I wait for the bullet. Think about Astrid, hope she isn’t looking out the porthole. A few seconds pass. He says, “I want you to see this. Me, little ol’ Tweaker Teeth as you assholes call me, walkin’ off with your daddy’s treasure. Then I’ll be back for you. An’ don’t worry. I won’t let this hole go to waste.”
Footsteps walking away.
I can’t draw a decent breath. I rise to my knees. Tweaker Teeth is at the stump. He bends down, peers inside. “Well, look what we have here! A little cave!” His head disappears inside. I crawl forward. Blood streams from my face. I try to stand but the pain sends me down. A voice from inside says, “Time’s up, buttercup.”
Then a gunshot.
And silence.
I struggle to my feet, wait for the wave of pain, and move past it. Ten agonizing steps and I’m at the door to Stumptown. I fall to my knees. There’s a soft sound inside. A familiar sound.
Is that crying?
I pull back the flap, peer into the flickering light of a single candle.
Astrid is pointing a handgun at the door. She sees me and lowers it.
Tweaker Teeth is facedown, the back of his head an open mess. Next to him is the Playboy magazine. His blood pools on the cover.
The gun slides from Astrid’s fingers. I recognize the handle. Pearl and bronze.
Outside I hear the barking of dogs. Are they looking for us?
I ask, “Are you okay?”
She nods.
“Where was the gun?”
She points to the old wooden chest.
“In there?”
She nods. Then in a whisper, “Marilyn was hiding it.”
PORTLAND, OR.
NINE DAYS LATER
59
Cory stood next to his brother on a makeshift stage in the cavernous lobby of the Marriott in downtown Portland. He was able to stand on his own, although not for long. The bandages around his ribs made it difficult for him to be upright and breathe at the same time. He hoped this press conference would be shorter than the five minutes promised to them. Being up here was easier for Ty. He was in a wheelchair and would be until the metal pins in his shattered right femur and hip could start to bear weight. The current estimate was four to six weeks. Both boys looked like they had survived a bomb blast. Cory’s upper lip was split down the middle and held together with stitches. His right eye still had some swelling nine days after the impact from a boot. Ty had butterfly bandages on his forehead, cheek, and chin, but at least he could smile without pain, and not eat his food through a straw. They appeared uncomfortable in their new clothes and fresh haircuts courtesy of the hotel salon.
To Cory’s right was a podium with a microphone. Assembled in front of them were reporters from various media outlets ranging from local and statewide TV and news channels, to heavy lifters like CNN, Fox, the New York Times, and the BBC. Behind them was a theater-size screen with a slideshow of images that displayed where the Volvo was found, a topo map of the spot where Ty directed the SWAT team, breathtaking aerial shots of Tanum Creek Canyon, the sixty-foot waterfall where Ty fell, and the pool with the swing tree where he was found by a fly-fisherman, floating under the Tanum Creek Bridge.
Cory searched the crowd for the one face he wanted to see. She wasn’t there yet, but had promised him yesterday that she wouldn’t miss it for the world. At eleven o’clock on the nose, a heavyset man in a blue suit, sweating under the lights, walked onto the stage and growled into the microphone:
“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here. I’m Detective William Ostrander with the Portland PD. Before we begin, I need to make it clear that these boys are still in the recovery stage of this ordeal. They will not be available for questions afterward, so don’t even try. You can make arrangements to speak with them separately with their agent. Her contact information is on the press briefing you received. Also know that this is an ongoing investigation so the details I can share this morning are very limited. Now I will read a brief statement, then take questions.
“On October tenth at 11:07 p.m. local time Astrid Loftman was abducted in the parking garage at the Biskhoft Hotel in Seattle. Surveillance footage helped us trace the plates to a stolen vehicle found in Kirkland. That’s where we suspect they switched vehicles to a silver Ford Taurus. It was found on October twenty-eighth in a ravine off a forest service road fifteen miles north of the Tanum Creek Bridge. We had resources in the area when Ty made contact and told us where to go. The bloodhounds did the rest. Now for your questions.”
Voices rang out again.
Ostrander pointed to a face in the crowd. “You with the green coat.”
“How many girls were recovered from the cabin?”
“We found one girl inside who had been abducted from a shopping mall in Boise. Her name was Abigail Weston, sixteen. We also found a female Russian national with multiple stab wounds a short distance from the cabin. Her last known location was her uncle’s home in Portland three months prior. One more question.”
“Can Ty tell us how he got to the bridge?”
“I’m sorry, but as I stated earlier, there will be no—”
Ty coughed, motioned to Ostrander for the microphone. He gave it to him and muttered, “The shorter the better.”
Ty said, “I jumped the bad guy. We had a scuffle. I fell off a cliff and landed on a rock. I crawled into the creek. A fishing guy found me under the bridge. That’s pretty much all—”
Cory snagged the microphone from Ty. “My brother survived a twelve-mile death canyon with a shattered hip, a fractured leg, and a stab wound in his shoulder. He’s a badass ninja warrior stud!” He and Ty bumped fists. The reporters laughed and snapped pictures.
Ostrander took the microphone and returned to the podium. “I’ll take one more question; then the Loftmans would like to say a few words.” There was a clamor of hands. Ostrander picked a woman standing next to a man holding a CNN camera.
“Why was Astrid in the trunk?”
Detective Ostrander glanced at another officer standing close but not on the stage. The officer nodded. Cory wondered if Astrid was watching this press conference from her room. He’d visited her in the hospital two days ago and she’d been mostly out of it.
“Ransom negotiations had broken down. Based on information provided by the victims, we suspect there was a disagreement between the captors. They may have been moving her to a new location, or there may have been a more…sinister intent. We can only speculate since both of the perpetrators are deceased. That’s all the questions now. I’m turning this over to Mr. and Mrs. Loftman.”
Cory felt Ty’s hand brush his pant leg. He glanced down. Ty flashed a smile. Here comes the good part. Cory returned his gaze to the audience. His search for her face came up empty. Maybe she won’t make it after all.
Detective Ostrander was replaced by a man and a woman. They shook hands with Cory and Ty. Cory had already met Astrid’s father. He was tall, thin, and very formal. But her mother—Cory saw Astrid’s resemblance right away. And that’s why he remembered her. He had seen her on the cover of one of Chloe’s fashion magazines. She was striking with wavy blond hair, the same high cheekbones, intense brown eyes, and a perfect, wide smile. Mr. Loftman stepped up to the microphone and spoke with the same accent that Cory heard whispered inside the confines of Stumptown.
“Good morning. I am Reginald Loftman, and this is my wife, Deanna. I shall make this brief because I promised Cory and Ty that we would keep it to five minutes. We want to personally thank them for their bravery and self-sacrifice. Thanks to their efforts our lovely daughter, Astrid, was returned to us. She is in the hospital now and wishes she could be here. The doctors assure us that the infection is under control. She will recover fully and can return home as early as next week. I will take one question, then turn the microphone over to Deanna.”
A man in the crowd shouted, “Why was Astrid in Seattle and why was she in the parking garage at that time?”
“Astrid was in Seattle for her two-year check
up at a speech therapy clinic specializing in children suffering from trauma-induced mutism. The trauma resulted from a visit with her grandmother in Nice, France. She saw her run over by a truck and killed during the terrorist attack. Astrid stopped talking three days later. After a year of consulting with local therapists, we sent her to a clinic in Seattle and they helped. She…” Cory heard Reginald’s voice breaking, and he felt a tightening of his own throat. “Astrid was back to normal when she returned with her mother for a final checkup. She forgot the charger for her phone and went down to the car to retrieve it. They must have been waiting for her.” He wiped his eyes, then changed places with his wife.
Deanna said, “I get the easy part. It is my great honor to give these checks to Cory and Ty for their share of the reward.”
She handed them each an envelope. They already knew the amount. It exceeded Harvey’s milestone three by a factor of ten. Cory glanced at Ty’s face. His smile was so wide he was afraid it might pop the stitches on his face. Through the corner of his eye he saw someone walk through the lobby door. It was her. And he was happy to see that she wasn’t alone. He smiled despite the pain.
Cory and Ty held up the checks while the cameras clicked and the flashes flashed. Some people shouted questions, but Detective Ostrander stepped in and shut it down. The Loftmans thanked them again and said they had an open invitation to the UK anytime. Deanna hugged them and said she owed them a debt she could never repay. As Ty began to speak to them, Cory limped off the stage and made his way through the last of the reporters to where Stellah stood waiting with Kayla. Stellah threatened to give him a big Stellah hug, but Cory asked for a rain check. She laughed and said, “Now with money like that, I expect to see a fine dining establishment opening with your name over the door. I thought up one myself, Cory’s Kitchen. What do you think?”
Cory said, “I was thinking more along the lines of an ice-cream parlor. I’d call it Bic’s Licks.”
Stellah waved her hand. “You’d better not. You’re too good a cook to be selling some damn ice cream. Although I do like ice cream.” Then she smiled at Cory and Kayla. “Well, I see you two have some catching up to do. I’m gonna visit that coffee cart. See if there’s anything worth my dime.”
They watched her bulldoze through the crowd. Then Cory said, “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“That feeling was mutual.”
“What happened?”
“I got your email, then read the letter you stuck under the bench in the gazebo.”
“I almost didn’t leave it.”
“I’m glad you did. I made a solemn vow to say your name in vain every day for the rest of my life. That letter changed everything.”
Cory took a moment to consider the hidden truth of those words. If he hadn’t detoured to hide the letter, then Tony wouldn’t have trapped them at the park. If not for that twenty-minute delay, Tweaker Teeth would have hit the deer after they passed. Astrid would be dead and this press conference would never have happened. As Benny would say, Fate’ll screw you like a pine board unless you screw it first. Cory asked Kayla, “What was your favorite part?”
“Where you wrote that you hoped that when this is all over I’ll be able to find my balance again.”
“And…?”
“I’m not ready for the beam yet, but the future looks good.”
Cory smiled. Her answer was more than he deserved to hope for. “How are things in Luster Land?”
“The future senator decided that being a senator wasn’t in his future.”
“Karmic forces at play?”
“Ignore them at your peril.”
“What about Charlene?”
“She hired a divorce attorney out of Bend, formerly from LA. Rebecca told me that she was the lawyer for Steven Spielberg’s third wife. Harvey will be lucky to keep his pacemaker.”
“Ouch. Well, I’m happy for Charlene.” He was sad for Chloe and Justin, but they’d be better off in the end. “And how are you?”
“For a while I was feeling worse than your face looks.”
Cory took the hit and expected more.
“That video did a lot of damage. But I thank you for keeping me out of it.”
“It had to stop.”
After a beat, she said, “I know.”
“I saw the GoFundMe campaign just passed one hundred and thirty thousand dollars.”
“That was pretty slick, Cory Bic.” She steps a little closer, looks him in the eyes. “So now that this is all behind you, do you still wake up scared every day? You’ve got five seconds.”
He only needed two. “No. Aside from the broken ribs, I wake up feeling pretty darn good.”
Ty rolled up to them, grinned wide at Kayla. “Hey, Cor. Our ride’s here. Can you believe it’s a freakin’ limo!”
They laughed. Cory’s eyes watered. The stitches in his lip didn’t like to be stretched.
Kayla gave Cory a careful hug, kissed him on the cheek. “Send me a text when you open your restaurant.”
“So I can text you now?”
She flashed him a parting wink. “It’s a brand-new day in Luster Land.”
At last, Ty and Cory headed for the doors.
Ty said, “Does this restaurant of yours even have a name?”
Cory smiled at the inside joke. He had asked Benny the same question when he told them about the tow truck business. Cory responded with the same answer Benny gave them. “Yeah. It’s a real classic.” They exited the lobby. A tuxedoed driver opened the door to a shining black SUV limo. Cory said, “I was thinking of something catchy and fun, but with a dash of intrigue.”
“Cory’s Clam Shack?”
“Nah. How about Robbers and Kings?”
Ty laughed. It was big and loud and echoed against the concrete and glass. Cory helped him out of the wheelchair and into the leathery cavern. There was plenty of room for his leg. While the driver stowed Ty’s wheelchair, Cory opened a small refrigerator built into the center console. He handed Ty a Mountain Dew and took a Diet Pepsi for himself. They popped the tops, then clanked their cans in a toast.
The driver sat behind the wheel, closed the door, and the engine purred to life. “Where to, gentlemen?”
Cory paused for a beat to savor this moment, then said, “Providence Medical Center. A girl with a broken arm wants us to sign her cast.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
While so many people contributed to the writing of this book, I want to thank the following friends and colleagues for their expertise and thoughtful comments: Dean Olin, Marti Carl, Ryan Vogt, Mike Pickett, Kevin Sergeant, Don Donais, Pat Ferrell, my wife, Teresa, and the best reader I know, my son Michael. I cannot overstate the importance of my talented editor, Hannah Allaman, whose patience, vision, and deep understanding of my characters helped me take this book to where it needed to go. And my profound appreciation for Doug Stewart and Chris George, who encourage me, beyond all reason, to keep writing.
In memoriam:
To Jared Peterson
STEPHEN WALLENFELS is an avid outdoorsman from Richland, Washington. He was a freelance writer in the health
and fitness field for many years, and now works as the IT and creative director at a large fitness company. Stephen’s first novel, Pod, has been published in six languages. Find him online at stephenwallenfels.com.
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