The Christmas Stalking by Lillian Duncan Read Free Book Online

leaned down, the bullet would have hit her. Her mind went blank for a few seconds, but then rational thought kicked in.
    Someone was shooting at them.
    Grabbing Mark’s arms, she strained muscles as she pulled him into the cabin. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she choked back sobs.
    Another bullet smashed into the outside wall of the cabin.
    A few more inches, and Mark was inside.
    She slammed the door, and then locked it.
    “Mark.” She knelt down. “Mark.”
    A red spot spread on his jacket.
    She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a dishcloth. She fell to her knees beside him and pressed the cloth against the growing red spot. She touched his neck. He was alive. She crawled to the sofa to grab her purse, attempting to keep herself from becoming a target.
    She leaned against the sofa. Her breath was coming in short little gasps. After forcing herself to slow down, she found the cell phone in her purse and flipped it open. Nothing happened.
    No welcome screen. She bit her lip in frustration. In all the chaos of the night before, she hadn’t charged it.
    The cabin had a landline. In the kitchen, on the wall by the refrigerator. But that meant standing up.
    Her gaze landed on the table where the stalker had left the message that she would die soon. He’d obviously meant it.
    Mark moaned.
    She crawled to the kitchen, jumped up to grab the phone, and then slid down the wall.
    Thank God.
    She put the phone to her ear. No dial tone. Tears flooded as she groped for a solution. They were trapped. No way to call the police.
    She crawled to Mark. His eyes fluttered open.
    “It’s OK.”
    “Wasn’t me.” His voice was weak. “Not the stalker. Just wanted to keep you safe.”
    “I know. I’m sorry I accused you. I know you would never hurt me like that.”
    “Love...you.” His eyelids fluttered, and then closed.
    She put her hands on each side of his face. “I love you, too. Mark. Do you hear me? We’ll get through this together.”
    No response.
    She closed her eyes.
    I can’t fall apart. I have to help him. This can’t be happening.
    Wait. Mark never went anywhere without his cell phone. Frantically, she searched his coat and pants pockets. Not there. It must be in his shirt pocket.
    She reached out with trembling fear, past the growing spot of red, pulled his jacket aside, and then slipped her hand inside, feeling for the pocket. She looked away, ignoring the blood. Bile rose, but she choked it back down.
    Her fingers grasped the familiar shape of the phone, and she pulled it out in triumph. She looked down at the blood covered numbers and shuddered.
    Now what will I—
    Glass shattered from the living room window, and a ball of fire dropped on the floor.
    Mesmerized, Holly stared as the fingers of the flame spread out. She crawled over and attempted to stamp it out with her hands.
    Another ball of fire came through the window.
    She had to get Mark out before the whole cabin went up in flames.
    They’d be killed if she went out the front door.
    The shooter probably thought there was only one way out, too. But he was wrong.
    The fire escape door.
    Did she have the strength to get Mark out safely?
    The fire was spreading.
    Putting her hands under his armpits, she pulled him down the hallway past her old room. Her muscles strained and sweat dripped from her forehead, but she moved as fast as she could. There was no time to waste.
    In less time than she thought possible, she made it to the back bedroom.
    Thank You, God.
    She coughed. The cabin was filling up with smoke fast. She glanced down at Mark. He looked so pale. She leaned close, barely able to hear his breathing.
    She wiped the sweat off her face, and then pushed against the dresser hiding the secret door. She bent down, unlatched and opened it. Cold fresh air. She took a deep breath.
    Thank you, Granddad, for worrying about safety.
    Another crash told her the shooter had thrown another Molotov cocktail through the last remaining window at the front of the