False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [85]
“There’s a farmhouse up this road,” Shapiro said. “That’s where we’re going.”
Vanessa resisted the urge to jump out of the car and run. Wouldn’t he shoot her—even if just to disable her? But if she waited for “the right moment,” would she still have the courage to seize it? How long could she refuse to give in to the fear that threatened to steal her hope?
She spotted the mold-stained roof of the farmhouse up ahead. Everything in her wanted to flee. Images of Ethan and Carter popped into her mind. How would they deal with losing her? She had to make it through this alive. She had to keep a clear head.
“Pull up in front of the house and kill the motor.”
Kill the motor? How she wished that was all he wanted killed. She did what he said, her stomach feeling as if it were falling down an elevator shaft.
“Now slowly hand me the keys.”
Vanessa took the keys out of the ignition and passed them over the seat to Shapiro.
He got out of the car, then opened the driver-side door. “Get out. I want to see your hands.”
Vanessa got out of the car, her hands up, and avoided eye contact with Shapiro.
“Well, aren’t you the pretty one?” He stroked her hair with the barrel of his gun. “I’ll bet your husband would hate to see that sweet face rearranged. You won’t like it either.” He laughed mockingly. “This is your last chance to tell me where Zoe and Pierce Broussard went—before things get very unpleasant.”
Terror seized her. Lord, what do I do? If I go in there, he’s going to hurt me until I talk—then he’ll kill me and go after Zoe and Pierce.
Shapiro opened the hood of the car and tinkered with some wires, keeping the gun pointed at her.
“There. The car won’t start until I put everything back where it belongs—just in case you were entertaining the idea of stealing the keys and taking off.”
Vanessa glanced up at the dilapidated farmhouse and realized it was boarded up.
Shapiro grabbed her arm and turned her around. “Walk.”
“Where?”
“Toward those trees.”
Vanessa high-stepped through the high weeds toward a horizontal row of massive live oaks. Beyond them she saw a broad expanse of cane fields, the stalks tall and green and swaying in the breeze. On the other side was the Langley property.
A bumblebee buzzed around her head, and she swatted at it without even thinking.
Shapiro grabbed both sides of her neck and squeezed. “Keep your hands up and keep walking.”
“Where are you taking me? I don’t know anything.”
“Shut up.” He stuck the gun barrel flush against her back and nudged her forward.
Vanessa spotted a shed about thirty yards in front of her, and her knees nearly dropped her. Is that where he was taking her?
“You should know this farm is a crime scene,” she blurted out. “A man was murdered on this property. The place is crawling with sheriff’s deputies.”
“Not anymore.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do. I make it my business to know everything the cops are doing.” Shapiro laughed. “That’s how I stay one step ahead of them.” He grabbed her hair and pulled her backward, his lips to her ear, his voice husky and threatening. “I’m a wanted man, a dangerous criminal. I’ve killed people. So either tell me where the Broussards are, or I’ll force it out of you. I always get what I want. It’s just a matter of how.”
Jude stood at the window in his office and looked down at the Saint Catherine Parish Courthouse. Billowy gray clouds hid the sun, and thunder reverberated in the distance. Maybe the rain would dampen the powder keg of racial tension until they could get a lead on who hanged Remy—and who shot Deshawn Macey in the park.
There was a knock at the door.
“May I come in?” Aimee said.
“Sure. What’s up?”
She walked over to him and handed him a folder. “You need to see this. Joe at the lab rushed through the evidence you obtained at the Broussards’ apartment as a personal favor to you and hit pay dirt.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“This was a total surprise, Sheriff. He was able to get