LITMIR.BIZ

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      He could almost taste her.

      Eve.

      The original sinner.

      Time to pay.

      “Roy, are you here?” Eve called into the watery light of the cabin. She didn’t know whether to be scared or pissed as hell as she stepped through the kitchen, where a thin layer of dust covered everything. “You know,” she said, sweat beading in her hair as she spied a half-drunk bottle of beer left on the scarred drop-leafed table, “this is creeping me out. I mean, if this is one of your games, I think I’ll just have to kill you.”

      She heard a scrape, turned. Her heart jumped as a small black body scampered across the yellowed linoleum to hide beneath an ancient refrigerator. She bit back a scream with all she had, watching the mouse’s tail slide from sight. “Oh Jesus.” Her pulse pounded in her ears. She shouldn’t have come here, and she’d known it from the get-go. When Roy called, she should have insisted he come to her or that they meet somewhere in public. Being here was creeping her out.

      Where the hell was he? “Roy?” He had to be here. His truck was parked in the carport. “Roy? This isn’t funny. Where are you?”

      The door to the bathroom gaped open, but it was dark inside. She tried the switch, but the bulb had burned out, and when she raked her flashlight beam across the sink and toilet, she saw only rust, stains, and dirt. Something was definitely wrong here.

      She walked three steps to the living room, where a lamp on an old end table was burning bright. Obviously Roy had been here…. no, not really. Obviously someone had been here, though the room itself looked as if no one had inhabited it for a decade. Dust and cobwebs covered the floor, pinewood walls, and ceiling. Even the ashes and chunks of burned wood in the grate seemed ancient. There was a yellowed fishing magazine, its pages curled and tattered. It was as if time had stopped for this dilapidated cabin on the bayou.

      So what the hell was she doing here?

      To see Roy? To find out what he meant by “evidence”?

      What the hell kind of evidence could he mean?

      Something to do with Dad, she thought. That’s what Roy meant. You know it. You can feel it in your bones. Roy knows whether dear old Dad is innocent…or guilty as sin.

      Swallowing, she pulled her cell phone from her purse. Still no service.

      “Royal Kajak, you’ve got about two minutes, and then I’m outta here,” she called to the shadowed corners of the cabin. “I don’t give a damn about whatever ‘evidence’ you think you’ve got. E-mail me, okay?”

      Irritated, she took one last look around. Just past the open stairway was a short hall leading to the one bedroom on the main floor. The door to it yawned open.

      Steeling herself, she walked toward it.

      Shit! She had a cell phone! He hadn’t thought of that. The Voice hadn’t warned him about the phone. The Reviver stared through the window, watched her walking carefully through the house. He knew she’d call 911. The number was probably on speed dial.

      He had to stop her. Fast!

      Without a sound, he sheathed his knife, flicked open his ankle holster, and pulled out his pistol.

      Time to finish this.

      Nerves on edge, Eve pushed open the bedroom door. It creaked on old hinges. “Roy?”

      She heard the faintest of moans.

      The hairs on the back of her neck were raised as she fumbled for the light switch. With a click, the room was instantly awash in light from an ancient ceiling fixture.

      She screamed.

      Roy lay on the floor by the old metal bedframe. His entire face was covered in blood, and there was a huge gash on his neck spreading a dark stain across the floor.

      She stumbled forward. All she could see was blood. Dark. Black. Sticky. Everywhere.

      His chest moved ever so slightly as he struggled to breathe. Eve moaned with hope. He was still alive!

      “Hang on!” she cried, terror clawing through her, bile rising in her throat. “Who did this? Oh sweet Jesus…” She tried to staunch the flow of blood with one hand while dialing with the trembling fingers of the other. The phone slipped from her hand, sliding through a thick smear of blood. Pressing against the gash in Roy’s throat, she retrieved the bloody cell with her free hand and punched out 911 with sticky, shaking fingers. “Help,” she pleaded, but the screen silently mocked her: NO SERVICE.

      Panic welled up inside her. She was frantic.

      Calm down, Eve. You can’t help Roy without a clear head. Don’t lose it. Think! Does the cabin have a phone? A landline? The electricity’s working. Maybe Vernon keeps phone service for emergencies…. Her gaze swept the room and skated over the pinewood walls. No phone outlet, but near Roy’s head, upon the yellowed pinewood walls, was a number written in blood:

      212

      She recoiled in horror.

      What the hell did that mean?

      Had Roy written it?

      Or someone else?…Oh God, was Roy’s assailant still here? Maybe in the house? She thought of the can of pepper spray buried in her purse.

      She didn’t have time to waste. She had to get help. The blood seeping against her fingers at Roy’s neck had eased to nothing. Oh God…

      Another low moan, and it was over. Roy took one last shallow wet breath.

      “No! Oh God, no…Roy! Roy!” But the hand on his neck found no pulse. “You can’t die, oh please—”

      A floorboard creaked.

      She froze.

      The killer was still here!

      Either inside the house or on the porch.

      Heart thundering in her ears, she tried her damned phone again. Come on, come on, she silently pleaded, listening for any sound, her gaze moving quickly around the room and to the doorway. If only there were a back door, a way to escape.

      Another soft footstep. Leather sliding over wood.

      Her insides turned to water.

      She carefully reached into the purse, bloody fingers scrabbling for the pepper spray as she kept her gaze moving from the doorway to the two windows, to the mirror, to the reflection there of her own panicked face. She risked glancing down, found the spray and had the cannister out of her purse when she heard the footsteps again. Louder. Coming at her!

      He knew where she was.

      Get out, Eve, get out now!

      She shot to her feet, adrenalin fueled by horror pushing her. She reached for the light switch, slapped it off. Darkness blinded.

      She turned quickly, her shoes sliding in Roy’s blood. She fell noisily, biting back a scream, holding fast to the canister. Her leg scraped down the iron bedframe. Her head thudded against the wall. Pain exploded behind her eyes.

      More footsteps!

      Don’t pass out. For God’s sake, don’t lose consciousness!

      She flung herself toward a window.

      Pitched forward.

      She saw him.

      In the glass.

      He was holding something in his hand. Pointing it at her.

      She recognized him in a heartbeat.

      Cole?

      The man she loved?

      Cole Dennis was going to shoot her?

      NO!

      Bam!

      The noise

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