Frozen Ground

by Webb, Debra

  A baseball bat thumped to the floor next to his head. Garrett tried to speak but the darkness overtook him before his lips could form the words.

  Chapter Ten

  Monday, December 16

  12:30 a.m.

  Abbey checked the time again. Her nerves were jumping. Surely Garrett had made it to the Hansen place by now. He’d been gone better than fifteen minutes.

  If everything was okay, why hadn’t she heard from him?

  The delay could only mean trouble.

  She looked around the room. It was too quiet. The only sound was the clock, the familiar tick-tock she usually found comforting. Not now. Now it was a deafening reminder of each passing minute. She couldn’t sit here any longer. She had to do something. Stand. Walk. Something.

  Pushing to her feet and shotgun clutched in her hands, she took a breath and went to the window. The snow continued coming down so thick she could hardly see. With the moon and stars hidden by the thick cloud cover all that white stuff was the only reason it wasn’t pitch black out there. She checked the door though she vividly recalled turning the deadbolt when Garrett left. Locked.

  Her worry and frustration rising, she walked into the kitchen. Checked the deadbolt on the back door, then peered out the glass portion of the door. The white SUV she’d rented for this cross-country trip was hardly visible now.

  Staring out at the fat white flakes whirling in the darkness, she thought about the intense tension that had simmered between them tonight. Admittedly, there had been moments when they were younger and even occasionally when she visited where she felt an unexpected spark or flash of warmth…a tug of something more than friends. But nothing on this level. This attraction was undeniable. Impossible to label as anything else. The pull was deep, strong.

  Was it because they’d both turned thirty this year? Most of the others from their childhood had families or at least had been married. It was possible that this was nothing more than some biological nudge that time was flying past. She’d never really believed in that sort of thing. Sure she liked kids but she hadn’t considered the idea of having one of her own. Yet.

  The book was due in a few weeks.

  How could she think of anything else?

  How could she be here dealing with another murder and the possibility that her brother was involved? Nightmares like this weren’t supposed to happen twice in a lifetime.

  She closed her eyes and prayed to the God who’d never seemed to listen to her before for all the good it would do. Please don’t let this be Steven.

  The cold coming through the glass in the door reminded her to snap out of it. Staying vigilant was essential. No drifting off in thought. No worrying about something she couldn’t control or change. If the worst turned out to be true, she would have to deal with it. The shotgun suddenly felt exceedingly heavy in her hands. She tightened her grip. She wasn’t putting it down. In fact, she went back to the staircase and picked a few shells from the box and tucked them into her front pocket. She was a reasonably good shot—her father had seen to that—but she’d never fired at a moving target, and certainly not a human one.

  Could she do it if her survival depended upon it?

  Maybe.

  She glanced around the room. What now?

  She shivered, suddenly chilled.

  Rather than continue waiting for Garrett to call her, she tucked the shotgun under her left arm and called him. He kept his phone on silent so she wasn’t going to interrupt anything or give away his position if…

  Not going there.

  Four rings and the call went to voicemail.

  She swore, hit end call. What was the number for non-emergency calls to the sheriff’s department? Four oh six…

  No point wasting time. She couldn’t remember. She pulled up the internet and entered the info to find the number. Her heart thumped harder and harder. Something was wrong. He should have called by now.

  She thought about her SUV. It would take a few minutes, but she could broom the snow off, warm it up and drive over there. But that would take too much time. And the possibility of ending up in the ditch or getting stuck in the snow was far too likely.

  Better to make this call and see if dispatch had heard from him. She could be worrying for no reason. This was the sort of thing she did to characters all the time. She should be accustomed to the tension. Reviewers said she was the best at creating it.

  But this was real.

  “Park County Sheriff’s Department.”

  Relief trickled through her at hearing the official voice. “This is Abbey Gray. I’m—”

  “Hold on, ma’am.”

  The line went on hold and Abbey snapped her mouth shut. Well hell.

  She paced the floor. No doubt emergency calls were coming in and she would, of course, have to wait behind those. This wasn’t an emergency…she hoped.

  Worry gnawed at her. Her pulse accelerated with each passing second. What was taking so long? She looked at the screen to ensure the call was still connected. Any sense of calm she’d felt at reaching dispatch vanished.

  Hanging up and calling again wouldn’t help unless she went the 9-1-1 route this time. Tying up that line was not appropriate…yet.

  “Calm down, Abbey.” She closed her eyes and told her heart to slow its pounding.

  If her father was here, he would tell her there was nothing to worry about until the trouble was in front of her. In other words, don’t borrow trouble. It would come along in its own time.

  Miss you, Daddy.

  She wished she had a number for Steven. Maybe if she called he would answer. If she could hear his voice, she would know. No matter that four years had separated them in age, she and Steven had always been close.

  Would a killer have protected her and saved her the way he had all those times when she was a kid?

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. The memory of speaking on that very subject nudged her. She’d told the audience at more than one of her readings that the villain could never be all bad. He or she must possess at least one redeeming quality if the character was going to touch the reader in a similar manner as the protagonist.

  But her brother wasn’t a character from one of her stories.

  A tap on the door jerked her attention there. She rushed to the window. The Park County Sheriff’s Department jacket had relief soaring through her. But it was Garrett’s hat that had her setting the shotgun aside and reaching for the door.

  “Ms. Gray, I need you too—” the dispatcher’s voice echoed in her ear.

  “Never mind,” she blurted. Abbey ended the call and tucked the phone into her pocket as she twisted the deadbolt and then yanked open the door. “Thank God! I was getting worried.”

  Garrett raised his head, the brim of his hat coming up to reveal his face.

  Not Garrett.

  Steven.

  Abbey reached for the shotgun. Her brother grabbed it first.

  She drew back two steps. “What did you do, Steven? Where’s Garrett?”

  The fact that he had on Garrett’s hat and coat tore at her heart. As Steven stepped inside she saw the Park County Sheriff’s Department truck idling outside. Garrett’s truck.

  Dear God…if he’d killed Garrett.

  Fury blasted away the softer emotions. “What did you do, Steven?”

  He slammed the door behind him, held the shotgun in his hands but didn’t take aim at her. “I came to save you.”

  Defeat sank inside her. “Where’s Garrett?”

  “He’s hurt.”

  Fear rammed into her chest. “What did you do to him?”

  “I didn’t do anything to him. I used his phone to call 9-1-1. I left the line open so they would trace the call, then I grabbed his hat and came looking for you. I knew you would never open the door and listen to me if you recognized me and I need you to listen to what I have to say. We have to go, Abbey. You’re not safe.”

  “You’re wearing his hat and his jacket. And driving his SUV? What th
e hell did you do?” Her voice rose to a shout. Her body trembled with receding adrenaline. She could hardly breathe. She needed to do something. Garrett could be dying. Part of her wanted to tear into Steven but there wasn’t time. “Where is he?”

  Steven shook his head. His eyes wide with fear or insanity or maybe both. “I needed to be sure you’d open the door. This jacket was on the sofa in Mr. Hansen’s house. I took it. I think it belonged to the dead deputy.”

  Dead deputy? Was he referring to Mr. Johnson? “Oh my God.” Cold washed over her. “What did you do? Where’s Mr. Hansen?”

  “There’s no time to explain,” he urged. “You have to come with me.”

  “What are you talking about? Why would I come with you? I need to get to Garrett.” She squared her shoulders and glared into the eyes that were so much darker than hers. Their father’s eyes. Steven had the dark hair and dark eyes. He had the square jaw, the straight nose, the tall, wiry frame of their father. She, as her father told her so often, was the splitting image of her mother. “Shoot me or get out of my way.”

  “Garrett isn’t dead. Believe me. But we have to get out of here. Now.”

  “Why?” She folded her arms over her chest. “Why would I listen to anything you have to say? I believed in you once, Steven. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  He looked confused. Uncertain what to do next.

  His bewilderment could help her escape.

  “Did you take mother’s pearls? I can’t find them. The pearls were the one thing of hers I wanted to keep.”

  He blinked. Looked more confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Have you been in the house?” Of course he had. What was she thinking?

  He shook his head. “I didn’t get here until a few hours before dark. I came as soon as I heard what happened. I haven’t been in this house since…” His expression shifted from anxious to nothing. A blank stare.

  “I saw the stuff you left in the treehouse,” she accused.

  “What’re you talking about?”

  How could he possibly expect her to believe him? He had to be lying. There was no other explanation. “Just stop,” she demanded. “Get out of my way. I’m taking the truck and going to find Garrett.”

  Steven’s lips formed a grim line. “You have to come with me. I need to protect you. It’s the only way we’ll make it through this.”

  She held up her hands. “I don’t trust anything you say. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She reached for her cell phone. “I’m calling for help.”

  He turned the business end of the shotgun toward her. Her hand fell to her side. His face was no longer blank. Anger and determination stared back at her.

  “I don’t have time to try and convince you. We have to go. Now put on your coat and do what I tell you.”

  She got it now. Either she was going to be his ticket out of here or he had plans to kill her. If the latter was his intent, why didn’t he just do it?

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if Garrett dies,” she warned, “I will kill you.”

  The hard words shook her. Not once in her life had she ever wanted to physically harm anyone. Not even when the whole world thought Steven had killed their mother. She’d only wanted to help him. She’d tried long and hard, but he’d pushed her away until she’d finally given up.

  Now she understood that she had made a mistake.

  She should never have believed in him.

  The flash of surprise in his eyes shifted back into anger. “Just shut up. Shut up and listen. I couldn’t save him, but I’m damned sure going to save you whether you want me to or not.”

  Nothing he said made sense. Was he talking about Garrett? A fresh wave of fear poured through her. “Who couldn’t you save?”

  “Dad. I hadn’t been released yet.” He drew in a harsh breath. “When I heard, I knew what had really happened.”

  Abbey was convinced now. Her brother really had slipped over some edge. Maybe he had years ago and she just hadn’t wanted to see it. “Dad fell off a ladder doing repairs to the house, Steven.”

  He moved his head side to side. “No, he didn’t. That’s just what he wanted you to think. What he wanted everyone to think.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. You’re not making sense.” Would he shoot her if she made a run for the back door? Without her coat, how long would she last out there? “How could you possibly know anything about his death?”

  “Because Dad wrote to me the day before he died. I didn’t get the letter until days later and then it was too late.”

  Their father hadn’t mentioned this to her. “He was still writing to you?”

  “He hadn’t written to me in years. When I got a letter after hearing that he was dead, I was a little freaked out so I read it instead of sending it back. He wanted me to know that he still believed in me but that whatever I had done he forgave me. He said he’d never stopped loving me. The day he wrote the letter he’d learned something new about Mom’s death. He was really torn up about it and he was going to look into it. He said I shouldn’t get my hopes up. I should just wait until I heard from him again. By the time I received his letter it didn’t matter anymore.”

  Impossible. Her father would have called her. “If this is true,” she said, still not prepared to trust him on any level, “why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t you get in touch with me when you read his letter?”

  “I figured I’d save us both the trouble. No one was going to listen to me. They’d just say I was making something out of nothing. So I waited. I had less than a year until I would be released. I’d waited fifteen years, what was one more?”

  She couldn’t continue standing here listening to whatever this was. Garrett was injured. He needed help. “I don’t want to hear anymore. I’m leaving, Steven. But not with you.”

  His face turned as hard as stone. Then he pulled the hammer back. “One way or the other, you’re going with me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Pain burst in his skull.

  Garrett’s eyes opened slowly. He blinked, struggled to bring things into focus. Jumbled memories poured through his head, making it ache all the more.

  He stared at the open door. The snow blowing into the room.

  Blood in the snow. He jerked. Johnson was dead.

  Abbey.

  Garrett pressed his hands to the floor and tried to push himself upward. The room spun. He closed his eyes against the fresh wave of pain.

  Get up! Get up!

  Deep breath. He tried again. Made it to his knees this time. He touched the back of his head gingerly. Groaned. But he’d live.

  He managed the move up to his feet. Swayed like a drunken brawler on a Saturday night binge. When he could take a step without the world moving in the opposite direction, he turned around, surveying the room.

  The Hansen living room.

  Tension knotted in his gut. Johnson was dead. Where was Hansen?

  Garrett reached for his waist. His sidearm was still in his holster. Thank God.

  Abbey. He needed to get back to her…first he had to check on Hansen.

  No. First he should call it in.

  He reached for his phone. Missing. The slow-motion memory of the phone flying from his hand and sliding across the floor had him scanning the room.

  There.

  He spotted it in the corner near the fireplace. Walking slowly, he made his way to where it lay. He braced one hand against the wall to bend down and pick up the damned thing.

  It vibrated in his hand. Wagner’s face flashed on his screen.

  “Garrett,” he said, then cleared his throat. He blinked a couple times as his vision blurred with another round and round of the room. He needed to get a hold on his equilibrium.

  “Man, I’m glad to hear your voice! I thought you were dead.”

  Garrett licked his lips. “You weren’t off by far.” His gut roiled with the need to puke.

  “Backup just turned
onto Mill Creek. There was a semi jack-knifed on 89, held them up a bit.”

  Garrett started toward the front door his legs rubbery beneath him. “I’m heading to Abbey’s. If Hansen is here, he’s outside somewhere. Probably dead. Give the units en route a heads up to keep an eye out for Steven Gray.”

  “Will do. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” Garrett ended the call without saying more. He shoved his phone into his hip pocket and reached for the door. Where the hell was his hat? He looked back to where he’d been lying face down on the floor, didn’t see it. No time.

  He hurried across the porch and down the steps as quickly as he dared. The snowfall was lighter now. Thank God. At this point, he needed any break he could get. The storm moving on would be a hell of a big one.

  Garrett stalled. His truck was gone. His gaze lowered to his fallen deputy who was nearly completely covered in snow now. Nausea hit him and he doubled over and vomited up the coffee he’d drank earlier. He recognized the symptoms. Concussion. Maybe worse. Couldn’t worry about that right now. He made his way to where Johnson lay. As much as he wanted to move his body, he couldn’t risk contaminating the crime scene. But he had to get to Abbey.

  If Steven had come back and done this, he would go after her next.

  “To hell with it.”

  Garrett leaned over Johnson and into the car. He pulled the keys from the ignition and went to the trunk to open it. The interior light blinked on. He took a moment to steel himself, then he walked back to where Johnson lay, crouched down and dug through the snow until he found the fallen man’s back. He attempted to ram his arms under the body. Didn’t happen. He tried again. Another wave of nausea hit him, but he forced it back. Several efforts were required to get his arms fully underneath the body and to pull him free of the ice that had formed beneath him as the snow had melted around his body when he first hit the ground.

  Garrett pushed to his feet, the weight of the man’s body making him sway. One staggering step at a time he made his way to the back of the car and placed Johnson in the trunk. Garrett hesitated before closing the lid. “This is the best I can do for now, buddy.”