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Alex Barclay 4-Book Thriller Collection: Blood Runs Cold, Time of Death, Blood Loss, Harm’s Reach
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The room was in total silence at the casual defense in his delivery. Paul Louderback lunged for him. He slammed his fist into Jason’s face before he had even knocked him to the floor. He gripped him by his neck and used his free hand to quickly impact Jason’s eye socket, break his jaw, his nose, loosen his teeth, tear one of his earlobes free.
What the fuck are you doing, Paul?
‘You motherfucker,’ shouted Paul. He was repeating it over and over, lost in something more than Ren could understand as she watched this handsome man in his fine suit in a shitty cabin, releasing a rage she didn’t know he was capable of.
Ren watched, stunned, as Paul Louderback put into practice everything he had taught her she would never need to do. He had been wrong before. And he was wrong now.
Paul fell on to his back, his breath heaving, his body drenched in sweat. He dragged himself on to his knees, pushing the muzzle of his gun up against Jason Wardwell’s temple. Ren knew Paul enough to feel his sense of failure and exposure. He couldn’t meet her eyes.
‘Nobody move,’ said Ren. ‘Nobody.’ She looked at Paul. ‘Give me your gun. Give it to me now.’
Paul reached for the cloth that hung from the back of a chair, wiped his face and threw it on top of Jason Wardwell, who lay curled on the floor, bleeding and moaning.
Ren lowered her voice. ‘Paul.’
He handed her the gun.
‘But I let them go,’ said Jason. ‘Those girls were free.’
Paul went rigid. He turned and jumped on Jason again, punching him until Jason blacked out, pounding him until Ren dragged him away.
Malcolm Wardwell stepped forward. ‘She told me that night … she gave birth to the child. She told me she had a child.’
‘She was lying,’ said Ren.
Chapter 63 (#ulink_70c96369-9ab3-5f1a-8f83-3e5cd2a3dda1)
Bob Gage, Mike Delaney and a team of detectives from the Sheriff’s Office were waiting at the trailhead to take the Wardwells into custody.
Ren Bryce and Paul Louderback stood by their Jeeps in the deserted parking lot of the Brockton Filly. There were no lights on in the building.
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