Page 63 of Capturing You

Two flashlights were moving around near the vehicles.

He backed away and pressed against the wall. What should he do? He could try to trap them in there, but the last thing he wanted was to get into a shootout. He had to assume they were armed, and there were two of them and one of him. They were inside and he was out. If they killed him, nothing would stop them from breaking into the house.

They could find Brooklynn.

Thick, wild bushes poured out of what used to be a pretty flower bed. They’d be easy enough to hide in. When Forbes heard the voices moving toward him, he ducked behind the bushes and watched.

Two figures stepped outside. It was too dark to make out faces, but Niles’s voice carried on the wind. His words were impossible to make out.

The taller man had to be Bernie.

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.

They bent low and jogged past Forbes toward the driveway and the road. When they were a good twenty feet past, he cocked his weapon and shouted, “Hey!”

“Run!” one shouted.

They both broke into a sprint.

Forbes aimed high and just to the left of the shorter one. He fired.

Niles hit the ground. The bullet hadn’t come within ten feet of him, but he was smart enough to know one could.

Bernie, the moron, kept running.

Forbes aimed for just north of his ear and fired again.

The big man dove.

“Stay off this property!” Forbes yelled to be heard over the wind, never revealing his position. “Next time, you’ll leave in a body bag.”

He counted to ten, dripping in rainwater. They might as well get as wet as he was. Finally, he shouted, “Go. Don’t come back!”

They both hopped to their feet and bolted toward the road.

Forbes hoped he’d made an impression.

When they were out of sight, he let himself in the garage.

Everything looked fine.

He checked his pickup truck’s engine, then that of Grandmother’s Cadillac. He checked the brake lines. Both undisturbed. No ticking bombs. No booby traps.

He saw nothing worrisome at all, which was…worrisome.

What had they done?

He had no idea, and the not knowing bothered him almost as much as the intruders themselves.

* * *

After Forbes changedinto dry clothes, he made a quick stop in the kitchen, then grabbed an armful of wood from the stack in the garage. He wasn’t worried about kindling. This wood had been dead for twenty-plus years. It would burn way too fast.

He was practically jogging, Brooklynn’s fearful tone when she’d asked him to hurry playing on a loop in his mind. Nothing would happen to her as long as she stayed put.

But this was Brooklynn.

Making the odds she’d start snooping fifty-fifty. Maybe seventy-thirty.