Free Black Widow by Laurie Breton

time. Somebody did get in the way, and I can’t just let it go. Michael was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die that way. He won’t be at peace until the person responsible for his death is punished. And I won’t be at peace until I clear my name.”
    “Whoever killed him isn’t going to stop at one, Kathryn. If you keep nosing around in the wrong places, you’re going to wind up in a ditch somewhere with your throat slit. It’s not worth it.”
    “And that, Chief DiSalvo, is where we disagree.”
    The camaraderie between them had abruptly fizzled out. They drove the twenty miles back to Elba in a strained silence. Nick pulled the Blazer into her driveway and left the engine running. “I’ll come in with you,” he said, “to make sure the house is empty.”
    “I can take care of myself. Thank you for dinner.”
    “I’m not leaving,” he said gruffly, “until you’re in the house.”
    She wasn’t sure why she was so angry. She slammed the door of the Blazer and stalked indignantly toward the house and up onto the porch. She reached into her purse to pull out the key, and that was when she saw the box. Roughly three feet square, it was an ordinary cardboard box, the kind anybody could pick up from the pile out back of the Dixie Market, and it had been intentionally left where she would have to move it to open the front door. With a sigh of resignation, Kathryn walked over to it and peered inside.
    The snake was coiled like a garden hose, sleek and shiny, the diamondback pattern clearly visible in the moonlight. He was probably five feet long, and as thick as a man’s arm.
    Her breath left her in a single, mighty rush. Adrenaline shot through her veins as she stood frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to take her eyes off the hideous creature that watched her from less than a yard away.
    Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Her chest ached as she struggled for breath, and then oxygen filled her lungs and she began screaming, screaming hysterically, screaming DiSalvo’s name over and over again.
    She heard his truck door open, heard his footsteps running toward her, and still she continued to scream. In the box, the snake raised its head, its tail, and began that distinctive rattling sound.
    DiSalvo came to an abrupt halt behind her. “Holy mother of Moses,” he said. “For Christ’s sake, don’t move.”
    “Nick. Oh, God, Nick, please do something.”
    “I’m thinking. Christ, I left my weapon at home. Let me think. Shit. Whatever you do, don’t move — ”
    “Don’t leave me!”
    “I’m not going anywhere. Look, I’m going to get a good grip on the back of your pants. You with me so far?”
    She wet her lips. “Yes.”
    His warm hand burrowed down inside the waistband of her jeans. In spite of the hot, steamy night, her body, her blood, had turned to ice, and the contact with his warm flesh was reassuring. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’m going to count to three. When we get to three, I’m going to yank as hard as I can, as quick as I can. And we’re both going to run like hell. Got that?”
    The snake continued to watch her. “Yes,” she said.
    “One more thing.”
    “Yes?”
    “I don’t know if you’re a particularly religious person, but if you were ever going to be, now’s as good a time as any to start. Count with me. One. Two. Three — ” He yanked so hard she lost her footing. The snake reared, and Nick caught her around the waist by one arm and vaulted over the porch railing.
    They landed in the flower bed, a tangled, writhing mass of arms and legs and bodies. “Up!” he said, struggling to free himself from the brambles of the wild rose bush that climbed the trellis to the roof. She peeled a thorny branch away from his shirt, and then they were both on their feet and running toward the Blazer.
    They climbed in and slammed the doors and sat there panting, cold with sweat and fear. His shirt was ripped from the brambles, and her hand was bleeding.