“Do you have any idea who it is?” she breathed.
“I can make a good guess.” She probably could, too.
“We should call Myles.” The floor creaked as she moved closer, presumably to do just that, but he stopped her.
“Stay down! Phone’s dead.” He was afraid they would be, too, if this didn’t go right.
Silence fell as they listened for more noises from outside.
Isaac couldn’t hear a thing, had no way of knowing what their visitor was doing.
“What’s next?” Claire whispered, beside him now.
His heart pounded against his rib cage as if he’d just run a forty-yard dash. “He can’t shoot us from where he’s at. He’s got to get inside.”
“Which way—” her voice shook but she paused, obviously attempting to control it “—do you think he’ll come in?”
Isaac opened his mouth to answer, but the floodlight in back popped on and he hurried to the window instead. He hoped to catch a glimpse of the culprit, get some idea of what he was up against—at least establish whether he was facing one man or two. If he had to place a bet, he’d say there was only one, and it was Les Weaver. But he couldn’t be sure.
No one stood in the clearing. The bastard was circling the cabin under cover of the trees, throwing pieces of wood or rocks to trip the sensors and make the lights switch on so he could shoot them out.
Within ten minutes, he’d destroyed all four.
Claire could feel the tension in Isaac’s body. He’d rearranged the furniture to create various barriers and had her sandwiched, with him, between the leather love seat and the couch. But she didn’t like waiting. She felt as if they were sitting ducks. With no help coming, they could be trapped for a long time.
“Maybe we should slip out into the forest. Make a run for it,” she whispered.
“Too dangerous.” His words, clipped and authoritative, brooked no argument, but she launched one, anyway.
“We know this area better than anyone else.”
“I couldn’t even make it safely from here to your mother’s studio running in the dark. It’s pitch-black out there. And we can’t take flashlights without drawing him right to us.”
He had a point, but it was so tantalizing to think of reaching the next cabin, where they could get help. “We might have more of a chance than in here.”
“It’d be a gamble. At least here we have some cover.”
“So what do we do?”
“I have a gun. We wait until I have something to shoot at.”
“But I don’t have a gun. Do you have a rifle?”
“No.”
“Should I get a knife?”
“And give someone the chance to turn it on you? Forget it. You’ll just have to rely on me.”
In about any other cabin on this mountain Claire was willing to bet she’d find a whole stash of guns. But unlike most men in this part of the state, Isaac didn’t care for that sort of thing. He owned expensive cameras and video equipment, which was probably the reason he’d bothered to install the floodlights—to protect the money he’d invested in his career, not to protect himself. Or her. If she had her guess he’d never expected he’d have to do either.
“You sorry we’re friends yet?” she muttered.
“You told me you loved me. That’s a bit more than friends.”
She could tell he was teasing, trying to put her at ease, but there wasn’t much that could relieve her fear with a gunman outside.
“You didn’t say anything in return,” she pointed out.
There was a slight pause during which he grew serious. “I care about you.”
He spoke as if that was a major confession but she had to laugh at his hesitancy. “Thanks. That almost made me cry.”
“You—” He stopped. Footsteps came across the wooden porch, moving toward the front door. “He’s coming.”
Claire squeezed her eyes shut—she couldn’t see anything, anyway, and she couldn’t do a whole lot without a weapon.
Isaac shifted. She sensed that he was turning toward the door, taking aim in case whoever it was managed to break in. But their assailant didn’t even try. The footsteps stopped. Then they heard the kind of pounding done with a hammer.
“What the hell?” Isaac murmured. “Stay here.” He got up and crept closer. Claire guessed he planned to get off a shot, if he could, but there was little chance that a bullet from a handgun would penetrate the solid-core door, as well as the outer screen, with enough force to injure the person on the other side. Not only that, but he’d already missed his opportunity. The footsteps had started up again, were moving away from them at a run.
“We could be in trouble,” Isaac said.
What they heard a couple of minutes later—more hammering, this time at the back door—seemed to confirm it.
“Son of a bitch!”
“What’s he doing?” Claire asked.
“He’s not trying to get in. He’s trying to make sure we can’t get out.”
“What?”
“Come here! Now!”
She scrambled toward him as he opened the front door. It swung in easily enough. The cool outside air gave her hope of escape and survival. Provided the man who’d shot out the lights was acting on his own, only the screen door stood between them and freedom, because they could hear their visitor was pounding elsewhere.
She hadn’t expected to have any trouble with the screen door. It wasn’t as substantial as the real one. But it wouldn’t swing out.
“He hammered it shut,” she said. It was too dark to see the exact problem, but she’d heard pounding and now the door wouldn’t open. Still, she thought they should be able to break through. Isaac must’ve thought so, too. He threw himself against the screen door several times—with no luck.
“Damn it! He must’ve used a couple two-by-fours. Come on, we have to get out, even if it means taking him on.” They made a dash for the only other exit. Suddenly it didn’t matter that they might come face-to-face with a gunman. He was no longer their worst fear. Claire was beginning to guess what their visitor had in store for them—she could tell Isaac had figured it out, too—and knew they had only a short time to escape.
They reached the back door as the pounding stopped.
No! They were already too late. That screen door wouldn’t open, either. And when their assailant took a shot at them while they were trying to bust it, Isaac pulled her to the floor and slammed the heavier door shut.