The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller by JC Gatlin Read Free Book Online Page B

eyes.
    Rayanne
didn’t like it and reached for her husband’s arm. “Owen, don’t.”
    “It’s
all up to you, old man.” Scut stretched his arm and opened his hand, palm up.
“Put it here in my hand and this is all over.”
    “Or
what?” The veins in Owen’s neck bulged and he raised his fist.
    Rayanne
squeezed his arm tighter. “Don’t egg them on, Owen. You’re making it worse.”
Her voice quivered.
    Luger
barked, jaws snapping. The furious echoes made it sound as if there were a
whole pack of dogs surrounding them, hidden in the trees. Scut held up a hand
toward the dog, as if giving it a signal.
    “Listen
to your little lady, old man.”
    “You
don’t want to start with me.” Owen broke loose from Rayanne’s grasp and
approached Scut.
    Dru
let her dog loose and the Rottweiler bolted forward.
    Rayanne
ran to the truck, opened the back door, and pulled the Winchester from the rack
above the seat. She swung it around, aimed, and fired a double load of buckshot
over their heads. The Rottweiler yelped at the noise and, cowering, ran off to
hide behind Dru’s legs. Its muzzle wrinkled back in a great humorless grin that
bared pointed teeth.
    Rayanne
broke open the chamber and the empty shells popped out and dropped to the
ground. “You kids need to find another place to party,” she said.
    Scut
moved toward Owen, but when Rayanne casually shifted the shotgun in her arms
and leveled it at him, he stopped.
    He
raised his arms, as if surrendering. “Calm down, lady, okay? We’re leaving.”
    He
shut off the flashlight, plunging the campsite into darkness. Rayanne couldn’t
see the teenagers leave, but she heard them plunging through foliage and into
the woods where they had come from.
    When
her eyes adjusted to the night again, she saw Owen’s wide eyes boring into her.
    “You
know that’s empty?” he said.
    Rayanne
lowered the gun, then let it fall from her hands. It landed on the ground as
she ran to Owen. She wrapped her arms around him. He embraced her and held her
for several seconds. Neither said a word.
    Finally,
Owen released her and walked over to the Winchester lying in the grass by the
truck. He picked it up. “Where’d you learn to handle a gun like that?”
    “You
think Luger was the first rabid dog I’ve run into?” She watched him, thankful
he wasn’t hurt. Thankful they both were okay. “Who were those kids?”
    Owen
didn’t answer. He put the shotgun back in the truck. Slamming the door, he
marched to the fire pit and kicked sand on the wet kindling.
    “Who
were those kids?” She walked over to him. “Do you know them?”
    He
didn’t answer. Moving past her, he headed for the tent. “Those kids aren’t far.
They’ll be back.”
    “What
was he talking about? What did he want?”
    She
followed him and took a corner of the tent, raising it so the stakes lifted out
of the ground. She was about to ask again. She wanted an answer, but thought
better of it. They worked silently and efficiently in the dark, and twenty
minutes later their tent was folded and stuffed into the tote. As Owen packed
it in the truck, Rayanne noticed the guitar lying beside the log they’d been
sitting on. The bottle of Merlot had tipped over and the ground was soggy
beneath it. She picked up the bottle and wiped away the mud. Then she grabbed
the canvas bag that had carried so many possibilities within it merely an hour
ago.
    Carrying
it across her shoulder, she walked around the front of the truck and climbed
into the passenger seat while also toting the guitar. “I think there’s a
bed-and-breakfast in town. We can stay there overnight.”
    He
didn’t answer.
    She
set the guitar on the floorboard and looked into the bag sitting on her lap.
Specs of mud dotted the cups and negligee inside, but the granola box was
clean. She pulled out a bar and slipped it into her pocket for later. It was
the last one in the box.
     
    * * * * *
     
    They
drove along the two dirt tracks in the dark. The boat and