2:35 a.m.

Andrew kept his back against the paneling, sliding inch by inch down the hallway. He held the rod down by his side, ready, despite his sweaty palm. The sounds continued from the kitchen area. The blue glow from the refrigerator lit the opposite wall. He could see a partial shadow, and it looked crouched over. Now was his chance, while the asshole was going through the fridge.

He rushed out of the hallway, three long steps, raising the clothes rod and ready to swing. The woman spun around, her eyes wide, and her hands immediately flew up to protect herself from the blow. But Andrew stopped.

"Who are you? And what the hell are you doing?"

She was filthy, her clothes slathered with mud. She batted wet strands of dirty-blond hair out of her eyes. Her face looked bruised, her cheek scraped raw, though it was hard to tell what was bruises and what was dirt.

"I asked, what the hell are you doing?"

He saw her eyes look over his shoulder. He felt the breeze and smelled the rain, and he knew the door between the cabin and the porch was open. He turned slowly, keeping an eye on her. The small lamp he had left on sat in the corner on the floor, its dim yellow glow enough for Andrew to see the two men out on the porch. One sat by the table. The other stood behind him. From what he could smell, they were as filthy and wet as the woman.

"What do you want?" Andrew asked. At some point his fear had transferred to anger. Anger was better, he reminded himself, and tightened his grip once again on the wooden rod.

"We just needed to come in out of the storm," one of the men said as he shifted his weight in the chair.

It was too dark on the porch for Andrew to see either man's eyes or much of their faces. The flickers of lightning were fading, the thunder a distant echo.

"Did your car break down?" Andrew glanced again at the woman. Her eyes kept darting from Andrew to the man, but she avoided Andrew's eyes. There seemed to be a nervous energy to her, yet she stood still, with her hands in the pockets of her jeans, as if she didn't quite trust Andrew.

When she didn't answer he looked over at the other man. The one standing had moved closer to the screen as if there was something down below that had caught his interest.

"Yeah, you might say we had a bit of a car accident."

There was something in the way he said it that made Andrew adjust his grip on the rod. He wondered how hard it would be to move closer to the door that separated the porch. Could he close and lock it before they reacted, before they realized what he was doing? Then he'd still have the woman to deal with. He glanced at her again. She was small, wet and scared. Yeah, she was scared. But was she scared of Andrew or of the two men on the porch?

"It's a hell of a night to be out, that's for sure." Andrew tried to sound sympathetic. He moved into the room, pretending to look out the window. "Looks like the worst of it may be over."

A couple more feet and he could rash to slam the door. Damn! He'd need to drop the rod in order to do it. He was thinking like a two-handed man instead of a one-handed one.

"I can drive you to Louisville." He kept talking. He still had the element of surprise on his side. He was about to make his move, when the man stood up. In one slow, easy motion he raised his hand to Andrew as if to offer to shake it. It was such a casual gesture that Andrew loosened his grip on the rod. He didn't even see the gun until it was too late.

Until the blast filled the room.