I can’t talk just yet. I’ll explain later, but I’m safe.

I stare down at the message, reading it over and over. I can feel my pulse in my throat, and I honestly don’t know if what I wrote is true. Is the home of a serial killer ever a safe place?

It feels like it. At least right now, in this moment, with the storm raging outside.

I hit send.