Missing in the Mountains

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  “I heard that shot,” Mr. Finn said, trading his easy smile for a frown. “Could be anything. Everyone’s got a rifle out here. Could be someone saw a snake. Maybe had target practice or whatnot.”

  “No,” Sawyer interrupted. “It wasn’t target practice. There was only one shot, Mr. Finn.” He felt the tension in the air, saw the man’s shoulders square, his chin rise. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I’m looking for your help.”

  Mr. Finn crossed his arms and whistled. “I think you should go.”

  A moment later a dog the size of Texas tore into view, shaggy, caked in mud and rocketing to a seat at Finn’s side.

  Sawyer divided his attention, wishing he’d left the door open between himself and the massive mutt. “One of your sons was arrested last night,” Sawyer said flatly. “I know because he and his crew came into my home in search of my family. I held them off. Shot one. The others got away clean. David was arrested. I think the others came back while I was out today, and I’m afraid that shot was meant for either my baby or his mama.”

  Mr. Finn’s face went pale. “My boys wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re mistaken and out of line for coming here like this, and you’d do best to go.”

  “No, sir,” Sawyer said. “I can’t do that. See, I need you to tell me where a woman could be held on your property without being noticed for a week. Maybe two women now and my baby. Then I want to look for them.”

  Mr. Finn’s sheet-white skin paled further, leaning on a shade of green. “No.”

  The half bark of a police siren shut Sawyer’s mouth, already open for a rebuttal.

  Behind him, Detective Miller bounced his black truck over the pitted gravel drive, bubble light flashing on top of his vehicle.

  The door to the home opened again. This time a woman in jeans and a button-down rushed out. She had silver in her dark ponytail and a kid on one hip. A boy half her height trailed after her. “What’s this about, Mark?” she called. “I’m just about to serve breakfast.”

  Mark let his eyes shut slowly, then turned to repeat Sawyer’s story with a gentler touch than Sawyer had delivered it.

  Detective Miller slammed his truck door, then hastened up the drive to where they stood. He pressed his palms to his hips and glared at Sawyer. “Have you said your piece?”

  Sawyer nodded. “I have.”

  “Good. Like I told you before, we can’t legally access their land without a warrant. So, you need to leave or be arrested for trespassing.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Sawyer said. He turned desperate, pleading eyes on Mrs. Finn. “Please, ma’am,” he pressed. “My four-month-old son and his mama are missing. I believe they’re both in grave danger, and I think someone is holding them on your property. All I want is the chance to look for them. If they’re not here, I’ll leave, apologize, refine my search. But I’m asking you—what would you do if you thought your spouse and one of your babies was being held on my property? What if I said you weren’t allowed to look for them?”

  Mrs. Finn shifted the kid on her hip and traded a look with her husband. She turned a serious gaze on Sawyer. “You got something of theirs with you?”

  Sawyer scrambled to make sense of the question. “What?”

  “A shirt, a blanket, a hair tie,” she said. “It don’t matter.” She tucked her fingers in her mouth and whistled. A mess of kids came running. “These ain’t all ours, but they’ll help if they want breakfast, and you know they do. Blue will help too, if you’ve got something he can use to track.” She nodded at the dog.

  “Yes.” Sawyer spun around, wrenching the SUV door open and digging behind the seats for something belonging to Emma or Henry. “Thank you,” he said, fighting a punch of emotion. He came up with a blue blanket of Henry’s and a hoodie of Emma’s.

  Blue gave the items a long sniff, then took off in search of more of those same scents.

  The Finns, Detective Miller and a slew of kids from age five to fifteen fanned out across the backyard, headed into the woods.

  “We’ve got a number of barns and outbuildings,” Mr. Finn said as they crossed the wide, flat space behind the house. “The kids and I have built blinds, forts, tree houses, all that and more on this land over the years.” He slowed as his family and neighbor kids slipped out of sight, no more than silhouettes against a brilliant morning sky.

  Sawyer ached to run after Blue, who was long gone, but waited, anticipated what Mr. Finn had to say. The way he’d paled at the mention of his other sons had meant something. Sawyer hoped it meant he had a good idea where Emma and Henry might be.

  Finn swung a worried gaze from Sawyer to Detective Miller and halted in his tracks.

  Miller cocked a hip. “You got something on your mind, Mark?”

  Mr. Finn scanned the trees. “When my oldest boy was in high school, he’d throw wild parties at a spot we call The Point. It’s just a small plot of flat land where my great-granddad’s house stood about a hundred and fifty years back, but the last time I was out that way, there was a shed still standing.” He pointed in the direction opposite of where the others had gone. “There’s an access road a couple miles from here that cuts back this way. Down near Pine Creek Road.”

  “I know it,” Detective Miller said, pulling keys from his pocket. “I drove past it getting here.” He smiled at Sawyer. “I can be there in about ten minutes. You coming, Lance?”

  “No.” Sawyer shook Finn’s hand with gusto, then broke into a sprint. “I can be there in seven.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Go!” Sara whispered frantically to Emma. “Please.” She struggled to hold back the silent sobs racking her battered body.

  Emma fought the urge to lose control right along with her sister, but that was a luxury Emma didn’t have. She was unharmed and unbound. It was up to her to get them all out of there. Alive.

  Henry squirmed in her arms. He’d screamed himself to sleep during the argument with Christopher, but he was restless. Ready to wake. To scream again. Ready for a bottle. A new diaper. All the things Emma couldn’t provide for him.

  “Go,” Sara continued.

  “No.” Emma tilted forward, locking determined eyes on her sister. “I’m not leaving you here to be murdered.”

  “Think of Henry,” Sara sobbed. “If you’re still here when that door opens again, someone’s going to die.”

  “He’s going to kill us all regardless,” Emma said. “The minute you tell him what he wants to know, you’ll no longer be useful and we’ll no longer have leverage. We’ll all be dead the next second. So pull it together and help me think.”

  “You have to try to get away,” Sara begged. “You have no idea what he’s capable of.” Tears rolled over her bruised cheeks, through the squint of her swollen black eye. She pulled her knees to her chest, and the ideas of what Sara might have been through came at Emma like a tidal wave.

  “If he comes back and we’re gone, he’ll kill you,” Emma explained. “Henry will hear the shot and scream, giving away our position, then Christopher will kill us. That’s if Henry doesn’t start crying the minute I lay him down to slide through the hole. Once I get out—if I get out—I can’t even hide in the shadows anymore. The sun is up.”

  Sara pulled in a sharp breath; her cries quieted. She blinked at the warm rays of orange and amber light cutting through the shed’s ceiling. “Another day,” she said, mesmerized. “Every night I think I won’t see another day.”

  Emma paced the small room with Henry in her good arm, forcing her thoughts away from the pain of her broken wrist. Outside, the sound of an approaching engine grew louder, closer, before the silence. “We need a plan, or you’re right—there won’t be another day. Not for any of us.”

  “Maybe we can hold the door shut somehow,” Sara suggested.

  Emma shook her head. “If we try to stop him from coming in, he’ll just shoot
through the door and hit us both. Besides, I can hear a second voice. There are two men now, and we aren’t stronger than two men. I think my wrist is broken, and you look like you haven’t eaten in a week.”

  “I’ve tried,” Sara whispered. “When they bring it, I try.”

  Emma leaned her forehead to the wall and angled for a look at the new arrival between cracks in the rickety wooden boards.

  “Who is it?” Sara asked.

  “I think it’s one of the Finn boys,” she said. Though she hadn’t gotten a clear look at him in the dark, she thought he might have been one of the two men on the dock while she’d hidden in the water. If she was right, then he’d already come to abduct and kill her once. Considering that she was currently abducted, it was an easy jump to the reason he was there now.

  The newcomer climbed off his ATV with a gun on his hip. His shaggy red hair was unkempt, and his eyes were wild. His gaze jumped from the shed to Christopher. “I was thinking,” he said nervously. “I think we can get this done another way. There’s no one at either house now. We can leave them here, and while everyone’s out hunting for them, we can go through both places, take another look. Find what we missed.”

  “No time,” Christopher said. “I need to go, which means they need to go. You got that? If I come back here on my way out of town and find any of them alive, I’m coming for your family. All of them. Maybe I’ll build a nice middle-of-the-night fire to take care of all those young siblings. Maybe a brutal car accident for your woman and your baby. While you’re grieving over their twisted carnage, you’ll know it was your fault. All because you couldn’t do this one simple task. You want that?”

  “No, man,” Finn said. “I didn’t want anyone to die.” He scraped a heavy hand over his cheek. “I never agreed to this. You never said anything about kidnapping and murder.”

  “I just did.” Christopher climbed onto his vehicle and started the engine. “I’ve got to get this ride scrubbed down in case her or that kid drooled on it. They’ll check it for DNA when they find it, and I don’t need any other fingers pointed my way. I gave Sara three minutes to tell you where she hid the evidence. If she doesn’t, then you’ve got to make her choose who to shoot first. Don’t make me a liar.”

  “What if she tells me what you want to know?”

  Christopher drew a finger across his neck. “Kill them anyway. No loose ends. Understand?”

  “What about the baby?” Finn asked. “You said I could take it to a fire station. Give it a chance at a life.”

  “I’m going home to pack,” Christopher said, ignoring Finn’s question. “There’s a hole in the back wall big enough for them to fit through. If you take too long going in, they’ll force you to chase them. It’s awful damn early for that, trust me.” He stuffed the helmet onto his head and flipped the visor up. “I want to see three bodies when I come back, so do. Your. Job.” He delivered the final three words with deliberate menace, then revved his engine to life.

  Emma’s heart leaped and twisted in her throat. “Sit up,” she told Sara. “Scoot back, sit up. Hurry.”

  Sara obeyed. Bending her knees, she planted her bound feet on the floor and pressed her back to the wall, settling her bound wrists in front of her.

  Emma set Henry on Sara’s lap, fitting him into the sharp curve of her sister’s body for balance, then she dragged them both against the wall beside the door.

  Next, Emma ran for the hole. “Don’t let him fall.”

  Sara gripped Henry’s legs in her hands. “What are you doing?” Sara gasped. “You can’t leave him with me. I can’t protect him.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Emma said, crouching to grab the edge of a broken board in her good hand. She braced her feet against the floor and leaned back, throwing her weight into the movement, arm straining, legs burning. “Come on,” she whispered. Nothing happened.

  She inched forward, rearranged her grip on the wood and tried again.

  “What are you doing?” Sara repeated. “Get out and take Henry.”

  “I’m not leaving. I’ve only got one arm to hold Henry while I run through the forest in broad daylight with him screaming. We’ll be dead inside five minutes.” Her grip slid. She reset her efforts and tried again. “He’ll give chase. He’ll hunt us.”

  The board made a moaning creak.

  “So what?” Sara asked. “You have to try. Why are you making the hole bigger if not to run?”

  The board gave way with a sudden, shockingly loud crack, showering the floor in shards of rotted wood and sending Emma onto her backside with a thump. A smile broke over her lips. “I can’t run, but I can fight.”

  Outside, a man swore, and the door rattled.

  Emma grabbed her newly freed slat of weak, aged wood and ran to hide beside the door with Sara and Henry. And wait.

  * * *

  SAWYER’S CHEST THROBBED with the effort of an all-out run up an uneven, rocky grade toward the mountaintop where Mark Finn had suggested Emma and Henry might be held. Maybe Sara too. His leg muscles burned. His worried heart hammered from effort and fear. It had been too long since he’d heard that single gunshot. A kill shot, he thought. And even if she hadn’t died immediately, she’d have bled out by now, with all the time he’d wasted asking Finn’s permission to look. Then again, without Finn’s input, he would have had no idea where to go. Now he knew there was a shed, and Emma might be there with Henry. The thought pushed him harder, faster.

  Maybe Emma had gotten away. Maybe the shot had missed her, and she’d hidden.

  Maybe she had made the shot.

  Sawyer slowed at the low groan of an ATV and walked silently in the sound’s direction. Through the dense growth of ancient trees, a black ATV rumbled downhill with only a driver on board.

  * * *

  EMMA WIDENED HER STANCE, raised the board onto her shoulder like a baseball bat and waited as the door wiggled, then opened.

  And she swung.

  The wood connected with the man’s face in a gush of blood and curses. Her weapon split down the center in response, one long ragged crack, splinters of rot flying over the both of them. He stumbled back, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, eyes blinking, ready to fall. The man’s arms flailed, hands reached out for balance and caught the doorjamb with a thud.

  The gun in his hand went off.

  Sara screamed. Emma gasped.

  Searing pain scorched through Emma’s side and her hand lowered to the spot on instinct. Her palm slid against a strange, slick warmth, and the world tilted, but the man didn’t fall.

  Not good.

  She needed to knock him out, steal his ATV and race her son and sister to safety.

  “You shot her!” Sara screamed. “Emma!”

  Emma looked at her side, then her palms, confused and swimming in adrenaline. Blood seeped through her shirt. The eye-crossing, relentless pain came next. She locked her teeth and swung the wood again, heart in her mouth, pulse beating like thunder through her head.

  This time, the man’s hand shot out and caught the busted board. He wrenched it from her grip and threw it out the door behind him. “You broke my nose!” he wailed. Blood trailed over his lips, teeth and chin. The skin along the ridge of his nose was red, broken and quickly swelling. His eyes flamed hot.

  Emma stumbled back, pressing both palms to her side, where blood flowed freely around and between her fingers now. Her broken wrist no longer ached, but her knees wobbled. Her head spun, and the pain of the gunshot chewed its way straight through her. The unconscionable burn radiated across her gut and up her chest until it ate through her vision, and the filthy, aged floorboards rushed up to meet her.

  * * *

  A SECOND GUNSHOT. Sawyer pulled his phone and his gun, double-timing his pace up the mountain toward the peak, where he hoped to find a shed, and Emma, Henry and Sara alive.

  “Miller,” the detective
answered.

  “Another shot,” Sawyer said flatly, forcing his mind and body to stay tuned to the task. “Hear it?”

  “I heard it. Got an ambulance coming.”

  Sawyer’s shoulders relaxed by a fraction. “Did you get the ATV?”

  “Yes, I did. Stopped him at the crossroad. Says he didn’t see the no-trespassing signs and was just out for a morning drive.”

  Sawyer cursed. Rage burst through him like shrapnel. “You let him go?”

  “No,” Miller said. “He was trespassing, carrying a concealed weapon without a license, and his vehicle fits the description of an ATV seen leaving the site of multiple recent crimes. My deputy is on his way to pick him up.”

  “Who is he?” Sawyer fumed. “A Finn boy?”

  “No. ID says Christopher Lawson.”

  Lawson. “He was at the credit union, standing in for the dead manager on the day that guy was murdered.” Sawyer pushed himself harder, faster, his breaths coming quick and a smile forming on his lips. “I think you’ve gone and captured the ringleader. Don’t let that one go.”

  “No intent of the sort,” Miller said in an easy, casual drawl.

  Hope rose in his chest as the next plateau came into view, and the cries of his son rose on the wind. “I’ve got eyes on the shed. I can hear my son crying.” And there was another shiny black ATV sitting out front. If the victim of that last gunshot wasn’t the driver of this ATV, then he was likely to be the next one shot. “You’d better order up another ambulance.”

  * * *

  THE SOUNDS OF Henry’s and Sara’s cries warbled through Emma’s fuzzy head, and she pushed to her hands and knees on autopilot. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, adding immediately to the pleas of her sister.

  The gun shook in Finn’s hand. His gaze darted around the dank, rotten, earth-scented shed. He muttered behind the other palm, which he’d clamped to his mouth.