"He's in trouble. Or he would have called long before now."

The women couldn't argue with that and they rode the rest of the way in silence. They turned onto No

Name Road and moments later the access road that led to the cabin.

They reached it. Two cars sat out front-an unmarked sedan with a dome light on the dash and a CSPD cruiser.

"They're here," Cherry said, voice quivering. She looked at Hunter. "What now?"

He thought a moment. "One of us should stay here, stand watch. Keep the car running in case we need

to get out fast. Honk if there's trouble."

Hunter and Cherry looked at their mother then at each other, silently acknowledging she was incapable of the responsibility.

"I'll do it," Cherry offered. "Mom can stay with me. You take the gun."

Lilah tried to argue; Hunter cut her off. "If there's gunfire, I don't want to be worrying about you instead

of my own hide. Got that?"

"I agree," Cherry said quickly. "Absolutely."

She handed him the gun, butt out. "You know how to use one of these?"

He took it from her. Like his sister and brother, he had grown up handling a gun. It had been a while but

some things you never forgot. He checked the chamber, saw that it carried a full round and snapped it

shut. "Yeah," he answered. "Point and shoot."

He climbed out of the car. Weapon out, he crossed to the other vehicles and peered inside. They were empty.

He glanced back at Cherry and pointed toward the cabin. She nodded.

He made his way cautiously toward it. A traditional raised cabin, he climbed the three stairs to the front porch. Half-rotted, they creaked under his weight.

The cabin door was unlocked. He eased it open, then slipped through, pausing to listen.

It was silent. Too silent. The hair on his arms stood up. He inched across the main room, toward the kitchen. It proved empty. The small window above the sink stood open; flies buzzed around an overflowing garbage pail. He saw dirty dishes in the sink.

The cabin might be empty now, but it had been occupied recently. He swiveled, crossed to the

bathroom. He found it as deserted as the other two rooms.

Only the bedroom remained. He made his way there, heart pounding. The first thing he saw was the bed, the nylon rope attached to the foot posts, the length coiled on the bare mattress.

Someone had been tied to the bed. The blood rushed from his head. He laid a hand on the doorjamb for support.

Not someone. Avery.

He shifted his gaze and froze. Peeking out from the far side of the bed was the toe of a boot. One he recognized-alligator hide, a deep green-hued black.

His father had worn those boots, made from the hide of a gator he'd caught, for twenty years.

Denial rose in him as he made his way into the room. Around the bed. His father lay facedown in a pool of blood, head twisted at an unnatural angle.

Hunter stumbled backward. Pivoting, he ran back through the cabin and onto the porch. His sister sat behind the wheel of the vehicle, door open. "Cherry," he shouted. "Use Dad's radio, get an ambulance.

Tell them an officer's down."

She leaped out of the vehicle, alarmed. "An officer? Dad or-"

"Do it, Cherry. Now!"

Without waiting for her to comply, he returned to his father's side. He knelt beside him, felt for a pulse.

Found none.

At a sound from behind him, Hunter turned. Lilah stood in the doorway, eyes on her husband. A cry spilled past her lips, high and terrible.

Cherry came up behind her and stopped dead. "Dad?" The color drained from her face. "No." She

shook her head. "No!"

Lilah made a move to go to her husband's side. Hunter jumped to his feet, caught her in his arms, stopping her. She fought him, pummeling him with her fists, cursing him.

He held her until the fight drained out of her. He met his sister's eyes. "Help me get her outside."

Cherry blinked. Her mouth moved. He saw that she trembled. She looked a hairbreadth from falling apart herself.

"Cherry," he said softly, "it's a crime scene. The police-"

"We know who did it." Her voice shook. "Matt killed Dad."

His brother. His twin. A murderer capable of killing his own father.

And he had Avery.

"Where are they?" he demanded. "Where's Matt taken Avery?"

His sister looked startled by his question. Confused. "I don't... know. I don't-"

"Think, Cherry! They're on foot. Where could he have taken her?"

She shook her head, her gaze riveted to their father's still form "There's nothing out here. Nothing. Just the-"

"Canning factory," he finished for her. "Cherry, help Mom to the car. Then call the sheriff's department and the state police. I'm going after them."

CHAPTER 56.

Avery and Gwen waited by the door. Nearly an hour had passed since The Seven had found them guilty. They had made their plan; feeble though it was, it was their only chance.

"What's he waiting for?" Gwen whispered. "Where did he go?"

Avery didn't know. She had expected him to come for them right away. Perhaps he was preparing, setting the rest of his plan in motion, putting the final pieces in place. She shook her head, indicating she didn't know.

"Do you really think this will work?"

Avery heard the note of panic in her friend's voice. The edge of hysteria. Seven against two. What hope did they have?

"What do we have to lose by fighting?" Avery countered softly, more, she realized, to convince herself than Gwen. "They're going to kill us anyway."

From the other side of the door came the sound of footsteps. Avery looked at Gwen. The other woman's face had gone white. Avery nodded and moved to the far right side of the door. She took her place directly in front of it, though far enough back not to get hit when it swung open.

They heard him at the door, unlocking the padlock. Avery tensed, readying herself. The door eased open. She held her breath, waiting for the right moment. Praying it would come.

It did. Avery lunged at him, using her body as a battering ram, aiming for his middle. As she had prayed she would, she caught him by surprise, nailing him square in the chest.

Matt stumbled. The gun flew from his hand. She heard it clatter to the floor.

"Run, Gwen!" she screamed. "Run!"

Her friend did, her feet pounding against flooring as she tried to race for the stairs. Avery expected to hear the others coming to Matt's aid, expected him to call for them; neither occurred. She wondered if they had left the building, had left the dirty work to him.

Avery regained her balance and threw herself at him again, this time knocking him down. He landed with

a grunt of pain.

"Bitch!" he screamed, slamming his fist into her face. Her head snapped to the side, the explosion of pain unimaginable. She couldn't catch her breath, realized she was sobbing.

He straddled her, put his hands to her throat and squeezed. She fought as best she could, twisting, turning. Flailing her legs. Her lungs burned. Pinpricks of light danced in front of her eyes.

Let Gwen make it, she prayed. Please, God, let her make it.

From below came the sound of something crashing to the floor. Matt eased his grip, straightening.

Twisting as if to listen.