Read Online Deceived (A Hannah Smith Novel) by Randy Wayne White - Free Book Online

way! In fact, in fact”—I fumbled to retrieve the cell phone from my pocket, then held it up—“they’re listening to every word I say!”
    The man turned to face me, his body as wide and shapeless as a raincoat. I couldn’t see details, just the bulk of his shoulders, the contour of his head, a momentary glint of something that mirrored a shard of light—the axe blade? Then he walked toward me, but so slowly that shadows swirled around him like displaced fog. Was it confidence or caution? The kitchen was dark, but, if he kept coming, I would soon get a better look at him. Or had my threats made him uncertain? The dogs were still at the kitchen door, their barking frenzied—another possibility.
    I couldn’t just stand there, so I ran to put a table between us, then waited. Either direction, I was trapped. I looked at the window above the sink. It wasn’t much wider than my shoulders. I could wiggle through if I shattered the glass, but not fast enough to save my legs and lower torso from at least one blow from the axe. Just imagining the impact caused a numbness in me. It dulled my movements and my thinking. The coward in me was urging
Be submissive, beg for your life. Earn his kindness!
    Beneath the window, a floating ball of woman’s hair ridiculed that coward. The anger I’d felt toward the dogs returned, and it, too, ridiculed any display of weakness. Guarantee my humiliation by welcoming an assault? No—I wouldn’t do that.
    “I warned you!” I yelled. Then put the phone to my ear and spoke too loudly, “That’s right, Officer! Send a couple of guys to the back door.” When my attacker appeared to stiffen, I added, “Yes, he’s armed! Shoot him, if you can—I don’t think you have a choice!”
    In some quiet corner of my mind, questions formed:
Is it smart to convince a crazy man he’s cornered? Or that you’ve just ordered him killed?
    My doubts vanished when the man ducked backward for a moment and blended into the shadows, where he did . . .
something
. I couldn’t see. A moment later, though, I knew my bluff had failed. I heard a grunt of rage, and the axe reappeared near the ceiling. There was the sound of heavy footsteps, then the man was beneath the axe, holding it over his head and striding toward me.
    I had opened several drawers while standing at the table—nothing but dish towels and plastic plates. Frantically, I turned toward the window—an impossible choice. Use a towel to shatter the glass? Even if I’d found a hammer, there wasn’t time.
    The pit bulls had quieted but were scratching at the door—chewing at the wood, too, biting off chunks and growling—their eagerness probably fired by every word they’d heard me speak. Open the door, they’d be at my throat before I took a step. Unless I was willing to risk the worst on the chance of saving myself.
    I pulled out a drawer and flung it into the man’s path. He stumbled but caught himself while I sprinted to the kitchen door, put my hand on the dead bolt, and turned to face him. There was enough light now to see that he
was
wearing a baggy raincoat. It hung to his ankles . . . rubber gloves, too, and what looked like a sun mask, the stretchy, tubular type that fishermen pull over their heads to prevent skin cancer. Two black eyes peered out; just a hint of design on the material, but the design was common enough for me to recognize.
    I hammered my heel against the door and yelled, “Get out or I’ll loose these dogs on you!” which caused a renewed frenzy of barking. At the same instant, a terrible thought came into my mind:
What if he owns the dogs?
    It didn’t matter. My threat stopped the man, but he also drew the axe back as if to throw it, which left me no choice. I yanked the door open and jumped behind it, my back pressed flat against the wall, and I held the doorknob tight with both hands. For the next several seconds, only sounds and fear dominated my senses: a din of clattering claws, a slobbering