Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [74]
Necker pulled his belt through his loops, then handed it and his jacket to Luke.
Luke cinched his waist. “Hats, too. We need to exchange hats.”
“Change out with Duane, then,” Necker said. “No chance of her mistakin’ him fer you.”
When all was ready, Necker made a follow-me motion, and the three slipped through her unlocked back door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Georgie woke with a start. A large, looming man glided toward her, his body fluid. Terror crushed her voice box, cutting off the scream at the back of her throat.
The sound of footsteps, quick and fast, reached her ears, yet the man had stopped to hover at the edge of her bed.
There’s more than one.
She tried to turn her head, to throw up her arms, but her body wouldn’t move. Paralyzed, eyes wide, she couldn’t think. The Twenty-third Psalm jumped into her head.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
A second man appeared beside the first, this one skinnier, smaller than the other. He reached out as if to touch her, his action freeing her scream, the sound high and shrill, as if it came from someone other than her.
Both men jumped. The larger one reached for her head. She came alive, flying to her knees, swinging her arms. Screaming. Screaming.
But the man didn’t touch her. Instead he jerked up her pillow and whisked off the pillow slip.
“Shut her up.” A third man. This one arranging wood in her fireplace.
She surged to her feet on the bed, scrambling toward the foot of it.
The smaller one grabbed her ankle and pulled. She fell facedown onto the mattress, then flipped over, her nightdress twisting about her legs. She kicked with her other foot, landing a solid hit.
Letting out a grunt, the man cursed and reached for her again.
She screamed, pressing herself against the wall.
“Shut her up!”
Gripping her cheeks, he squeezed her mouth open. She yanked at his arm, but even skinny, he was much stronger than she. He stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth. She bit him.
Howling, he lifted his hand as though to strike her.
The larger one grasped him by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants, then hurled him aside. Windmilling his arms, he collided into her commode, the bowl and pitcher crashing to the floor.
He cursed again.
“Shut up and help me with this,” the third man said.
A spark. They were lighting a fire in the fireplace. Her breath froze. Were they wanting to watch as they did their wicked deeds?
He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul.
She yanked the handkerchief from her mouth. Before she could scream again, the large one clapped a hand across her mouth and pushed her back onto the mattress. She struggled and fought. Kicked and flailed.
He easily overpowered her, yet without hurting her the way the other man had. He poked the handkerchief back into her mouth before she had a chance to bite again. Placing a knee against her torso, he pinned her to the bed while he secured the pillow slip to the wrought-iron headboard.
She struggled anew, shoving, bucking, squirming, beating.
He didn’t budge.
He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Capturing her wrist, he secured it to the pillow slip. He was tying her to the bed. She renewed her struggles, pounding him with her free hand. Pushing him with her legs. He acted as if she were no more than a pesky fly.
The moment the knot was secure, he released her and moved to her chest of drawers. She yanked the handkerchief from her mouth, but held back her scream. No one would hear and it would only serve to make them angry. Instead, she concentrated on the knot. It was tight and secure.
The fire took hold, the smell of wood smoke filling the room. The fire maker continued to feed the flame. The small man touched his chin beneath the neckerchief, then looked at his fingers.
They’d all hidden their faces behind bandanas, their hair beneath hats. Yet the large one sparked a familiar chord. She’d seen him before. She was sure.
He pulled open drawer