The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller (5 page)

8

Scut
shook the flashlight. The light reappeared and he shined it in Owen’s eyes.
“I’m givin’ you a chance to just hand it over and keep things simple.”

“I
don’t know what yer talk’n about.” Owen waved his hand, pushing the flashlight
from his face. He reached for his back pocket as Scut returned the light to his
face. Owen shrank back. “You want money? I got seventy-five, maybe a hundred
dollars in my wallet.”

“We
don’t want your money, old man.”

Owen
raised his voice. “Then whaddya want?”

Luger
growled again.

Owen
looked at the dog, then at Scut. “I don’t know what you want.”

Rayanne
had the large T-shirt back on and stood up. “Scat, wait. Do you own a black
van?”

“It’s
Scut.” He eyed her and grinned. “And, yeah. Maybe.”

“You’ve
been following us?” She took a step forward and stood beside her husband. “I
saw it on the interstate and then in town and then again at the cabin a mile or
so from here.”

“Yeah,”
he said slowly, running a tattooed hand over the top of his head, smoothing
down his spiked hair. The little hairs instantly flipped up as he nodded at
Rayanne. “Yeah, we been track’n you all day. But if you tell your hubby to give
it back, we’ll leave you in peace.”

Owen
clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what you want. This mechanic in town suggested
we come out here. Said we could use the boat ramp—”

“Look,”
Scut said, cutting him off. “I don’t care about your boat. I don’t care about
your wallet. You got someth’n that don’t belong to you and I’m
askin’—nicely—for ya to give it back.”

Owen
didn’t blink. He seemed to be mulling something over. “You’re gonna have to be
more specific.”

The
group fell silent. Rayanne watched her husband. Scut shook his head and held up
his hands.

Still
gripping the flashlight, he waved it like a sword as he spoke. “We ain’t lett’n
you leave till you give it back. Besides, it’s dark and when the sun goes down,
that little dirt road that got you here gets all kinds of dangerous and …” He
looked over at Rayanne and his grin widened. He aimed the flashlight at her.
“Freaky.”

Owen
sidestepped in front of his wife, blocking her from the teenager. “Dropp’n F!
Get outta here. Leave us alone.”

Owen
balled both his fists and stepped a foot closer toward Scut. Luger growled and
leaned forward, ready to pounce. The growl was deep in its throat, almost a
rumbling. The animal watched Owen, and there was something bitter and
calculating in its eyes.

Rayanne
didn’t like it and reached for her husband’s arm. “Owen, don’t.”

“It’s
all up to you, old man.” Scut stretched his arm and opened his hand, palm up.
“Put it here in my hand and this is all over.”

“Or
what?” The veins in Owen’s neck bulged and he raised his fist.

Rayanne
squeezed his arm tighter. “Don’t egg them on, Owen. You’re making it worse.”
Her voice quivered.

Luger
barked, jaws snapping. The furious echoes made it sound as if there were a
whole pack of dogs surrounding them, hidden in the trees. Scut held up a hand
toward the dog, as if giving it a signal.

“Listen
to your little lady, old man.”

“You
don’t want to start with me.” Owen broke loose from Rayanne’s grasp and
approached Scut.

Dru
let her dog loose and the Rottweiler bolted forward.

Rayanne
ran to the truck, opened the back door, and pulled the Winchester from the rack
above the seat. She swung it around, aimed, and fired a double load of buckshot
over their heads. The Rottweiler yelped at the noise and, cowering, ran off to
hide behind Dru’s legs. Its muzzle wrinkled back in a great humorless grin that
bared pointed teeth.

Rayanne
broke open the chamber and the empty shells popped out and dropped to the
ground. “You kids need to find another place to party,” she said.

Scut
moved toward Owen, but when Rayanne casually shifted the shotgun in her arms
and leveled it at him, he stopped.

He
raised his arms, as if surrendering. “Calm down, lady, okay? We’re leaving.”

He
shut off the flashlight, plunging the campsite into darkness. Rayanne couldn’t
see the teenagers leave, but she heard them plunging through foliage and into
the woods where they had come from.

When
her eyes adjusted to the night again, she saw Owen’s wide eyes boring into her.

“You
know that’s empty?” he said.

Rayanne
lowered the gun, then let it fall from her hands. It landed on the ground as
she ran to Owen. She wrapped her arms around him. He embraced her and held her
for several seconds. Neither said a word.

Finally,
Owen released her and walked over to the Winchester lying in the grass by the
truck. He picked it up. “Where’d you learn to handle a gun like that?”

“You
think Luger was the first rabid dog I’ve run into?” She watched him, thankful
he wasn’t hurt. Thankful they both were okay. “Who were those kids?”

Owen
didn’t answer. He put the shotgun back in the truck. Slamming the door, he
marched to the fire pit and kicked sand on the wet kindling.

“Who
were those kids?” She walked over to him. “Do you know them?”

He
didn’t answer. Moving past her, he headed for the tent. “Those kids aren’t far.
They’ll be back.”

“What
was he talking about? What did he want?”

She
followed him and took a corner of the tent, raising it so the stakes lifted out
of the ground. She was about to ask again. She wanted an answer, but thought
better of it. They worked silently and efficiently in the dark, and twenty
minutes later their tent was folded and stuffed into the tote. As Owen packed
it in the truck, Rayanne noticed the guitar lying beside the log they’d been
sitting on. The bottle of Merlot had tipped over and the ground was soggy
beneath it. She picked up the bottle and wiped away the mud. Then she grabbed
the canvas bag that had carried so many possibilities within it merely an hour
ago.

Carrying
it across her shoulder, she walked around the front of the truck and climbed
into the passenger seat while also toting the guitar. “I think there’s a
bed-and-breakfast in town. We can stay there overnight.”

He
didn’t answer.

She
set the guitar on the floorboard and looked into the bag sitting on her lap.
Specs of mud dotted the cups and negligee inside, but the granola box was
clean. She pulled out a bar and slipped it into her pocket for later. It was
the last one in the box.

* * * * *

They
drove along the two dirt tracks in the dark. The boat and trailer bounced
behind them. Owen flipped on the high beams and they lit up the woods ahead.
Rayanne hoped they were still actually on the path as branches struck the
windshield and the side doors. They hit something in the road and the truck
jittered and swerved. A new wave of expletives rushed from Owen’s mouth and he
stopped the truck. He hopped out and slammed the door shut.

Swinging
her legs off the dashboard, Rayanne slipped out of the truck and saw the
trailer severely leaning to the left. The tire had deflated. In the path, she
saw a scatter of broken glass, shards of dark-colored beer bottles in the road.

Owen
kicked the edge of the trailer. “Dropp’n F!”

“Calm
down, okay?” Rayanne walked to the center of the path and bent over to study
the broken glass.

Owen
wasn’t listening, and knelt by the flat tire. “They blew a hole in my tire!” He
kicked the trailer again, then spun around. “On purpose!”

“They’re
kids. What do you want to do about it? Do you want me to change the tire?” She
stood and faced him. “Get back in the truck, calm down, and I will change the
tire.”

“You’re
not changing the tire,” he said, walking to the truck. He took the jack and
tire iron out of a compartment in the backseat.

She
watched him, raising her eyebrows and waiting for him to continue.

He
slammed the door shut and turned to her. “Get in the truck.” He hesitated a
moment, then said, “It’s not safe out here.”

“Why?”
Rayanne had enough of his silence and placed her hands on her hips as she
spoke. “Who were those kids and what did they want?”

He
turned away from her. “I don’t know.”

“They
obviously knew you. What are you not telling me?” She stepped toward him. She
twirled the wedding ring on her finger.

“I
can’t deal with this right now, babe. Okay?” He raised the tire iron in the air
as if he were swinging a bat. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“So
there is something to talk about?”

“No!”
He walked to the rear of the trailer and dropped the jack next to the brake
lights. It clanged as it hit the dirt. He still gripped the tire iron, though,
and waved it as he spoke. “I don’t know who those kids were. I don’t know what
they wanted. And I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“I
don’t believe you.” Rayanne’s legs were trembling as adrenaline kicked in. She
knew she was pushing him. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

He
dropped the tire iron and, resting a hand on the underside of the boat, leaned
down close to the blown tire. “Believe whatever you want,” he said in a low
voice.

Rayanne
didn’t move. “Do those kids work for some kinda loan shark?”

He
looked up. “What?”

“Did
you borrow money from someone?” She waited for an answer. When he didn’t
respond, she continued. “We’re bankrupt, you’ve got creditors calling and
filing liens, and the IRS is breathing down our backs.”

Owen
froze, shutting his eyes and lowering his head. He spoke very slowly, directly.
“You blame me, don’t you?”

Rayanne
sighed. “Of course not.”

He
looked back at the tire, then muttered over his shoulder, “I didn’t borrow
money from no one.”

“Owen,
we’ve got debt com—”

“I’m
not selling cars, okay? I’m not working for your father.”

“If
you’d taken that job six months ago, we wouldn’t be confronted with teenage
muscle ready to unleash their killer dog on us.” She paced back and forth
behind the trailer, running her hands through her hair.

Owen
threw up his arms and kicked the dirt. Finally, he stopped and faced her.
“Babe, I’m in no mood—”

“You’re
in the same mood you’re always in—angry.” She was yelling now. “You’ve been
impossible to live with for the last six months, and when my dad offers to help
you, you spit in his face and turn to loan sharks.”

“I
didn’t—babe, I can’t deal with this right now.” He got to his feet and turned
away from her. He walked to the edge of the path and faced the dark woods.

She
followed him. “You know what, Owen? This isn’t about the business going under
or the collection calls or us almost getting killed tonight.” She wasn’t
yelling, yet her voice was firm. “It’s about our marriage and our future. And
the fact that you’ve always got some excuse to walk away from it.”

“Don’t
start with me, Rayanne. Not right now.” He kicked the tire iron on the ground
and walked away, toward the front of the truck.

She
tagged behind him. “Our marriage has serious issues, and you refuse to deal
with what’s going on.”

“I’m
not the one who cut my wrists.” He spoke with his head down toward the tire, as
if he were studying it.

Rayanne
stiffened. “What did you say?”

“Don’t
say I refuse to deal with what’s going on.” He wouldn’t look at her. “You’re
the one you can’t get past it. Ever since—”

“Don’t
you dare say another word. Not another word.”

“Why,
Rayanne? This didn’t happen to just you.”

Clearly,
this confrontation had pushed him over the edge and he jumped up, shaking his
fist and leaning toward her. He acted like he wanted to strangle her. Instead
he turned and screamed and threw his phone into the woods. It smashed against a
large oak tree nearby.

“I
miss him too!” he screamed.

The
sound quieted the crickets. They both stood in the dark, listening to the
silence, before Owen turned around. Rayanne stared at the mark on the tree
where the phone had hit it.

“Are
you happy?” she asked. “We can’t afford a new phone right n—”

“You’re
not the only one hurting,” he said, talking over her.

“What
are you going to do without a phone? What if a prospective employer calls you?”

He
wasn’t listening. “You shut me out, Rayanne. You shut down and shut me out.”

“We
can barely cover rent and electric and water and cable,” she said, oblivious to
his rant. “Now we’re going to have to buy a new phone.”

“I
gave you space, Rayanne. So what do you want me to do? Leave?”