Her Winter of Darkness

by Melinda Woodhall

  Hurrying toward the parking garage, Tenley couldn’t help marveling over Mayor Hadley’s persistent denial of reality.

  The mayor’s delusional if he thinks Brock Chandler’s going to do anything for him. Hadley threw him under the bus. What does he expect?

  Her white Lexus was parked on the second floor, and Tenley tied the belt of her coat tighter around her slim waist as she made her way up the stairs and through the dark garage, eager to get to her sitter’s house.

  She’d asked Nora Fletcher to watch little Avery Lynn just for the afternoon, and it was already dark outside. The older woman would be too polite to complain, but Tenley didn’t want to take advantage of the sitter’s sweet nature.

  Speeding through the city’s almost empty streets, she noticed that a light rain had begun to fall. Raindrops dotted the windshield in front of her, and she switched on the wipers as she stopped at the light on Waterside Drive.

  A bright set of headlights appeared behind the Lexus, causing Tenley to squint against the harsh glare. She adjusted her rearview mirror with an exasperated sigh.

  Why do some people insist on driving with their high beams on?

  Then the light turned green and she forgot about the inconsiderate driver as she continued down Waterside Drive, intent on getting to her little daughter.

  She was trying to get the baby on a more regular sleep schedule, and she’d need to be home soon to begin their bedtime routine. It didn’t matter that it was Saturday, and that most single women like her would be out socializing. Tenley didn’t like to brood on the limitations of dating a married man.

  The wife always gets Saturdays. That’s just the way it is.

  Besides, if Tenley was honest with herself, she didn’t really mind staying home alone with her daughter. She sometimes suspected that was the reason she’d picked someone so obviously inappropriate.

  I don’t want anyone invading the peaceful life I have with Avery Lynn.

  Most men she knew were too arrogant or self-centered for her liking, and you never knew what you were going to get until it was too late. In her previous job as a reporter, and in her current role as the city’s media relations officer, she’d reported on plenty of bad men who’d pretended to be heroes.

  Like that horrible man Nessa had been telling Riley about today.

  Tenley had overheard the police chief mention fugitive Donovan Locke to the state prosecutor earlier in the day. Her curiosity had been piqued when Nessa had kept the information from her, and Tenley’s past as an investigative reporter had kicked in.

  She’d quickly been able to link Donovan Locke’s name to the U.S. Marshal’s most wanted website, and she’d read all the gory details about the man who had been convicted of terrible crimes, including witness intimidation against his ex-wife, Lisa Li.

  It hadn’t taken her long to put two and two together; she now understood why Lisa Li had taken on a new identity as Ling Lee. Tenley felt empathy for any mother trying to raise a daughter on her own, but Ling’s struggle had obviously been much more difficult than most.

  The poor woman had to give up everything to escape her crazy ex.

  Finally coming up to Surrey Way, Tenley turned left and pulled the Lexus into the driveway beside Nora’s minivan.

  The older woman lived in a quiet subdivision, and the dimly lit streets were empty. It seemed no one was willing to brave the chilly rain to walk their dog or get some weekend exercise.

  Shutting off the engine, Tenley sat in the car, trying to figure out how she could get to Nora’s door and back to the car with little Avery without them both getting soaked. She had an umbrella, but holding it while juggling a ten-month-old, a hefty baby bag, and a car seat wouldn’t be easy.

  She opened the door and prepared to run, deciding to forgo the umbrella; she’d cover Avery with a blanket on the way back. Sticking one foot outside the car, she groaned as her boot sank into a frigid puddle, then she climbed out and took a giant step over the water.

  A gloved hand settled roughly over her mouth, stopping the panicked scream that filled her throat. Clawing at the arm that held her, she lifted her boot and kicked back hard against the man behind her. The kick elicited a grunt, but the man’s arms only tightened around her as he dragged her to the back of a white Honda waiting at the curb, its engine running and the trunk already open.

  Thrashing with all her strength, Tenley managed to turn around to face her attacker, but he wore a black ski mask that revealed only the cold glint of his eyes.

  “Stop fighting or I’ll go in there and get your brat, too.”

  His words knifed through her, stunning her into momentary silence as she thought of her baby daughter. Taking her silence as consent, the man shoved her into the trunk.

  Tenley reached out and grabbed at his arm, terrified that once she was locked in the trunk, he’d go after Avery despite his words. Digging her nails in, she felt his glove come off in her hand as the man wrenched his arm away and slammed the trunk shut.

  Gasping in horror, Tenley screamed into the confines of the little space, still holding the cold leather of the glove in her hand. Then the car jerked into motion, throwing her against the wall of the trunk and prompting another scream of terror.

  She dropped the glove beside her, not wanting to be close to anything that had touched the skin of the evil man that now had her in his possession.

  Picturing the last image she’d seen as the trunk closed, Tenley squeezed her eyes shut and began to cry. The man had been missing two fingers. She’d seen the pale hand as he’d raised it to slam the trunk shut, and had immediately recalled the description she’d read on the U.S. Marshals website only hours before.

  As the Honda barreled down the highway, Tenley knew screaming or pleading would do no good. Not with a man who had already hurt so many women. Not with a desperate fugitive like Donovan Locke.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Professor sped past Tucker’s Truck Stop in the white Honda, slowing only when he saw the faded sign for Willow Bay Citrus. Turning the car onto a two-lane road just past the sign, he kept an eye out for other cars or unexpected pedestrians. But it seemed no one else was interested in visiting the abandoned processing factory on such a dark and rainy winter night.

  The big rig was parked right where he’d left it. He’d been pleased to find a location that offered room to park a semi, as well as needed privacy to unload unwilling cargo away from prying eyes.

  The Professor stepped out and surveyed the area. The ruined plant lay in silent darkness as he crossed to the back of the trailer. Moving quickly, he unbolted the lock, swung open one of the trailer doors, and unfolded a retractable step ladder.

  He switched on the lights inside the trailer; nothing inside had been disturbed. The door to the hidden compartment at the rear of the trailer, undetectable if you didn’t know what to look for, was still safely sealed.

  Throwing back the latch, he opened the little door and stuck his head inside the eight-foot by four-foot room, nodding in satisfaction. Everything was prepared for the two women he would be transporting all the way to the Bitterroot Valley.

  Next, he crossed to the corner of the trailer. Kneeling, he pried open a thin lock box recessed into one of the wooded floorboards and took out a bag of blue pills. He’d need to make sure his passengers were quiet on the trip, and the Fentanyl would help.

  He took out his pocketknife, then picked a pill out of the bag. One pill was sometimes enough to kill, but half a pill might not be enough to get the woman back to the ranch without a fuss.

  Deciding to take a chance, he crushed the pill into powder, and tipped the powder into a Styrofoam cup full of water. He set the cup to the side, before returning the bag to its rightful place.

  He then grabbed a coil of rope off a hook and used the knife to cut off two sections, before sticking the knife back in his pocket.

  Time to show my new guest her travel accommodations.

  Hopping down from the trailer, the Professor p
ositioned himself outside the Honda’s trunk and drew in a deep breath. Flinging open the lid, he saw the woman’s pretty face twisted in fear as he grabbed for her. He managed to hold her wrists together and wrap a segment of rope around them before she knew what was happening.

  A high-pitched scream pierced the air and a boot kicked out, connecting with his stomach, forcing the wind out of him. He ignored the scream and the pain, concentrating on securing the other length of rope around the woman’s ankles.

  Hefting the trussed figure up and over the side of the trunk, the Professor dragged her toward the trailer, his sore hand aching along with his stomach.

  “I’m too old for this shit,” he muttered as he hauled her up the ladder and dumped her on the trailer’s wooden floor.

  Looking down at his throbbing hand, he realized his glove must be in the car.

  The Honda’s trunk was still open, and the Professor retrieved his glove before shutting it. Checking that he hadn’t left anything in the car, he put the keys back in the glovebox where he’d found them. He’d let his contact know where to pick up the car once he and his cargo were safely away.

  Going back to the trailer, he saw that the woman had managed to shift herself to the edge. Another few inches and she’d have fallen over the side and into the dirt below.

  “Watch out now, girl. You’ll end up damaging the merchandise.”

  “I’m a woman, not a girl,” she hissed up at him. “And I have a name…and a daughter. Please, let me go, my daughter needs me.”

  Anger blossomed in the Professor’s chest as he stared down at the woman’s tortured expression.

  “I’ve heard it all before, lady,” he growled, resisting the urge to add emphasis to his words with a kick. “In fact, my ex-wife tried the same tactic. But it didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.”

  Ignoring her further protests, he dragged her to the back and bundled her into the hidden compartment.

  “You stay in here, and you stay quiet,” he ordered, then turned to pick up the Styrofoam cup. “This is all the water you’re gonna get, and it’s a long ride, so I suggest you drink it without a fuss.”

  He grabbed a handful of her thick auburn hair and pulled her head back, tilting the cup over her mouth. She coughed as the stream of water hit her dry throat but managed to choke it down.

  The Professor took a long, assessing look at the woman, then closed the compartment door and latched it. He jiggled the door, double-checking that it was securely closed, but confident it would hold. The hidden room had proven invaluable when transporting human cargo in the past.

  Switching off the trailer lights, he closed the door and bolted it, then made his way around to the cab. Once he was settled into the driver’s seat, he allowed himself a minute to relax.

  It’s all going to plan. As soon as I have my daughter, I can head home.

  The ringer on his phone had been set to silent while he’d taken care of his clandestine business, and he now dug it out of his pocket. He’d send Diablo a message, and then get himself something to eat while he waited for the Fentanyl to take effect.

  His jaw tightened as he saw the notifications on his phone.

  Motion detected in the back yard. Motion detected on the back porch.

  Opening on the security app, he tapped on each camera, activating a live view of the compound. His forehead creased into a frown as he saw the cameras on the side of the house and the back porch were black. The other cameras showed snow falling on a darkened lawn, and an empty front porch.

  Has something happened? Could someone have broken in?

  But the alarms on the front gate and both doors were still engaged. He couldn’t think how anyone could have gotten through. Maybe the motion detector was triggered by heavy snow, and the snow blocked the lens or a gust of wind loosened a cable.

  Or maybe Skylar’s managed to get out of the safe room. Maybe she’s running to alert the neighbors right now.

  The disturbing thought rose unbidden in his mind, and he pushed it away. Even if the girl could get out, the closest neighbors were miles away, through forests frozen solid, and past iced-over streams.

  The compound’s remote location was the main reason the Professor had been able to stay hidden so long. And the people in the area respected privacy. They weren’t the kind to snoop around or stop by uninvited for a chat.

  Most people in the area didn’t even know there was a house down the long road with the big gate and the no trespassing signs. And the big wall kept out any hikers or busybodies who might wander by.

  But an uneasy feeling that something was wrong remained, and he suddenly wished he'd installed cameras inside the house and the safe room as he’d originally intended.

  Worries that someone might be able to hack into the cameras had stopped him. Afterall, he'd been able to hack into similar systems many times himself, and he didn't like the idea of anyone else watching him or his girls.

  Suddenly desperate to get back to the compound, he tapped on the number he’d saved his in contacts for Diablo. The call was answered on the second ring. The Professor didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

  “I’ve taken care of my part of the bargain,” he said, impatience hardening his voice. “Have you made progress with yours?”

  “So, you got rid of her?” Diablo asked, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “She’s already…gone?”

  The Professor tried to curb his irritation.

  “Yes, she’s gone. Now, have you gotten hold of the girl? Have you made arrangements to take out her mother?”

  Diablo hesitated.

  “Tell me you have a plan,” the Professor said, ready to erupt.

  “Calm down, the plan is in motion,” Diablo assured him. “I’ve got everything in place. I’ve already taken out the only person who can identify me as the source of the article in the Willow Bay Gazette.”

  "Good," the Professor said, not too concerned about Diablo being outed for giving the journalist information on his ex-wife.

  He didn’t care what happened to Diablo, but he was glad he’d managed to smear her name and tear apart her reputation. The Professor wanted his ex-wife to suffer the same indignity he had suffered all those years ago.

  And he wanted her to feel the pain of knowing that her daughter was lost to her forever, just as he had felt pain when she’d taken their child and deserted him.

  “If all goes well, I should be able to deliver the girl to you in the next few hours,” Diablo said. “Then I’ll take care of her mother.”

  “Then I’ll be heading out of state before midnight,” the Professor said, already calculating driving time. “You have four hours.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Channel Ten News station was buzzing with activity as Veronica sat at her desk and tried not to worry about her mother. She’d planned to stay locked away at home all evening, but Hunter had wanted to work with the news crew to produce a special report on Donovan Locke, and he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone, even with the patrol car outside and the Glock by her bed.

  But Veronica wasn’t in the mood to be around people and pretend everything was okay. Her mother was out there somewhere in hiding, and her father had already killed one woman and was still on the loose. She hadn’t even been able to help Ruby Chase.

  “You still doing okay?”

  Hunter stood by her desk looking down with worried eyes.

  “I’m fine,” she lied, looking over his shoulder to where Finn Jordan stood talking to one of the producers. “Looks like you and Finn are mobilizing all the forces, although I’m surprised Jack’s not here. Didn’t you ask him to help out?”

  Hunter dropped his eyes and shrugged.

  “Jack took the weekend off, but we’ll get it done one way or the other,” he said, sounding down. “I just hope if we put Locke’s face out there, someone might see him and call it in. Besides, we need to warn the community; he could still be out there.”

  Veronica put
a hand on his arm and squeezed.

  “You aren’t still upset about Mackenzie Jensen, are you?” she asked. “I would have been shocked if she’d just rolled over and gave you her source. That’s not her style.”

  “I know, but it is frustrating that she has information that could help us find Locke, and won’t share it,” he admitted. “The good news is, I talked to Deputy Santino and he’s agreed to go interview her tonight.”

  Hunter looked at his watch and produced a grim smile.

  “He might even be over there now.”

  Veronica had little hope that Santino would get the journalist to share her source, but she didn’t want to be negative, so she kept her opinion to herself. Hunter was feeling bad enough as it was.

  Suddenly Finn was by her desk, his face tense.

  “We can’t put this report on at eleven without Spencer’s approval,” Finn said, shaking his head. “Last time we adjusted a Saturday night segment he had a fit. Said he can’t be responsible for getting advertisers if he’s not involved in programming changes.”

  Not wanting to add to Hunter’s problems, Veronica hesitated, then decided it couldn’t be helped.

  “I also think you need to get Deputy Santino’s advice about posting up details on the situation,” she said. “He may not want Locke knowing that they are on to him, and that the Marshals are hunting him down.”

  Hunter’s face fell, but he nodded.

  “Okay, you guys win. I’ll put in a call to Deputy Santino and see what he thinks we can share with the public at this stage.”

  “What about Spencer?” Finn asked. “You want me to try to track him down? I could go over to his house and see if he’s home.”

  The videographer looked over and smiled at Gracie, who’d settled in beside her desk.

  “I’m sure Gracie wouldn’t mind a little drive.”