After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

After She's Gone (West Coast #3) Page 176

Eight minutes. Damn it.

She tried to stay rational, reminding herself that just because the dog had heard something didn’t necessarily mean anything serious was happening. Maybe Trent was right. A coyote or cougar or even a racoon would get the shepherd going. Maybe he and Hud would scare whatever it was that was slinking around in the shadows.

Or maybe not.

Whatever the case, no way was she going back to bed alone. For what? To toss and turn, worry and stare at the ceiling? No thanks. Since she was now fully awake, she decided to stay up.

Without turning on a light, she started getting dressed in jeans and a sweater from earlier in the day, before the gawd-awful fiasco of a party.

As she hooked her bra, then pulled a sweater over her head, she thought about the long day, the revelations from her mother, the way her entire world had been turned upside down. She had an older sister? She had enough of a hard time wrapping her brain around that, let alone that the sister was somehow behind Allie’s disappearance and the murders. No—she couldn’t buy into that at all.

She picked up the keys.

What the hell would she do with a gun if she had one?

What good is it in a locked box?

“Fine.” She snapped on a bedside lamp, then walked to the closet. Checked the clock.

Ten minutes.

Too long.

Standing on her tiptoes, she retrieved both boxes, then with a little effort opened each to withdraw the gun and bullets. “It’s not rocket science,” she told herself and managed to load the gun, even figuring out the safety. “Piece of cake.”

Carrying the pistol, she took another look from the bedroom window and saw no lights go on in the barn. Why? If there were an animal prowling around, wouldn’t a bright light scare it off?

Something wasn’t right. She snapped off the light near the bed, letting the room fall into shadow, so that she could stand at the window and view the parking area and barn lot without the reflection of the room distracting her. She saw the trees swaying in the breeze, but no other shadows moved, observed no dark figure crouching in the deeper umbra, no four-legged beast slinking away from the outbuildings, all of which loomed darker.

“Come on,” she said, wishing Trent to return, her gaze pinned on the barn door. She considered texting him, but if he were in some kind of trouble, if some unseen enemy were out there with him, she didn’t want any noise or light from the phone to give him away.

You’ve seen too many horror films.

She hesitated. Fifteen minutes. She couldn’t stand it a second longer. She typed a quick text to him.

r u ok?

She waited. Stared at the phone. Counted the seconds. Expected a quick response.

Nothing.

“Come on.”

Again she texted.

What’s going on?

Again, no response.

If you really think he’s in trouble, you should call the police.

Biting her lip, she let her hand hover over the keypad of her phone, then, deciding not to freak out, to give it a few more minutes, she made her way downstairs. She’d make some coffee or hot chocolate or—

“Aaaayeeeeooow!”

Outside, a bone-chilling scream splintered the night.

What the hell was that?

Oh, God. Trent!

Startled, she flinched on the final three stairs and missed a step, her ankle twisting as she spun, pain so sharp she stumbled, throwing out her hands to catch herself. The gun and phone flew from her fingers. She scrabbled for the railing but everything happened so fast and she fell, her shoulder glancing off the newel post before she landed hard on the floor, cheek slamming against the hardwood.

Stunned, pain throbbing from several points on her body, she silently cursed her clumsiness. But the scream? Had it been Trent? Something else? An animal, possibly wounded?

Heart thundering, she gingerly pulled herself to her feet. She winced as she tried the ankle, but despite a jab of pain, it supported her. Her shoulder ached and her face smarted. She’d have a few bruises come morning, but she’d live. “Klutz,” she muttered, grateful she hadn’t shot herself. She listened and heard nothing over the rush of the wind, but that was it. She wasn’t going to sit in the house while God knew what was going on.

Snapping on a light, she found her phone near the den and snapped it up. The screen was shattered but it still seemed to work. The pistol had slid across the hardwood to the front door and she gathered it as well, then she turned off the light and headed to the back door. She’d text Trent and—