Finally, Shane sighed and said, “I think you’re right. I’m not ready to exonerate your brother yet but I do agree that my father was murdered. Now all we have to do is prove it.”
Few viable ideas came to Jamie Lynn other than the most frightening of all. If they couldn’t prove who had plotted to kill Sam Colton, perhaps their next best option was to prove who was trying to hurt—or kill—her.
Kill? Yes, she concluded, shivering as the truth became clearer and clearer.
She’d been fooling herself by insisting that her enemies merely wanted to frighten her. They were serious. Deadly serious.
And the next time, they might not miss.
* * *
After the dire implications of their evening conversation, it didn’t surprise Jamie Lynn that Shane not only volunteered to leave Kyle with Marsha while he drove her back to the motel, but he also offered to walk her to her door.
“Would you like me to check inside for you?”
“I hardly think that’s necessary.” She paused in the doorway of 6-B and flipped on the entry light. “Thank you.”
He touched the brim of an imaginary hat. “Anytime. I’ll be by to pick you up for church at about ten thirty.”
“Okay. Good night.”
With Useless in her arms, she sidled through the door and closed it with her hip. It was good to be back where peace and quiet reigned. Where she didn’t have to think about evil every moment and could kick back and relax.
She slipped off her sandals, set the sleepy dog on the floor and smiled. “Nothing like playing with a kid to tire you out, huh, boy? Maybe, when we get home, I’ll find you a puppy playmate to keep you in shape.”
Padding across the carpet toward the bed, she was startled to hear a low growl. Useless was frozen in place, staring at the bathroom. Jamie fumbled in her purse for her cell phone.
The bathroom door was starting to move. She stared.
Through the gap between the door and the jamb she could see a sliver of the mirror over the sink. Only shadows were reflected but there was no doubt. They were shifting!
That tiny room stood between her and the only exit. Even if she called the police it would take them far too long to respond. She had only one option.
Taking the deepest breath she could while trembling like dry leaves caught in a tornado, she screamed.
The bathroom door was jerked open. A huge figure in a ski mask and black hoodie charged out. Crashed into her. Propelled her backward.
When they landed on the bed, all the air was knocked out of Jamie’s lungs. She began to kick and punch her assailant.
Only one name came to mind. Gasping, she shouted, “Shane! Shane, help!” over and over.
* * *
If he had hurried back to his truck the way he usually did, Shane would not have heard anything from Jamie Lynn’s motel room. However, as he started to turn away, he detected muffled sound. Was that a woman’s scream or had one of the guests turned on a TV with the volume too high? Pausing, he held his breath to listen. Nothing. No more screaming.
Then there was a crash. A distinct cry. Somebody was calling his name as if the person’s very life depended upon him.
“Jamie?” He began pounding on her door. “Jamie! Are you all right? Let me in.”
He grasped the knob and jiggled it.
Locked. Of course. And if she had followed his warnings she’d also have engaged the other safety measures. These commercial doors were heavier than normal so his chances of breaking in were slim. Nevertheless, he had to try.
He stepped back and took a run at it, slamming his shoulder so hard he wondered if he’d dislocated it. The door shook in its frame but stood strong.
Another piercing scream echoed, this time tinged with pain as well as fear. Shane was frantic. He cast around for a weapon other than the concealed gun he carried. If he shot at the door, there was just as good a chance of wounding Jamie as there was of stopping whoever was attacking her.
The large potted plant caught his eye. Without a moment’s hesitation he grabbed it, swung back and threw it at the window. Safety glass shattered, clearing the space in a heartbeat.
Shane dived through, parting the heavy drapery as he passed. He rolled once and landed in a crouch.
A dark-clad figure on the bed pushed off and stood to face him, hands fisted, body poised as if every muscle was preparing for an assault.
It came. Shane was ready. He dodged at the last instant and the attacker stumbled.
Now that he knew exactly what he was facing, he pulled his slim automatic out of its belt holster, chambered a round and ordered, “Freeze.”
The burly man sprang for the door instead, jerked it open and escaped into the night. Shane chased him as far as the exit and stopped. Not having to shoot was fine with him but he would have loved to land a punch.