Second Honeymoon

Chapter 90

THE ONLY THING worse than the sound of all hell breaking loose around us was the feeling of helplessness that came with it.

All of it happened so fast. The bright beam of light outside our window followed by a barrage of gunfire echoing through the woods.

Four against one out there. I didn’t have to be Jimmy the Greek to like those odds. But it was what came after—the stone-cold silence and the feeling of dread sweeping over me—that I didn’t like. Not one bit.

There was nothing Sarah and I could do. Agent Carver’s radio was off. All the radios were off.

I slid across the floor amid the shards of glass, leaning up against the wall next to the window.

“What are you doing?” whispered Sarah, the subtext being that whatever it was, I shouldn’t be doing it.

But I had to look. I had to try to see what was happening. A quick peek, that’s all.

Not quick enough.

My head barely made it past the wood trim alongside the window when—pop-pop-pop!—I nearly caught one between the eyes. My neck snapped back, pure reflex at the sound of the shots, as more glass rained all over the cabin.

“Shit!” said Sarah.

I immediately knew what she was thinking. I was thinking the same thing, and it wasn’t just how lucky I was to be alive.

I grabbed the two-way again, jamming the Talk button with my thumb. “Carver!” I said. “Carver, are you there?”

He didn’t answer.

I tried again, and again all I got was silence. I flipped to the other frequencies, the ones assigned to the remaining agents. Four against one, for Christ’s sake!

Not one of them answered, though. Nothing. Not a peep.

Dead silence.

I could feel the sweat dripping down my forehead, my heart pounding relentlessly against my chest. What the hell happened out there?

Then we heard it. The crackling of my radio again, followed by Carver’s voice going in and out. He barely had enough strength to push the Talk button, let alone actually talk.

“Three…down,” he managed to get out. “Help…”

There were no more words, only the sound of his labored breathing. It was horrible, just horrible. But it only got worse.

Pop-pop-pop!

Another quick three-round burst shrieked over the radio, the ear-piercing feedback leaving little doubt that the shots were fired at close range. A few yards. Maybe even less.

And just like that, Carver’s breathing was gone. He was gone. All that remained was that same feeling of dread I’d had, only a million times worse. I was drowning in it.

“We’ve got to get out there,” I said to Sarah.

Only it was too late. The sound of footsteps heading toward us had broken the silence again.

We’d set a trap for the Honeymoon Murderer, but now we were the ones who were trapped.

He was coming in.