“Glad I can help,” Tammy said. “Where do you want me to set this up?”
Ali hated being so dependent on Tammy. She was a good soul and now a friend. It didn’t matter how long she had known her; Ali knew in her heart that Tammy was good to the core.
“Just spread the sleeping bag out in the front room. I’ll fix the lamp so I’ll have a bit of light in there.” There were overhead lights in the room, but they were old-fashioned, without light bulbs. She would eventually replace them with fan lights, but for now, all she wanted was to find the person responsible for dragging her away from the beach and dumping her into that hole in the ground. Before she forgot, she went to the kitchen and took a couple one-hundred-dollar bills from her purse. She knew it was more than Tammy had spent, but her time away from work counted, too. “Take this.” She rolled the bills up, tucking them in Tammy’s back pocket.
“What’s this?” She took the money out of her pocket. “This is way too much. I spent about thirty bucks, kid. I don’t take money I ain’t owed.”
“I know, and I don’t either. Your time is valuable. You spent the day at the emergency room with me and lost wages. That counts in my book.”
Tammy nodded. “I appreciate it,” she said.
“So do I, all you’ve done for me.” With her good arm, she gave her new friend a half hug. “Call me tomorrow,” she said, knowing Tammy had her cell number.
“You betcha,” Tammy said, then gave Ali another hug before leaving.
Ali stood in the front room of her home, watching the sun as it began its slow descent into the murky green waters of the Gulf of Mexico. And to think, she’d considered giving this up. Palmetto Island was mysterious and inhabited by a few evil souls. She wasn’t going to let any of them ruin the life she now had.
Chapter Twenty-one
A wakened by voices outside of her front room window, Ali slid across the oak floors where her purse lay open, her gun’s shiny handle waiting for her. She took the gun, checked the clip, then stood up, wincing. Her shoulder throbbed, her wrists and ankles were tender, but it was nothing she couldn’t deal with. She eased into the kitchen, staying low, away from the windows.
More voices. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. Inching her way along the kitchen floor to the back door, she leaned her head against the door, trying to understand them. Fear crawled up her spine, then settled in the pit of her stomach. Her desire to know who was out there, and why they were on her property, overrode her fear.
Ali was past tired. Over being the object of someone’s abuse. Beyond sick of playing the role of victim. “Screw this,” she said out loud, not caring if anyone heard her. This was her frigging home, and she was going to do whatever she had to in order to protect it, and herself.
Without a second thought, she yanked the kitchen door open and stood on the back porch, waiting for them to do whatever the hell they had planned.
“Who’s there?” she called, not caring. She held her gun in her good hand, her finger on the trigger, ready to fire. Slowly, she crossed the length of the porch, stopping when she heard the voices again. She’d heard them before. It sounded like two, maybe three, men.
A muffled cry came from the front of her house. Voices, then heavy footsteps tromping to the back of her house. Racing around to the back, she stopped in her tracks when she saw Gib. And Hal, holding a young girl close to his large body, his big hands covering her mouth. Then it clicked.
“Let her go!” Ali shouted as she aimed her gun at Hal.
“No, it’s okay, Miss Ali. We like her. She’s the goodest girl we got, right, Mr. Gib?”
“Shut up, boy,” Gib said.
“I am asking you to let her go. Now. I don’t want to have to shoot you, Hal.” Ali tried speaking as calmly as the situation allowed. “This little girl doesn’t want to be with you.” She slowly walked down the so-called drive, continuing to point the gun at Hal. “Right, sweetie? You want to come with me, okay?” Ali had no clue who this little girl was, but guessed it was her who she and Kit had heard screaming in the bait shop.
No more than eight or nine, the little girl was rail-thin, her skin a warm brown, eyes shadowed with fear. Her long black hair was a mass of tangles. “It’s okay, Hal. Let me take the girl, then you and Mr. Gibbons can go.”
“Okay,” he said, releasing his hold on the little girl.
“No!” shouted Gib. “She’s mine, you little bitch!”
“Run,” Ali shouted to the frightened child. “Hurry, run! Scream as loud as you can!” The little girl finally seemed to understand that Ali was trying to save her, so she ran as fast as she could. “Go to the blue house on the beach! Go!” Ali screamed.
As soon as the girl was out of sight, she walked toward Gib and Hal. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You sick son of a bitch!” Eye to eye with Hal, she said, “Get down on your knees.”
“I have to ask Mr. Gib first,” Hal said, his eyes searching for his father’s. “Can I, Mr. Gib?”
“Who the frig calls their dad ‘Mr. Gib?’ ” she said. “On your knees, Hal, or I’m going to shoot Mr. Gib in the head. Blow his brains all over the ground. Like those fish guts you put in my freezer. You want to pick up Mr. Gib’s brains, Hal?”
Ali didn’t care that her words were cruel. Nothing she said was as cruel as what this man had most likely been forced to do by his sick-ass father.
Hal lowered himself to the ground, tears streaming from his dark brown eyes. Alison almost felt sorry for him.
“You!” she shouted at Gib. “Get over here beside your son, or I promise you I’ll do what I said. Your worthless brain will be fish food when I finish with you.”
Her hand shook as she continued to direct the gun at Gib. He stared at her, shaking his head.
“You ain’t gonna shoot an old man,” he said, his mouth widening in a grin so wicked she wanted to stick the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger so he would never be able to smile again.
“This is your last chance,” she said, praying the little girl had enough time to reach Val’s house. She lifted a foot, then slammed it down on Hal’s back. “Or I can shoot his brains out,” she said.
“Go on—he ain’t got none anyway. Stupid boy. He deserves to die for what he did to my Rosa. Woman died giving birth to him, and that devil girl twin. Kill ’im. I dare ya.”
It took a few seconds for her to absorb his words. The chanting, the rough Southern twang. Gib had been one of the men wearing robes, chanting in front of the fire the night before. “Why?” she asked, wanting to know what possessed him.
He threw his head back and laughed. “Cause we can!” More laughter; then there was a sharp blast, and Gib fell forward, both hands clutching his chest.
“Don’t move, miss,” came an unfamiliar male voice. “Put down your gun. We’ve got this.”
Ali slowly eased her finger off the trigger, her arm lowered at her side. A team of men wearing navy blue jackets with the letters FBI in bright yellow scattered around Hal and Gib like ants.
Ali stared at them, wondering where they came from and how they knew to come. She had her answer when Kit Moore, still wearing the same clothes he’d worn when she’d first met him, appeared with Pete and someone else she didn’t know.