Appalachian Peril

by Debbie Herbert

  Aiden stuffed her in the trunk and slammed the lid shut. Cold darkness enveloped her, and even though no one could possibly hear, Beth whimpered, her screams smothered and trapped under the tape. The closed confines felt like being entombed in a metal casket. Stop. Get ahold of yourself. There must be something you can do. She quit screaming but her loud, labored breathing roared between her ears—and still she couldn’t seem to suck in enough air. Giving in to hysteria and hyperventilating would not help her live to see the morning.

  Beth controlled her breathing to a slow, diaphragmatic pace. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and in the taillights’ pinprick glow she discovered a large metal toolbox in the right corner. She kicked it with her bound feet and it toppled over, its contents spilling out—rough lengths of cord, several knives, black gloves and rolls of duct tape.

  Aiden had come prepared.

  Beth held her breath, wondering if Aiden had heard the toolbox fall. But he drove on, still humming along with the loud radio music, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. And why not? He thought he was smart enough to get away with murder.

  But despite all his cool, deadly arrangements, Aiden hadn’t factored in her desperate will to fight for her life, or her ability to devise a plan of her own. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t have the brains or the brawn to fend off an attack.

  She’d just have to prove him wrong.

  With the toolbox knocked on its side, Beth discovered another tiny source of light that shone in the trunk’s dark interior—a small handle with a dim glow. She stared at it, wondering what it opened.

  Understanding thundered in her brain. A release handle! For at least the past decade, all vehicles made in the United States were required to provide an interior trunk release mechanism. She wanted to cry with relief.

  Beth rolled over to it and tried to maneuver her body into a position where her bound hands could pull the handle. Her first priority was escape. She’d work on her bindings next. But no matter how she twisted, her hands couldn’t quite grasp it. At last she gave up, panting through her nose, exhausted with the effort. Beads of sweat dribbled down her forehead, stinging her eyes, yet she couldn’t swipe them away.

  The sedan came to an unexpected halt and Beth stilled, dread churning in her stomach. Seconds later the vehicle rolled onward, and she realized Aiden had stopped at the stop sign at the bottom of Falling Rock. What kind of psychopathic killer obeyed traffic signs in the dead of night when no one was around?

  She tried to keep her bearings and figure out where they were going. If—no, when—she got out of this damn trunk, she needed to know where she was. How awful it would be to have a chance of escape only to run around in circles and get caught by Aiden again.

  If Aiden stayed straight on this road, they’d soon be in town. If so, it would be her best opportunity to kick the trunk lid and hope that the noise would attract attention. But who would hear her? No one would be on the streets at this hour. There had to be another way. She’d read newspaper stories of people escaping from trunks. What had they done?

  An image flashed through her mind, a television reel of a kidnapped child who’d kicked the taillights out of his abductor’s vehicle and then stuck his hand through the resulting hole, alerting other motorists that he was trapped inside. She’d do the same, but she’d have to wisely choose her timing. Aiden would surely hear the noise of the taillights shattering. The most opportune moment to make her move would be at the first traffic light in town. With luck, there would be a few late-night travelers for the holidays and someone would see her desperate signal for help.

  But instead of going through town, Aiden took a sudden left. Her small ray of hope immediately extinguished. They were on County Road 18, heading away from Lavender Mountain’s town area. What ungodly, remote place did Aiden have in mind for her murder?

  Okay, scratch the whole kick-out-the-taillights plan. No way would there be a stray vehicle on this lonely mountain road. If she was going to get out of this alive, it was all on her.

  Beth searched in the semidarkness until the palm of her right hand came into contact with sharp, cold metal. Now was the time to try to cut her hands free of their bindings. More likely she’d slice her wrists open in the awkward, blind attempt and then proceed to bleed out. But anything was preferable to whatever Aiden had in mind for her.

  Cautiously, Beth gripped the knife’s handle and began to saw at the rope binding. The top of the blade pricked into her wrist, but she gritted her teeth and readjusted her aim. It was painstaking work and she repeatedly stabbed at her own flesh in the process, but what choice did she have?

  To help keep her mind off the pain and the imminent danger of her predicament, she continued to try and map their location. Did he have their burned-down cabin in mind? They were headed in that general direction, but going there didn’t make sense. There was no reason to choose it as a murder scene. Perhaps Aiden would arbitrarily stop on this lonesome road whenever he decided the time was right.

  The rope bindings began to ease under the wet slickness of her wrists. The sedan suddenly swerved, and she lost her balance. Searing pain sliced through her skin as she fell against the knife blade. Beth moaned and caught her breath, trying again to slip out of the restraints. Her time was short. Aiden had turned onto Witches’ Hollow Road and that only led to one place.

  She knew exactly where they were going. This was a dead-end lane that ended at an old abandoned gravel pit. Estimated at over sixty feet deep, this time of year the pit would be filled with icy water from melted snow. Her brother’s intention couldn’t be any clearer. The only question now was whether he intended to kill her before throwing her into the icy pit.

  Branches raked against the vehicle in an eerie grinding that set her teeth on edge. The road was narrowing, and the sedan jostled as it ran over potholes.

  The binding at last gave loose and Beth freed her hands. Quickly, she ripped the duct tape from her mouth, barely registering the tear of flesh on her face. She gulped in a lungful of fresh air, grateful for the small mercy.

  The sedan hit a deep pothole. Her entire body lifted and then dropped. At least this time her arms were free, and she could stabilize herself from rolling all over the trunk. The vehicle slowed as the terrain worsened. Aiden couldn’t continue much farther down this path without a four-wheel-drive truck. She was almost out of time. Beth hurriedly cut off the rope binding her ankles. It was now or never.

  She located the trunk release lever and popped it. A sweet click, and the top of the trunk flung open, blasting her with the night’s frigid air. Beth grabbed one of the knives and lunged forward. The sedan came to an abrupt halt.

  “What the hell?” Aiden thundered, opening up the driver’s-side door.

  Beth scrambled out of the truck and began to run. Her ankles and feet were numb from being bound, but she stumbled forward as fast as she could.

  “Stop running,” Aiden shouted.

  Hell, no. Why should she make her murder more convenient for him?

  A shot rang out, exploding into the night. She kept running, waiting for the shock of the bullet as it rammed into her, but nothing happened. She dared not glance behind to see what was happening. Aiden must have fired that warning shot straight up in the air. Beth cut away from the road, slipping into the cluster of trees and dense foliage. Aiden was hot on her tail as she rushed forward, branches and vines cutting into her face, hair and body. This must be what it was like to be a deer or rabbit fleeing from a hunter—only she was the one out of her element here in the bleak, alien woods. Her left foot caught under a root and she fell. Her ankle twisted and burned beneath her. The knife fell from her hands. Beth hunkered down, gathering her body into a tight ball under a knot of woody bramble that cut through her clothes and into her flesh. Her fingers searched for the knife, but all she felt was snow melting into her bare hands.

  Dead leaves and twigs crun
ched all around where she lay on the wet ground. Closer and closer he came. Beth closed her eyes, awaiting the inevitable. All she had left was to try and land a good kick or punch once he discovered her hiding place.

  And he would find her.

  She knew the moment Aiden spotted her. All sound ceased. A whoosh of air and then a bruising grip ground into her right forearm. Aiden placed a knee against her back. She tasted snow and leaves.

  “There you are. Did you really think you could get away from me? Damn, killing you is more trouble than I thought it would be.”

  “Aiden. Please. You don’t want to do this.”

  “Got no choice now. We’ve come this far.”

  The distinctive sound of duct tape unraveling rent the air. Seconds later, her shredded and bleeding wrists were taped. Tears gathered in her eyes. She’d worked so hard to be free and now she was right back where she started.

  “I won’t tell anyone what happened tonight.”

  He snorted, not even bothering to point out how ridiculous she must sound. With a grunt, he yanked her to her feet.

  “At least you wouldn’t get the death penalty if you stop now,” she persisted, hoping to reach him by some wild chance. Deep down, she believed some shred of humanity still existed beneath his charming, light-hearted manner. “Quit and maybe you’d end up with only a few years in prison for kidnapping.”

  Past his shoulder, a cut of light strobed through the trees. It lasted only seconds, then vanished. The dark seemed darker and more absolute from its absence. Had she lost it? Had desperation and fear conjured an illusion? Aiden whipped his head around and surveyed the woods, then shrugged. “Must have been lightning.”

  Lightning was an unusual phenomenon in winter, though. She didn’t have time to dwell on it as Aiden began dragging her back toward the road.

  “Don’t give me any more trouble,” he warned. “Accept your fate and you won’t have to suffer. It will all be over quick. But if you do fight me, I’ll knock you out cold. Your choice.”

  Some choice. Stay conscious and face Aiden while he killed her in order to have one last shot at begging for her life and praying for a miracle, or take being knocked out and spared the final horror. Beth decided to fight until the end.

  “Someone saw us, Aiden. Those were headlights flashing through the woods. They’ll report it. A car with a popped trunk on a dark road? They’re probably calling it in right now. Let me go and you can get away.”

  Aiden ignored her. He crammed her into the front seat and then settled beside her. “I want you where I can see you. How the hell did you manage to get free?”

  She didn’t answer and rapidly scanned the center console and dashboard for either a cell phone or a makeshift weapon. Only a couple of empty beer cans lay scattered on the floorboard.

  “I don’t want a blood trail everywhere,” Aiden continued. “I’m hoping they never find your body. That way, there’s less risk anything will ever be traced back to me.”

  He cranked the car and the sedan lurched forward. They proceeded slowly, but with the deteriorated condition of the road the sedan scraped ground a couple of times. Beth’s gaze switched from Aiden’s profile to the wild landscape. In minutes, the car headlights shone on a faded metal sign that read Lavender Mountain Pit & Quarry. Just beyond the sign was a ramshackle wooden building that had once served as the company’s modest headquarters. She’d visited the place many times over the years as a teenager. Local legend maintained that the structure was haunted, and it had become a Halloween attraction for older teens looking for spooky thrills. Beth never imagined the creepy place would be the sight of her own violent death.

  The car shuddered to a stop and she cast him a quick glance. Wait until he pulls you from the car, then make your move. That would be her best shot at making contact.

  Unexpectedly, Aiden reached across her and pushed the passenger door open. “Get out,” he ordered. She froze, unsure if now was her moment to strike.

  “I said get out.” Aiden gave her a violent push and she tumbled out. Aiden immediately followed suit. “Turn around,” he commanded.

  Slowly, she obeyed. He stood before her, illuminated in the car’s elliptical beams. He had a gun raised and aimed directly at her. Beth’s heart beat painfully in her chest. With his head, Aiden motioned her forward. Behind him, the black abyss of the pit awaited.

  But they weren’t alone. Someone was watching. She heard a twig break, as if snapped by a foot. She felt them staring, watching in the darkness like a wild beast. Beth crept forward at a snail’s pace. Past Aiden’s shoulder, a figure emerged out of the woods. Moonlight glowed on his ginger hair. Recognition slammed into her.

  What the hell was Dorsey Lambert doing out here? Were he and Aiden working together?

  Aiden studied her startled face and then whipped his head around. But Lambert had already disappeared into the shadows.

  He chuckled. “You really think that old trick’s going to work on me?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The phone rang, jostling Sammy from an uneasy sleep. The alarm clock by his bed blinked neon-green numbers—2:46 a.m. Nothing good ever happened at this time of day. Could it be Beth? He picked up his cell phone from the nightstand and frowned at the unfamiliar number. Not Beth then. His racing heart quieted several beats. But an Atlanta area code was on display. Perhaps there was some news about Dorsey Lambert. Quickly, he swiped the screen and spoke. “Officer Armstrong.”

  “Sammy?” A woman’s hesitant voice sounded. “I’m so sorry to bother you at this horrible hour but I’m afraid.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Cynthia Wynngate, Beth’s stepmother.”

  Sammy stood, pulling on his uniform pants he’d flung at the foot of the bed only a couple of hours ago. “What’s wrong? Is Beth hurt?”

  “I—I’m not sure.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “We, um, had a bit of a falling-out earlier today. I don’t know if she told you?”

  “She did,” he growled impatiently. “Go on.”

  “So I asked Aiden to go over and try and help smooth things over between us like he always does.”

  His heart slammed in his ribs before he remembered Beth was spending the night at Lilah’s. Sammy pulled on socks and slipped into his uniform shoes. “Your point?”

  “I—I think Aiden might be planning to hurt Beth.”

  Sammy stilled, hands frozen over the shoelaces he’d been tying. All his niggling doubts and suspicions about his old friend rushed up and merged into a knot of dread. “What makes you say that?” he asked past the lump in his throat.

  “It wasn’t so much what he said, it’s how he said it. His practice hasn’t been going so well and when I called him this afternoon, I asked how his firm was doing. He admitted it was in dire straits but that he had a plan to fix everything.” Cynthia paused. “He sounded strange... I—I can’t explain it exactly. I pressed him what that meant, and Aiden claimed he’d be coming into a large sum of money in the next few weeks. I asked if a big lawsuit settlement was due and he laughed, saying he had a major score to settle with someone.”

  Sammy cradled the cell phone between his shoulder and right ear as he slipped into his uniform shirt. He wished Cynthia would hurry with her story, but suspected that the more he interrupted and pressed her, the longer it would take.

  “Anyway, I asked when he’d leave to see Beth today and he said he had a few supplies to pick up first before leaving the city. Then—and this is what makes me nervous—Aiden said tonight was the night his plan would be set in motion and that people like Beth, born with silver spoons in their mouths, didn’t deserve to have such easy lives when people like him had to struggle.”

  Sammy scowled. What a strange woman Cynthia was to report her son to an officer of the law on the basis of so little. “And from that conversation you suspect your own
son...of what, exactly?”

  Her voice chilled a notch. “I’m just saying maybe someone should check on Beth. I awoke from a disturbing dream over an hour ago and I’ve tried to call both of them but get no answer. I even tried the landline at Falling Rock.”

  Why hadn’t Beth answered her phone? Probably only because she saw Cynthia’s name on the screen and didn’t want to talk to her, he suspected.

  “I’ll check it out,” he told Cynthia, abruptly ending their call. Immediately, he punched Beth’s number on speed dial. It rang four times and went to voice mail. “Call me,” he said roughly, not expecting to really hear from her. Beth was either asleep or had her phone ringer turned off. To be safe, Sammy called Harlan to make sure all was well.

  “Sampson here,” Harlan grumbled into the phone. “Sammy?”

  “I’m calling to make sure Beth’s safe and sound. I got a call from her stepmother warning she might be in danger from her stepbrother.”

  Harlan muttered an expletive. “She’s not here. She left hours ago, insisting that she wanted to stay in her own home. Sorry, I should have called you. Do we need to—”

  Alarm coursed through him. “I’m going over now to check it out. I’ll call you later.”

  Sammy buckled his belt and headed to the den where he grabbed the Jeep keys off the fireplace mantel. Recrimination rose and battered his conscience. He should have asked Beth if he could spend the night with her. He couldn’t rest now until he’d either seen Beth or heard her voice.

  Chills skittered down the back of his neck as he raced out the door and into his Jeep. Sammy zipped down his neighborhood street and then sped through town. At the entrance of the Falling Rock subdivision, the unattended gate opened automatically, and he shook his head as he drove through. Months ago, their homeowners’ association had cut back on manning it with a security guard on duty at nights, citing the difficulty of finding and funding personnel. In his opinion, the gatehouse was now merely a pretentious show of wealth and security that held no real teeth.