Thirty-One and a Half Regrets
Page 87

I handed him the gun. “I’m not getting into a shootout, at least not if I can avoid it. I’ll look less suspicious if I’m not carrying a weapon.” I turned to leave and he grabbed my hand, flinching with pain from the sudden movement.
“Be careful, Rose.”
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I will.”
The one-story ranch house was old and worn, but it didn’t look abandoned like the last house, which gave me hope. I knocked on the storm door and stepped back onto the gravel path. While I waited, I glanced down at my clothes, suddenly worried about how I would look to anyone in the house. I was a sight. Most of my clothes were covered in mud and my jacket sleeve was bloody from the cut on Mason’s forehead.
After ten seconds, I knocked again, louder this time. When no one answered, I banged on the door and shouted, “Is anyone home?”
Several seconds later, Mason called out, “See if the door’s unlocked.”
My jaw dropped. “The other place was obviously abandoned, but someone lives here. I can’t just walk into someone’s house!”
“Rose, this is an emergency. I’m the Fenton County Assistant DA and I’m sure as hell not pressing charges. Do whatever it takes to get inside.”
Taking a deep breath, I opened the storm door and tried the door knob. “Locked.”
“Go around back and see if there’s a door open somewhere else. If not, we’ll have to break a window.”
I would hate for us to resort to literally breaking in, but a quick examination revealed that the back door was locked, so it didn’t seem like there were a lot of options.
I walked over to Mason and found him slumped against a tree trunk, his eyes clenched shut. Squatting next to him, I placed the back of my hand against his forehead where he wasn’t cut. His eyelids blinked open and he gave me a startled look.
“It’s okay,” I said, moving my hand down to his cheek. “The doors are locked, but the back door has lots of window panes. I’m going break one of the panes and reach in to open the door.”
“Be careful,” he groaned. “Bust out all the glass and then pull your hand into your sleeve before you put it through the hole.”
“You sound like an experienced felon,” I teased.
A hint of an ornery smile cracked his lips. “Guilty by association.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t find a rock that was big enough, but I found a broken tree branch that did the trick. The sound of the shattering glass echoed loudly and I expected someone to jump out of the woods and attack us. But no one did, and I managed to get in without cutting my hand.
The door opened onto a dated kitchen and I nearly cried from relief when I saw a phone on the wall. As I lifted the receiver, I was struck with the fear that the phone wouldn’t work, but the dial tone filled my ear. I suddenly wondered whom to call. I couldn’t call 911 because the call would most likely go to the sheriff’s department, and I didn’t know the number of the state police. But I did know the number of a state policeman.
I punched in Joe’s phone number, thanking my lucky stars that I’d memorized it and hadn’t become reliant on speed dial. His phone rang three times and I was sure it was about to go to voice mail when a man answered, sounding groggy. “Who is this?”
“Joe?” I asked, worried I’d called the wrong number.
“Rose?”
He had actually answered. I started crying out of relief. “Joe, I need help. Crocker found us and Mason got hurt…” My last words were nearly incomprehensible.
“Rose, slow down.”
I was grateful that he sounded more like my Joe. I tried to catch my breath. “Okay.”
“Take it slow. What happened?”
“Daniel Crocker broke into my house while I was sleeping and left a threatening note. So the sheriff’s department had Mason and me go out to my birth mother’s farm to hide until they caught him. They even gave us a guard. Only the sheriff’s department has a leak and at least one of the deputies told Crocker where we were. Then he showed up.”
“Oh God, Rose.” I heard the shock in his voice. “Are you okay?”
I started to cry again. “No. We’ve been running from Crocker for the past day and a half in the hills of northern Fenton County. He’s closing in on us, but Mason fell down a hill and broke his leg.”
“Did you call 9-1-1?”
“No, I don’t know who’s working for Crocker in the sheriff’s office. Mason thinks the sheriff himself might be involved. At this point he only trusts the chief deputy.”
“Where are you? How are you calling me?”
“We found a house, but no one was home. Mason told me to break in. He thinks we’re a couple of miles from the Moore County border and that we’d intercept Highway HH if we kept moving.”
“What’s the terrain like where you are?”
“It’s all pine trees and hills.”
“It’s a house? Look around for an address. Maybe there’s something inside that will give us a clue about where you are.”
I scanned the kitchen counter and found several pieces of mail. My fumbling fingers sorted through the stack. “There’s an address! 524 Ever Pine Road, Sweet Knob, Arkansas.”
“Good! Stay where you are, Rose. I’m coming.”
“Should I call the state police?”