An Arm and a Leg Read Free

uncovering dark socks, one with a hole in the toe. Something between a sob and a moan hissed through her lips at the sight of Tim’s big toe peeking through the tear. She’d teased him about those toes, told him they were big enough to merit smaller, tacked-on shoes all their own—like an add-on to a one-room house. Those two thick, wide big toes he proudly claimed made swim fins unnecessary.
    Sunlight slanting through the pines mottled the scene, and the merest whisper of a cool breeze stirred Tim’s hair. Frankie sobbed at the normalcy of the sight. At the memory of summer fishing trips, winter snowboarding, and high school basketball games during which his hair had ruffled in exactly the same way.
    After removing her windbreaker, she pulled off her blue cardigan, then put the jacket back on over her white turtleneck. Hands trembling, she wrapped her brother’s head in the soft folds of her sweater, careful to cover his ruined face.
    She caved in the soil that jutted out over the shelf. The rich, wild smell of forest earth mingled with the fragrance of the evergreens and fall wild flowers.
    Her ears tuned to pick up sounds of pursuit, Frankie found two large fallen tree branches and pulled them on top of the makeshift grave. Then she spent precious minutes collecting river rocks for a cairn at the head of the mounded earth.
    In spite of the crisp autumnal mountain air, perspiration poured down her face. It stung her eyes and pasted her hair against her forehead. The salty fluid worked its way along the crease of her lips, even as her mind registered the danger the moisture represented.
    She knelt beside Tim’s grave and patted the fragrant, muddy soil. “I’ll be back.”
    Shivering, she turned and headed upstream. She could feel her body heat evaporating in waves. Her water-repellent windbreaker protected her from the rain, but her cotton turtleneck underneath was soaked in perspiration. She had to find the cabin within the next couple of hours or be forced to find a place to hole up for the night. The prospect brought fresh panic bubbling up her throat.
    Stiff-legged and aching, her body reluctantly followed her command to keep moving. She focused on trying to ignore the knots in her leg muscles and the growing cramp in her side.
    The sight of a familiar outcropping of rock brought a prayer of gratitude to her lips. In minutes she would drink fresh water and could use the cabin landline to call for help. She would tell the police about the men in the green pickup. Then she’d go back for Tim.
    But before she could step into the clearing around the cabin, the sound of a rifle shot pulled her up short. Adrenaline again erupted, and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck moved as if alive. She pressed herself against the trunk of a large pine tree and willed her body to fuse with it. The sound of angry voices hit her like a slap.
    “I told you not to shoot, dammit.” A masculine voice crescendoed into a bellow.
    Someone mumbled a response, the words unintelligible.
    “I don’t care what you thought. Bad enough you took the first few shots. And now look what you’ve done. Thanks to you, they’ve gone to ground, and we’re well and truly screwed.”
    Frankie turned back in the direction from which she’d just come. In spite of her racing heart, she made herself walk for several yards before giving in to the urge to run. Then she ran pell-mell, heedless of direction, and long after her burning lungs told her to stop.
    After several minutes that seemed like hours, she stopped to listen for sounds of pursuit. She stooped over at the waist, put the palms of her hands on her bent knees for support, and sucked in great gulps of air. Except for her gasping breaths, no other sound broke the silence. No thumping footfalls, no voices arguing over how best to proceed. No evidence of the two murderers intent on… Intent on what? On catching her? On killing her? What in God’s name were they after?
    Frankie straightened