Free The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller by JC Gatlin Page B

problems.”
    “I
didn’t say that. You know, I figured a change of scenery would be good. Forget
it.”
    “Look,
Owen.” Darryl put a hand to his shirt pocket. “There’s something I been mean’n
to tell you.”
    “What
about it?”
    He
pulled his hand out of his pocket. His fist was closed around something inside
it. “Everything that happened over the last couple of years, well, it wasn’t
your fault. It wasn’t nobody’s fault.”
    “What
makes you say that?”
    “I
don’t know.” Darryl looked down. He put his hand back in his pocket.
    Owen
yanked his line out of the water and back toward the boat. The lure slammed
against the curved windshield above the steering wheel and plopped down on the
floorboard. Owen stared at it for several seconds before changing the subject.
“Hell, you know if I went to Australia, I’d take you with me.”
    “Hell,
you would.” Darryl cast his line again. “I’d probably have to pay for the plane
tickets out there.”
    They
both laughed at that, then fished another hour in silence. Neither one wanted
to resume the conversation.
     
    * * * * *
     
    With
her feet resting on the dashboard, Rayanne sat in the Chevy alone, stewing. She
didn’t want to sit in the boat like a third wheel, with Darryl and her husband,
and she didn’t want to wait in town either. She simply wanted to leave.
    With
nothing else to do, she flipped through a magazine, tried to find a radio
station that would come in clearly, and played Solitaire on her cell phone.
Owen’s guitar was lying on the backseat and she picked it up into her arms. She
strummed the strings a couple times, then got distracted by a stain on her
yellow shirt.
    Bored,
she slid out of the truck to stretch her legs. It was a sunny day. A crow cawed
above her, and she heard the lake lapping the shore. It was a beautiful day and
there was no reason to pout.
    Locking
the truck, Rayanne dropped the keys into her purse. They clinked, hitting her
cell phone stuffed deep in the bag. Lastly, she hid the purse behind one of the
logs they were going to use for firewood. She looked at the black Chevy parked
along the tree line, with the empty boat trailer stretching behind it.
    She
walked along the shoreline, wondering how long Owen would be on the lake.
Pausing, she raised her head toward the sky and took note of the sun. The
morning was turning warm, and she rolled up the long sleeves of her shirt,
exposing her arms. It helped cool her a little.
    Rayanne
headed for the woods and walked leisurely along the dirt path for thirty
minutes. She saw rabbits and squirrels. She heard rustling noises and assumed
they were deer. Images of a raging bear rushed through her head. Then the bear
became a Sasquatch, making her pulse thump. She laughed at herself for getting
spooked so easily. The noises continued, though, gradually becoming whispers.
They were so faint she couldn’t make out the words.
    She
concentrated, listening, and then proceeded in the direction of the voices. As
they grew louder, she realized someone was on the path, ahead of her. They were
coming toward her.
    She
moved off the dirt path, into the trees. Hiding in the bushes, she slipped down
into the shadows. She held her breath, listening. The trees went silent as the
voices approached, followed by the padding of several heavy footsteps on the
path.
    Rayanne’s
eyes widened, and through the limited gaps within the branches she saw the
movement of an arm. With red-and-black spider web tattoos. She froze.
    It
was Scut, trailed by the other two boys—the large, burly one with the beard and
the nerdy guy with his arm in the sling. She didn’t see the girl or the black
Rottweiler.
    “They’re
back over there,” Scut was saying to them. “I saw the boat.”
    The
nerd caught up with him, holding his bandaged right arm close to his side.
“What if he really doesn’t have it?”
    “I’m
not telling you again, Nelson.” Scut pressed a finger into the boy’s chest,
ruffling