“Traitor,” Jessie volunteered sarcastically.

“Indeed,” Thurman agreed. “Luckily, I fed him a story about learning the location of your safe house, which was, I admit, a ruse. I also put a tracker with a bug on him. He didn’t expect an old fella like myself to use such new-fangled technology. That’s how I followed him to the bar. That’s how I learned he’d warned you about my possible attack on the safe house. That’s how I knew you’d almost certainly go back to that same bar to celebrate my “demise.” But in case you’re wondering, let me assure you, once I’m done with you, I’ll be paying a visit to Mr. Crutchfield to let him know just how I feel about his treachery.”

Jessie ignored the Crutchfield threat. His safety was pretty low on her list of priorities. Stalling her father long enough to get full feeling back in her arms was at the top.

She saw the girl trying to take advantage of the delay too. Whenever Thurman looked away from her, she managed to maneuver the rag stuffed in her mouth out just a little bit more. From the cuts on her swollen, discolored lips, Jessie could tell she’d probably been trying to get the thing out of her mouth for hours. She looked like she was close to spitting it out entirely, not that it would do her much good.

“But you couldn’t have known when we’d be at the bar,” Jessie pointed out, drawing his attention back to her. “How did you have time to tie up the people who live here?”

“The people who live here?’ he repeated, amused. “These folks don’t live here, Junebug. The owners of this house have been out of town for a week. I brought in these fine citizens from another neighborhood altogether.”

Jessie, amid all the blood and madness, found that extra perplexing.

“But why them? These are innocent people.”

Xander laughed.

“No one is truly innocent. You should know that by now, Junebug. Besides, it’s going to be so much fun watching this girl watch you die. I’ll get a front row seat. And despite all your stalling, I’ll still have time to leave. Your FBI friend and his lackeys have to go house to house searching for you. By the time they get here, you’ll be dead and I’ll be long gone.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jessie asked, genuinely dumbfounded.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” he said gleefully. “I almost want you to live just you so can learn the big twist. I would love to see the look on your face when you discovered the truth. Unfortunately, you are part of the twist, so it’s just not possible. Isn’t it ironic? Anyway, enough chit-chat. It’s daughter gutting time.”

With that, he stopped talking and advanced on her.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Jessie wasn’t ready.

Her arms still felt floppy and weak, like a rag doll. As Xander moved closer, she watched him almost spring with enthusiasm. His once-short hair, now flopping over his forehead, bounced up and down.