Chapter Nine

Boiling Fury

J oan kept a handgun in the truck for emergencies. She’d purchased a safety holster that attached securely beneath the driver’s seat and released quickly in an emergency. Tonight, she didn’t need the holster. She slipped the gun free and placed it in her lap, the cold metal a comfort against the rising unease in her chest. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she turned the truck to avoid the figure standing in the driveway.

Susan. Carrie’s mother.

Joan slammed on the brakes, the truck lurching to a stop as dust swirled around the headlights. She flung open the door, barely aware of leaving the gun on the seat as she jumped out. The cold night air hit her face, and the smell of dry earth filled her nose.

“Is it Carrie?” Joan’s voice was sharp, her heart racing as she stared at Susan. It was the first time she’d ever seen her off the Hogg property.

Susan’s hand flew to her mouth, her face twisted with fear. The words that tumbled from her lips were incoherent, a garbled mess of sounds. It wasn’t even recognizable as English. Her face was also swollen, and a dark bruise was visible even in the moonlight.

“I need you to tell me if Carrie is okay,” Joan demanded, stepping forward. She grabbed Susan’s trembling hand and pulled it away from her mouth, her fingers brushing against clammy skin. Susan’s entire body was shaking. The weakness, the fear, it set Joan’s teeth on edge.

“I need help,” Susan managed, her voice barely audible between sobs.

Joan’s stomach clenched. “Okay, I can help,” she said, her tone firm. “Do we need to call an ambulance?”

Joan reached for the outside switch by the door to trigger the security light. The soft click of the light flickering on bathed them in harsh brightness, and Joan finally got a good look at Susan. She was a mess. Her pale blue eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark, sunken circles. Her hair, usually pinned back tightly, was frayed and escaping its hold. Her cotton dress was too thin for the cool June evening, hanging loosely around her bony shoulders.

The dark smudges on her legs and dress; were they dirt or blood? Joan blinked. Susan had no shoes. Barefoot on this jagged terrain, just like her daughter. A knot of dread formed in Joan’s gut. Whatever had brought her here had to be bad.

“Look, Susan,” Joan said slowly, trying to keep her voice steady, “I need to call an ambulance for your daughter. And we need the police. You know this is bigger than me.”

Susan shook her head, violently enough that Joan thought she might hurt herself. Her refusal was frantic, her shoulders shaking harder. Joan’s mind skimmed through tonight’s details, torn dress, dirt or blood caked on her legs. Joan’s anger began to bubble up. Enough of this.

“You don’t know me,” Joan said, taking a step forward, “except through Jeb’s eyes, but I care about Carrie. I knew something was wrong the last time I saw her.” Joan’s voice softened, but her resolve didn’t. “I can help, but you need to let me.”

Susan kept shaking her head, and Joan’s patience snapped. This had gone on long enough. She didn’t have time for this helpless dithering.

With a deep breath, Joan walked to Lucy, yanked her keys from the ignition, shoved the gun under the seat, and went back toward the house. As soon as she opened the door, Max bounded out, his whole body vibrating with excitement.

“Yes, yes,” Joan muttered as she scratched behind his ears. “You’ve been a good boy, and you’ll get your treat later. Right now, we’ve got something urgent to handle.”

Max barked happily, his stubby tail wagging back and forth, oblivious to the gravity of the situation. Joan glanced toward the road, her eyes narrowing. She didn’t trust Jeb not to come here, especially if he discovered Susan missing. He’d managed to bully the neighbors, but not Joan, and this would be the first place he looked. Max sensed her tension and quieted, his ears twitching as he scanned the area.

“He won’t hurt you,” Joan murmured, glancing back at the woman.

Susan was gone.

Joan’s eyes darted around, scanning the dimly lit yard, but Carrie’s mother had vanished into the night. Her chest tightened with frustration as she stared into the darkness, but there was no sign of her. No sound.

Shaking her head, Joan strode back to the truck, anger simmering beneath her skin. She was calling the sheriff’s department. If Carrie needed an ambulance, they’d send one, and the police would have to deal with Jeb. She wasn’t sure if an ambulance would even come this far out, but she had to try.

She gave Max another pet, a little more firmly this time, trying to calm her nerves. The dog looked up at her, his wide eyes tracking her every movement. “Alright, buddy,” she muttered, heading for the truck. “Let’s get that phone and make a call.”

But her phone wasn’t there.

Joan’s heart skipped a beat as she frantically searched the cup holder and the floorboards. She even shoved her hands between the cushions. Nothing. Susan had taken it.

“Great,” Joan muttered, scrubbing a hand over her face. Without the phone, there was no way to call for help from here. She cursed Susan under her breath for good measure. What now?

Max padded over to his favorite scrub bush and lifted his leg. Joan waited, tapping her foot impatiently as he finished his business. She ran through her options. Maybe Max could track Susan, but he’d never been trained for that. Still, he was smart. Maybe...

No. It wasn’t worth the risk. The quickest help would come from Deputy Berger. She’d been to his place once, and though it was a bit of a backwoods drive, she figured she could find it again. It would mean passing by the Hogg homestead, but there was no other choice. Berger was her best bet.

She sighed, looking down at Max, who had trotted back to her side, tail no longer wagging. He was now as worried as she was. “Alright,” she said, her voice low. “You’re coming with me this time.”

She grabbed her gun and tucked it back into the safety holster under the seat. If she needed it, she could grab it quickly. She had a bad feeling in her gut, and it wasn’t just from Susan’s sudden visit. Something was terribly wrong.

“Come on, Max,” Joan called as she climbed into the truck. Max leapt into the driver’s seat before shifting over to his side. Joan leaned over to roll down the window for him. His tongue lolled, as he stuck his head out.

“You’re too much,” Joan muttered with a shake of her head as she threw the truck into gear. She traveled to the end of the drive and turned off the property. “This was going to come to a head someday,” Joan said aloud, more to herself than to Max. “Now it’s here, and I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Max ignored her, too busy snapping at the wind as it rushed through the open window. The dust kicked up behind them, swirling in the truck’s wake, but Joan’s mind was elsewhere.

“That poor child,” she muttered. “I might not like her mother’s weakness, but she’s been abused too. It’s gone on long enough.”

The adrenaline buzzing through her veins made her hands tremble on the steering wheel. Four years of living with the Hoggs as neighbors had all led to this. Four years of hell.

Joan was still muttering to herself, lost in thought, when Lucy’s windshield exploded with a sharp crack, and Joan barely had time to react. She swerved off the dirt road, the truck careening into the scrub.

Her heart pounded as she fought for control.