Beyond Fear (43 page)

Jodie was in the barn.

With Kane.

He was on his feet before he’d thought about it, breathing hard, adrenaline tingling in his veins. He looked down at the tyre iron in his hand. Big stick versus rifle. Fuck. A shadow moved in the front window, something crashed to the floor. He threw himself across the gravel, pressed his back to the side of the truck. Saw the open chest next to him and bent closer.

Christ, it wasn’t just one Steyr.

The chest was full of Steyrs.

Twenty or more.

And a magazine of ammunition sat on the top like an afterthought.

Anger stiffened his spine. This was about guns? They’d shot a woman, shot a cop, were threatening to kill all five of them – for rifles? Were they complete fucking maniacs?

No. Kane was. Not Travis.

The facts, the few he had, hurtled through his head. John Kruger was murdered yesterday, beaten to death with a piece of timber. Not a robbery. The work of someone out of control. Travis and Kane were the builders. They were hiding from the cops. They should be on the run but they weren’t.
Or I piss off without you.
Not yet.

This wasn’t about guns.

It was about money.

Travis’s chest of stolen, illegal, automatic rifles would sell for a small fortune. Plenty for a couple of country boys to hide out on. Enough to get them as far from Bald Hill as they wanted.

But now Travis was dead.

And Jodie was inside with the Anderson family psychopath.

And she was screaming.

Jodie looked down at the straight splice across the sleeve of Corrine’s sweater and the blood spilling over its edges. Kane had cut her. It hurt but she’d hurt him first.

He’d teased her with the knife. Tipped her head back, run the blade teasingly over her chin, her throat, her breasts. She’d refused to react. Had stared him down, welcomed the rage pulsing through her body – and waited for a chance. It didn’t take long.

He yanked on the tape binding her hands. She saw the intent in his pale eyes as he hauled her in. He wanted to get in her face, make her feel small, victimised, overpowered. She went with the momentum and drove her forehead at his face, her rage spilling over in a primitive scream.

The knife had sliced through her sweater above her wrist as he ricocheted away. She looked at the result of a wound that barely hurt. Looked up at the blood streaming from his nose and smiled.

He spun her around, wrapped an arm across her chest, used the other hand to hold the knife blade to her throat. She could hear him dragging air in through an open mouth. He turned his face, spat on the floor. ‘Try that again and I’ll cut your throat.’

She should have been terrified. She should have been pleading for her life. She was going to die. In a lot of pain.

But all she felt was the rage.

It crashed through her, wiping out any sensation but sheer fury. Kane had hurt her friends. Killed Matt. Murdered a teenager. A girl like Angie. And he was about to deny her children their mother.

Rage cleared her mind, opened her eyes, made her strong. Made her a goddamn gladiator.

The tree trunk was to her left. The hall door to the right. The island bench directly in front. Which meant the hole in the floor was right behind them.

39

Kane was at her back, one beefy, muscular arm trapping her against his chest. They were bound together. Wherever they were going, they were going together.

She lifted her tethered hands over the forearm pinning her to his chest, found the hand holding the knife and dragged on the wrist.

‘No, please, no,’ she cried.

She struggled in his arms, strained against him, tried to haul herself away from his hold. She dragged down with her legs, thrust her hips forward, shook her shoulders, felt the blade digging into the soft flesh of her throat. Until she felt his weight shift.

He leaned back a fraction to keep his balance, to stop her from pulling him over. As he did, she released the tension, reversed her effort, drove backwards. Hard, gripping the floor with her toes, pushing through her legs. He took a step to stop from falling. She went with him, trapped his other foot under hers, leaned into him. Felt him stumble. Leaned some more. Another step back. Then Kane lost control and they were staggering away. Two, three steps.

They must be close. Jodie squeezed her eyes shut, dragged down on his knife hand.

It was going to hurt. The fall itself could kill her. Or the knife could, if she couldn’t keep it away from her throat.

She felt his leg go slack as he stepped into clean air. She pressed backwards with her shoulders, pulled both knees up, tried to ride him like a cushion to the earth under the barn.

It felt like falling down a well. The light from the lounge room disappeared overhead and they were dropping into darkness. Kane was shouting, flailing and the arm that pinned her chest flew out, looking for a handhold. She fought the urge to do the same, hung onto his wrist, prayed she was strong enough to keep the knife clear.

The impact was like being slammed by a Mack truck. Her head jolted backwards, hit something hard. She felt a crack underneath her, inside Kane. He roared in pain. She was dizzy, loose-limbed but his free arm was moving.

She threw her head forward and bit down on his knife hand. He struggled. She hung on, tasting blood, grinding his tough flesh between her teeth. He grabbed a handful of her hair with his free hand, tried to drag her away but it was too late. His fingers opened and the blade fell out of reach.

As she opened her jaw, he pressed his palm to her face and pushed. He forced her head back, driving her chin up, pulling her hair with the other hand, trying to break her neck. She twisted her shoulders, dug an elbow into his broken ribs. He shrieked, let go of her hair. She pushed down on his chest with the point of the bone as she rolled off him, to her feet. He was thrashing about, rocking back and forth, trying to get away from her. He was in pain, having trouble breathing but she didn’t give a shit.

She lifted a foot, slammed her heel into his ribs. Watched in the dim light from the room above as he writhed in the dirt. Listened as his howl echoed inside her and fed the rage.

The knife blade caught the light. She bent, picked it up two-handed and turned it towards her. One quick slice was all it took to cut the tape around her wrists then she crouched beside him, held the point to his cheek, pressed it hard enough to make a dent in the skin, spoke clearly, calmly.

‘Fight me and I’ll slice you open.’

He stopped moving, looked at her over the top of the knife. His face was smeared with blood and dirt.

‘Get up, you animal.
Move.
’ She kept the blade on his cheek as he sat. ‘On your knees.’

He moved awkwardly, wincing in pain, breathing noisily. When he was there, he turned, smiled. ‘You Jack the Ripper now, tough bitch?’

She looked him in the eye. Three minutes ago she thought she was dead. Now she was standing and Kane was on his knees at her feet. She had nothing to lose. ‘Oh, yeah, I’m Jack, all right.’

‘You ever seen a knife wound? So much blood it’ll make you puke.’

‘Tell me about it.’

He grinned. ‘You think you’re real tough, don’t you? You’ll never do it.’

‘Try me.’

He made a grab for her hand. She pulled the knife up high, out of his reach, drove it straight down into his thigh.

It took no effort at all. The knife slid through his flesh, stopped when it hit bone. He yowled in pain. She pulled it out and looked at the blood on the blade. She was surprised at how easy it was. How good it felt to hurt him.

Kane moved fast. Locked his meaty hand around her fist, the one holding the knife. He was a big man, probably twice Jodie’s weight. Even with broken ribs and a deep thigh wound, she would never beat him in an arm-wrestle. She was already on her feet but he was dragging her towards the ground. She kicked out hard at his injured thigh. He let out a scream, threw himself at her, knocked her backwards onto the loose earth.

If he got on top of her, she wouldn’t have a chance. She pulled her knees up, pushed out with her feet as he came at her, managed only to topple him sideways. He took her with him, crushing her hand under his as he hauled her over the top of him, threw her to the earth on the other side.

Then he was straddled over her hips, still holding her fist in his hand, crushing the bones of her fingers around the knife handle. She gasped for breath and his ugly face split into a smile.

Slowly, like a game, a battle of wills, he pushed down on her hand. She locked her elbow but he was too strong. She couldn’t hold out against him. He forced her arm to bend, forced her hand around until the knife pointed at her like an arrow. She strained against the pressure on her arm, twisted her face away, as though she could escape him.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the cold point of the blade came to rest on the soft skin under her ear.

Kane laughed. ‘You didn’t know you were going to cut your own throat, did you, tough bitch?’

She turned her eyes to him, kept them there, burning with hate, as he increased the pressure on the knife. As something trickled down her neck.

Her breath was loud in her ears. Her head pounded in rhythm with her heart. She watched Kane and thought of her children, of Louise and Hannah and Corrine. Matt. Angie.

The light in the room above dimmed. No, Jodie. Do
not
pass out. You’re going to look this bastard in the eye to the end.

He nodded at her.

No, not a nod. His head tipped forward. The grin slid off his face.

‘Drop it, Anderson.’

Matt kept the muzzle of the rifle jammed hard up against the base of Kane’s skull, watched from the floor above as Anderson lifted his arm, released Jodie’s hand. The knife tumbled to the dirt.

He saw the blood then, the thin, dark line running into the neck of Jodie’s sweater. Christ, another second and she’d be bleeding to death. His grip tightened on the rifle. He wanted to put a bullet through Kane’s head, put him down like a rabid dog.

He felt the trigger under his finger. One small movement would blow the arsehole away. He sucked in air. Blew it out. Don’t do it, Matt.

‘
Get your hands up!
’ Matt yelled. He lifted his finger from the trigger, telling himself there was no justice for anyone in a quick, painless death.

‘Get off me!’ Jodie screamed. Her eyes were wild, her chest heaved in and out. ‘
Get off me.
’

Matt kept his voice loud, aggressive. ‘Keep it slow, arsehole.’

As Kane lifted his weight from Jodie’s hips, she scuttled out from under him, rolled away, came up on her feet, in a crouch, with the knife in her hand. She pointed it at Kane, held it firm, unwavering, slashing distance from his face. She touched fingers to her neck, saw the blood, closed her hand into a fist and punched him in the face.

It was an impressive shot. Thrown full force from the shoulder, catching him square on the cheekbone, knocking him back on his haunches. Her knuckles were going to hurt later but right now she didn’t look like she was feeling a thing. No fear, no intimidation, nothing but some kind of seething fury that was pouring right out of her.

‘Jodie, are you okay?’ Matt asked.

‘He cut me.’ She didn’t take her eyes off Kane. Matt wasn’t even sure she knew who he was.

‘Jodie?’

‘He fucking
cut
me.’ She swung at Kane with the knife.

As Anderson ducked back, Matt jammed the rifle in his ear. He had a stream of blood running from his nose, a crazy woman with a knife in front of him, the cop he shot behind him. He looked like an unhappy man. Suck it up.

‘Jodie?’ Matt said again. She didn’t move. ‘Jodie. I’ve got a gun on him.’

She shot a brief look up to where Matt was leaning over the edge of the hole. Took a little longer the second time, let her eyes focus on him before she turned them to Kane.

‘Matt?’ she said.

‘Yeah.’

‘He shot you.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I thought you were
dead
.’

‘I’m not. You can put the knife down now, Jodie.’

She kept the knife where it was as she wiped at her face with the heel of her other hand. ‘He was going to kill me.’

‘I know. I’ve got him now. Put the knife down.’

‘No.’

‘Jodie.’

‘
No!
’ She moved closer to Kane, touched the blade to the underside of his chin, forced his head back, slid the point down to the hollow at the base of his throat. The skin puckered under the pressure of her hand. Kane didn’t move, looked like he didn’t dare. ‘You worried yet?’ she said.

Matt felt a new kind of fear for her then. Bitter experience had taught him a brief moment of revenge didn’t make cold-blooded cruelty any less brutal. Having a killer’s blood on your hands didn’t change the outcome, didn’t heal any wounds. Didn’t reverse your mistakes. Just made you the same as the thing you destroyed. No, if there was any chance of justice – for tonight, for Jodie and her friends, for Tina – Kane Anderson would rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life. ‘Put the knife down, Jodie.’