Page 134 of Secrets in the Deep

She stood a little taller, fingers getting a better grip on the knife.

She listened as he entered room after room. Until, finally, the door in front of her creaked open.

She waited for Roscoe to take a step inside the room. Then another.

The moment she saw his back, she plunged the knife into his shoulder.

Crap.

She’d been aiming for his back.

But it was too late.

He spun so fast, she was pulled off her feet and her hand slipped from the handle of the knife.

He stared at her, mouth gaping, rage blackening his eyes. But he didn’t move. Not as she crawled backward. Not when she used the doorframe to help herself stand.

He was still frozen, as if he couldn’t believe she’d stabbed himagain, when she spun and ran, ducking into the room closest to the stairs. Again, sunlight bled between the curtains. She closed the door to the girl’s bedroom and raced to the window. Hope thrashed at her ribs when she spotted the small latch.

She flicked it open and gripped the bottom of the frame.

At first, there was nothing. No groan of wood. No wobble of movement. Nothing at all.

No. She wasnotaccepting that. If Roscoe found her, she’d be trapped and weaponless. She wasnotgoing to die today.

Scrunching her eyes, she groaned and pulled, putting all her strength into getting the damn thing open.

There was a sudden jolt in the wood. A slight opening. A whisper of wind on her skin.

Yes.

A bang sounded somewhere in the house, almost like a gun firing.

Her head swung around.

Was that Roscoe? Did he have a gun?

She turned back to the window and yanked harder.

Come on, come on, come on!

Slowly, the window inched open, until the groan of wood that hadn’t moved in years became a loud screech. But she didn’t have time to worry about that. She just neededout.

When there was enough space to squeeze through, she pushed her torso through the window. She was almost out when the searing pain of a knife slicing into her calf registered. It was so instant, so savage, she screamed.

Roscoe yanked the knife out, and she rolled halfway down the porch roof before catching herself on the old tiles.

Air hissed between her teeth, her body starting to shake from shock. But she wasn’t letting herself shut down.

She pushed to her feet. Fire burned up her leg and she immediately fell, a whimper leaving her throat.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Roscoe setting a phone camera against the wall. Evenhere, he wanted to film.

Crawl, Emily. Put some distance, any distance, between you.

She started to move, but she was too slow, her leg a dead weight behind her.

Suddenly he was on top of her, knife against her throat once he’d yanked her to her feet, spinning them to face the camera.