The Lake

SEVENTY-ONE

“MACE!”

“I’m here, sugar. And y’came all this way to say hello? I’m touched, darlin’. I truly am.”

The late-noon sun dipped behind the trees, but it was still hot. The cabin was deep in shadow. Shafts of light from the open window pierced the semigloom.

A light breeze from the lake bellied the curtains.

Leigh gasped. How the hell had he gotten to her? The door was locked… and the windows…?

Shit!

Like a fool, she hadn’t checked the windows.

Her eyes darted back to Mace.

A different Mace now.

Plaid shirt. Combat pants—your average guy taking a well-earned summer break. A little fishing. A few beers… It figured, all right. Dressed like that, he’d pass unnoticed in a crowd.

His hair was darker, longer; the blond surfer streaks were gone.

He was a stranger.

A dangerous, unpredictable intruder.

Her blood chilled at the thought.

He swayed a little. A hunting knife hung loosely in his right hand.

“You shouldn’t’ve come, Leigh. Nosin’ around. Disturbin’ a man payin’ his respects to the place of his birth…”

His voice was flat, toneless.

Slowly, Leigh edged up the bed, flinching as her back caught the slatted rail behind. She pulled away from him.

Scarcely daring to breathe.

Sweat, slick and hot, flowed down her sides.

Mace leaned in, his knife making circles near her face. His eyes were deep pits. Grape-black. Glinting into hers.

Hypnotizing her.

Tearing her eyes from his, she thought, I’ve gotta break the silence—keep him talking…

“You did some awful bad things to Deana, Mace. Why did you do it?”

“She was a whorin’ little slut, that’s why. She deserved to die.” He spoke slowly, his voice slurring slightly. “She’s out of the way now. Yessir, where she is, little bitch won’t be causin’ no more grief.”

“Deana’s still alive, Mace.”

“Wrong, Leigh. I killed her. She had to die…”

He’s killed her! THE BASTARD’S KILLED HER… OH NO!

She shot upright, her heart racing.

Reaching out her left hand, edging it sideways toward the water glass on the nightstand, she extended a finger. Nudging the glass a little; cringing as it crashed to the floor.

In the silence, it sounded like a bomb going off.

Mace came in with his fist.

Mashing her jaw.

Whipping, cracking her head sideways.

Making a low “Uuggghhh,” she slumped back on the pillow.

Out cold.

Wrestling her onto his shoulder, he went through the kitchen bar to the front door. Unlocking it with one hand, closing it behind him, he hurried out back.