Target on the Mountain by Elizabeth Goddard (best thriller books to read .TXT) 📗

the sleepy town, grateful the stoplights remained green and her progress was unencumbered.

In the daytime, she would see the Amish farm community that laid claim to the area west of town. This late at night, the farmers and their families were asleep in their beds, and their homes were bathed in darkness.

She passed her once-upon-a-time best friend’s house. Rachel Hochstetler had driven Julianne home from the teen gathering at the lake the night her father and brother had died. With the memory of William Lavy’s kiss still on her lips, Julie had entered her house to find her father lying in a pool of blood.

She grimaced at the memory and rubbed her forehead, thinking again of the sharp inhale of breath she had heard behind her, along with her whispered name, before a hard object had slammed against her skull. After awakening hours later, she had stumbled to her feet and glanced at the far side of the room. Her brother, Bennie, sat propped against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. Mouth open. Eyes wide. She could still see the hole in his stomach and the gun clutched in his hand.

Tears burned her eyes and blurred her vision. She yanked a tissue from her purse, wiped it across her cheeks and pulled in a ragged breath as her father’s house appeared in the distance. Correction—her house. Grateful that her Honda made better time than a horse-drawn buggy, she steeled her resolve, turned into the drive and braked to a stop near the back porch.

The rain had eased and the moon hung low in the sky, as it had that night so long ago. The sheriff had determined Bennie and her father had argued, and in a fit of anger, her brother had shot Datt and then turned the gun on himself. She still struggled to make sense of something so senseless.

Her mouth went dry, and a lump of grief filled her throat, but she was determined to face the past. Pulling in a fortifying breath, she grabbed her flashlight from the console, stepped from the car and climbed the back steps to the kitchen entrance.

Fisting her hand, she hesitated before keying open the door. The house was dark and silent as a tomb. She inhaled the stale air that wafted past her, half expecting the stench of pooled blood to fill her nostrils.

For a long, agonizing moment, she stood at the threshold, willing herself to step inside. A shrill, high-pitched scream replayed in her memory—her scream, when she’d finally regained consciousness and seen not only her father, but also her brother, dead. Heart pounding from the memory, she slammed the kitchen door and locked it with trembling hands. Morning would be soon enough to deal with the memories.

Needing to distance herself from the crime scene that cut into her heart, she raced back to the safety of her car.

A twig snapped.

She stopped, cocked her ear and listened, her pulse pounding. Silence, except for the pitter-patter of raindrops falling from the trees. Relieved, she reached for the door handle.

Leaves rustled. Heart in her throat, she turned. A man dressed in black sprang from the darkness. A red bandana covered his face. He grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground.

“No!” She landed with a thud. Air sailed from her lungs. Gasping, she crawled to her knees and attempted to stand.

He thrust his leg forward and slammed his boot into her ribs.

She fell and clawed at the muddy drive.

Grasping her ankle with both hands, he dragged her toward the bushes. She thrashed and kicked her other leg.

His grip eased ever so slightly.

She kicked again. He groaned.

Again, she kicked. And again.

He tumbled backward.

Scrambling to her feet, she lunged for her car, opened the door and fell into the driver’s seat. He reached for her and she slammed the door, catching the tips of his fingers. He screamed in pain and pounded his fist against the window.

She started the engine and floored the accelerator. The car fishtailed out of the drive. Yanking on the wheel, she turned onto the main road, heading toward Mountain Loft.

Her heart pounded nearly out of her chest. She had to get away. She glanced in the rearview mirror, her stomach rolling. Headlights followed after her onto the country road.

Her secondhand Honda wasn’t built for speed. The man in black would overtake her before she got to town.

On the opposite side of the road, the Lavys’ neighboring farm sat dark in the night. A narrow path behind the house led from the road to a stand of trees and a pond where her brother and William Lavy had played when they were young. If she could turn off the main road and hide near the pond, she might elude the attacker. She switched off her headlights, eased into the turn and bounced along the muddy path. The pond appeared ahead.

She stopped behind a cluster of pines, grabbed her phone and jumped from the car into a quagmire of mud. Pulling free, she stumbled toward the house and glanced at the main road just as a car raced by. All she saw was a flash of white.

Knowing he would turn around and come back to find her, she rounded the farmhouse, climbed the steps to the porch and pounded on the door.

“Mr. Lavy! Will! It’s Julianne Graber. I need help.”

She thought back five years to the morning she had fled in shock from her own house. William had been working in his barnyard. She had run toward him, tears streaming from her eyes.

“What’s wrong, Julie?” he’d asked. “Tell me! What happened?”

“Datt... Bennie...” She’d gasped. “They’re both dead.”

Shoving aside the memory, she pounded on the door again.

Another sound came. She dropped her hand and listened. A car engine. Her pulse raced and her throat went dry. The man in the bandana was coming back.

She dashed around the side of the house as the white car pulled into the Lavys’ drive. A lump filled her throat, but she fisted