Randy slid his arms beneath her armpits and began to drag her across the floor. He paused to open the door, and the blast of cold air almost made Wylie gasp, but she managed to remain still. He pulled her down the front steps, then he paused.
Wylie knew what was going through his mind. He was going to let her freeze to death out here. He didn’t want to waste any more time with her. He wanted the girl. And where was Becky? And Jackson Henley? Had Randy killed them? Had Wylie found her friend only to lose her again?
Randy released her arms and scooped her up against his shoulder as one would a baby. She let her head loll against his neck, trying to make contact with any exposed part of his body. DNA, she kept thinking. Collect as much hair, sweat, cells that she could.
Randy tossed her face-first into the snow, and the shock from the pain nearly caused her to cry out. He came to her side, bent over, and arranged her head so that the side he slammed against the floor was down. The cold was a welcome balm against the fiery pain that radiated through her head.
Wylie didn’t know how long he stood there staring down at her, but it seemed to be forever.
Wylie held perfectly still, and finally, Randy stepped away from her, his heavy boots crunching through the crusty snow. He was looking for the girl now. She waited until she heard the creak of the barn door before she stirred. Wylie’s head felt like lead. When she staggered to her feet, she looked down on the imprint she left behind—a bloodied halo atop a snow angel.
She zigzagged toward the barn, willing herself to stay on her feet. She had to find a way to overpower Randy, but the world kept tilting. When her hand finally touched the rough wood of the barn, Wylie bent over and vomited. Terrified that Randy heard her retching, Wylie pressed herself against the side of the barn, willing her stomach to settle and the spinning to stop. She had only one chance to get this right.
She peeked through the narrow opening in the barn door and scanned the dark interior for any sign of the girl or Randy. The storm was dying. The wind had calmed, and night was beginning to fray at the edges. It would be light soon. Did she go inside and confront him? Or should she wait until he came back outside with the girl? No, that was too risky. If she was going to act, it would have to be now.
Wylie crouched down and slipped into the barn, careful not to touch the squeaky door and alert Randy of her presence. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see him, but she heard his lumbering footsteps and heavy breathing as he rummaged behind stacks of boxes, searching for the girl.
Wylie ducked down at the rear of the Bronco and looked around for a weapon. Hanging on a hook against the barn wall were a number of lethal-looking tools—lawn rakes, heavy-headed shovels, and bedding forks. All had long handles and could be cumbersome to wield as a weapon. Instead, she set her sights on a warren hoe with a sharp V-shaped blade. Long enough to keep Randy out of arms reach but not so heavy that Wylie couldn’t wield it. To reach it, Wylie would have to come out into the open and would most assuredly be spotted by Randy. She’d just have to be faster, smarter.
Before she could move, Randy came into view. He looked upward toward the hayloft. Wylie’s heart dropped. If the girl was hiding up there, she was a sitting duck. There was only one way up and one way down. Wylie watched helplessly as Randy made his ascent up the ladder that led to the loft. She prayed that the brittle wooden rungs would snap beneath his weight and send him tumbling to the ground, but they held fast.
Taking a deep breath, Wylie lunged toward the barn wall and reached for the warren hoe. The garden tools clattered together like wind chimes. She half expected him to come back down the ladder, but he continued upward.
God, she wished she had her gun.
Wylie hurried to the ladder. Above her, Wylie could hear the swish and rasp of Randy rustling through the straw. “Come on out now, pumpkin,” he said kindly. “Come to Dad. I’m here to help you. I’m going to take you and your mom home now. And you aren’t going to believe what’s there waiting for you. It was going to be a surprise, but I got you a puppy. Don’t you want to go home and see it?”
With the hoe in one hand, Wylie put her foot on the lower rung of the ladder, reached for the rung just above her head, and then hesitated.
One way up, one way down, Wylie thought again. Wylie began the climb upward, trying to move silently, but her boots scraped against the weathered rungs, and her ragged breathing raced up the ladder in front of her.
As she approached the top, Wylie peeked over the landing, expecting to find Randy standing there, waiting. Instead, he was facing away from her, still kicking at the thick straw. He was moving methodically as if walking the grid of a crime scene.