stopped short, recognizing the muffled voice from yesterday, when she’d been baking pies. Man? Probably. Woman? Maybe. Creepy? Definitely.
“This is not a good time, either,” she snapped, wishing now she’d spent the extra three dollars a month for caller ID from her cell service.
“Pay attention, Taylor. How do you think I got this number?”
She rolled her eyes. “Off the Internet, no doubt. Not exactly a challenge in this day and age. This really isn’t a good time, so—”
“Look to your left.”
Annoyance gave way instantly to the rush of fear, making the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. Don’t be stupid, she told herself, yet she couldn’t help but turn her eyes in that direction.
Nothing. Nothing but an empty field with the remnants of a stripped pickup and a few more barrels. How dare this little weasel pull a B-horror-movie thing? She was equally annoyed at herself for buying into the prank.
“I looked. Now will you get off my phone?”
She was about to hang up when the caller asked, “Do you see the truck?”
Okay, she was completely terrified now. She spun in dizzying circles. “Uh-huh.” She didn’t see anyone. Nothing but the rustling trees far off in the distance. How could he know where she was? Hell’s bells! No one knew. No one that wasn’t a Landry.
Maybe it was just a lucky guess. Yes. Good! Had to be it. The wind was strong, easily letting the person on the other end know she was outside. The truck? Also easily explained. Virtually everyone in Montana had a truck. This was just like those fake psychics. They listen, pick up audible and visual clues, then tell you what you want to hear. A cute parlor trick, but not now.
“Great, there’s a truck nearby. Are we finished?”
“Keep watching the truck, Taylor, and remember, it could just as well have been you. Get him to confess. If he runs, I’ll find him. If you run, I’ll kill you. Then he’ll have your blood on his hands, too.”
“What in the—”
Pop.
It took a second for her eyes to pick up the cause of the sound. The truck rocked. She frowned. What…? The windshield of the old truck spiderwebbed. It took several seconds for the sound and the image to register in her frozen brain.
Her breath left her lungs in a rush of sheer, unadulterated fear. Someone had shot the truck.
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