Face Off

Excerpt

Billa

I carefully set my empty teacup in the little kitchen sink. Something catches my attention outside, and I dash to the side of the window. Stiffening, I glance through the ancient glass.

Nothing unusual.

It was probably a squirrel or another critter. I do live in the middle of the woods.

The isolated location isn’t enough to calm my fears. A psychopath kidnapped me not long ago and made it clear she wasn’t done with our family. She already used me to extort money once. What might she do the next time?

I shove those thoughts from my mind, but they’re quickly replaced with my sister’s and niece’s voices urging me to move into the mansion. They have a state-of-the-art security system, which in most homes would provide ample protection. However, all of the house’s hidden entrances and secret passages greatly decrease any and all safety measures the family can install.

No, this little cottage is just fine. I’m tucked away in the woods, and nobody could accidentally stumble upon it—or me. I don’t have to worry about intrusive hikers because I live deep inside a large tract of private land. It has been Brannon property since before Washington was even a state. That’s how far back my family’s presence goes back in the area.

One more time, just to be sure, I peer through the window. Again, I find nothing. Maybe I need to get another job. I don’t need one, given I have no bills, but work keeps my mind busy. So do creative endeavors, though my art isn’t selling at the moment. I could put more effort into marketing that, or even making more.

Or I could go to the house and see how Kenzi’s doing with the baby. While I don’t want to live in the mansion, it isn’t a terrible place to visit. Especially now that little Fenna’s arrived.

But at the moment, the thought of stepping outside sends a prickle down my spine.

Perhaps what I really need is some curtains. The idea seems silly given I’m surrounded by forest, but that flimsy fabric shield would make me feel better. And it would give me something to do if I made them myself. That’s a great idea. All I have to do is find the trunk filled with material. Some of those bolts would make perfect window coverings.

Then I wouldn’t have to think about moving into the big house. My little home is ideal. No one bothers me. I get to do what I want, when I want. It’s the perfect representation of why I love being single and free. Nobody to tell me what to do or even gripe and complain over my little eccentricities. I really don’t know how Kenzi and Graham or Jack and Carol do it. I couldn’t stand giving up part of myself to make some other person happy. Relationships are best kept at a distance.

My phone chirps with a text. Brandon. He’s the epitome of keeping romantic attachments casual at best. The man travels all the time, and I think right now he’s in Egypt. Or the Alps? I can’t keep up. He has some sort of tech job that takes him all over the world, the details of which go over my head. Or bore me to apathy. In any case, I barely know what he does and neither of us cares. We both enjoy hanging out when he’s in town, and that’s all that really matters.

His message is a selfie of him with some cyber guru I recognize but can’t name, and Brandon looks thrilled. I send him some excited emojis then try to remember what I was going to do before the text came in. Sometimes being so easily distracted is really annoying.

Snap!

I jolt to attention. That was outside, which means it had to have been loud—and therefore near—to be heard inside. The walls aren’t the best insulated, but they’re sturdy. Holding my breath, I tiptoe over to the door then press my ear against it.

Don’t hear anything.

Probably just a woodland creature. It isn’t like seeing deer or even bears is unusual. Large animals pass by regularly, especially when things are quiet and I’m inside. If I’m outside, they usually stay away. And because I’ve been worried about getting kidnapped again, I haven’t spent much time outside. Consequently, my flowers and veggies are languishing.

The few moments I wait feel like hours. Once I’m sure there’s nothing outside, I breathe a sigh of relief and return to looking for the box of fabric. Losing something in a house with so few rooms should be impossible, but it happens to me all the time. There’s just enough space to misplace all kinds of things—even things as large as a trunk. Whoever built this cabin loved storage and maximized every free inch with cubbyholes and cabinets. Most homes at the time didn’t have much more than a cupboard or two. Then again, Brannons weren’t most people, and their homes had proven to be anything but ordinary.

After going through three closets, I manage to find the chest with the thick, fancy fabrics. It’s anyone’s guess their age—they could’ve been purchased eighty years ago or in the eighteen hundreds. Either would be believable. Not that the age of the material matters. Just so long as the curtains keep anyone from looking inside.

The top few bolts are gorgeous, deep colors, but the textiles are so heavy they won’t work for my purpose. I can imagine them falling down, which is a hassle I don’t need, so I set them aside. The next few are practically sheer. Just as useless, but for the opposite reason. I put them with the others. Next I find some with barnyard animals and blindingly bright colors. I don’t want those decorating my home either.

I may have to look elsewhere for fabric, or make do with something I don’t like. It’s a matter of safety, after all. There’s an unhinged woman out there who won’t bat an eye at abducting me again.

For a moment, I flash back to the basement she locked me in. My breath catches, my body trembles. I close my eyes, cover them, and think about Brandon. Baby Fenna. One of my childhood cats, Spencer. The mountains in Alaska. Inhaling deep breaths, remind myself I’m no longer in the basement. I’m safe. And I’ll be even safer with curtains, even if I don’t like them.

Or I could move into the mansion. Just temporarily. There are hundreds of rooms waiting to be occupied after years of disuse—entire wings that haven’t been lived in for decades. To keep my privacy, I could move into one of those and bring life back to a sad part of the house. The idea isn’t terrible.

It isn’t perfect either, as there are still secret passages and hidden rooms we haven’t discovered. My niece Ember recently found a closet camouflaged inside another, and it had skeletons. The Brannon house literally has skeletons in its closets.

Sadly, finding a repository of concealed corpses doesn’t even touch the traumas I endured spending summers there as a child.

My father’s wife Regina wouldn’t acknowledge my existence, and she even told Kenzi I was her imaginary friend. I had to hide and be quiet so that awful woman could pretend I wasn’t there. At least I was able to go back home to my mom the rest of the year. She’s always been a wild card herself, but she took care of me the best she could—even though she was thrilled to get rid of me each summer.

Crack! Crash!

I jump. Barely hold in a yelp. Freeze. Listen. My heart races, making it hard to hear anything else. From outside comes a rustling sound, but nothing like the latest noises.

What was that?

I grab a large candle, hold it like a baseball bat. Tiptoe toward the nearest window. Peek out, trying to stay hidden. A large tree now lays across my garden, the trunk easily as wide as me. Probably more. It only missed my little cottage by about ten feet.

My entire body shakes, and I nearly drop my makeshift weapon. That could’ve crashed onto my home. Onto me.

Trees don’t tend to fall on their own around here. Sometimes during an especially rough windstorm, but not on a pleasant afternoon like this.

I’m tempted to climb under my covers and sleep away this stress, but I need to see what’s going on out there. However, I need to be prepared. I set down the candle and search for something more formidable but don’t see anything suitable. There’s an axe and some gardening tools outside, but that would mean stepping out the door without protection.

The kitchen! More specifically, my knives. I hurry through the house, keeping low in case anybody is outside looking through the windows. My best blade needs to be washed, but I grab it from the sink anyway. There’s no law saying a person has to defend themself with a clean weapon. It might even make an enemy warier of the weapon.

Hand on the knob, I take a moment to build my courage. As unlikely as it is, it’s possible the tree fell on its own and nobody’s out there waiting for me, ready to jump into action. There haven’t been any more noises. If someone purposefully took down the pine they probably left. They had to know I’d run out to check on everything.

On the other hand, they could be counting on exactly that.

My pulse races, my system floods with adrenaline. It’s a good thing. I need my senses on high alert so I can act quickly. But if I’m being honest, I don’t want to fight anyone. Especially someone prepared.

No, rushing outside with a chef’s knife isn’t the right course of action. I need to stay safe, be pragmatic. Alert someone that something could be wrong—but without making it sound like a big deal in case it isn’t.

After trading the knife for my phone, I send Kenzi a vague text saying I’m going to the main house. That way, if I don’t show up soon, she’ll know something’s wrong. Good idea.

Actually, not good enough. I need a backup plan in case she’s napping with the baby. I also send a text to Ember and another to Ryker. That’s three people who will expect to see me soon. If I don’t show, certainly one of them will try to find me. I feel much better about that.

Now it’s time to figure out what’s going on with the tree. Maybe it rotted out, and I’m overreacting. That would be fantastic, but I don’t think that’s going to be the reality. I monitor things surrounding my little home to the point that Graham has called me woo-woo, but I like to be close to nature. If he or other people think it’s weird, so be it. Tree huggers get a bad rap, but nature helps us as we help it.

I need to focus. All these rambling thoughts only prolong the inevitable. I may not have Graham’s police training, but I can hold my own against people with bad motives. If I managed to survive a summer on the streets of New York, I can handle someone who chopped down a tree and couldn’t even hit their target.

Though I’ll handle it better with a weapon.

I pick up the knife. My breath hitches as I reach for the knob again. After counting to three, I fling open the door then quickly step outside.

Everything is quiet. Too quiet. Birds should be singing, frogs should be croaking. Not even a single cricket is chirping. Nature is telling me something isn’t right.

I hold the dirty kitchen knife higher as I step toward the fallen tree. The sight of the break stops me in my tracks. It was no accident.

Someone cut that tree on purpose. The precise cuts make that clear.

Terror rips through me. But only for a moment. Rage heats in my center, spreading through my chest then up to my head until everything takes on a red hue.

Someone tried to kill me.

I will hunt down that person. Make her wish she’d never even heard my name.

Much like nature, I can be calm and serene… or I can wreak deadly destruction on those who go after me. Brannon blood runs through my veins, after all.

I’ve killed before. I’ll do it again.