by CJ Lyons
Yet. That's what he kept saying. We don't know for certain yet. There's evidence of foul play but no body found yet. We don't know where Damian Wright is yet. The FBI have been called but haven't arrived yet. We can't be certain that your son is dead—yet.
Yet. Such a tiny word that I would grow to despise.
No, we haven't caught Wright yet. Yes, we caught him but no, he hasn't confessed yet. Yes, he confessed to brutally slaughtering your husband and son, but he won't say where they are buried yet. No, you can't see him, yet.
That one small word encompassed all the hope I possessed. But then slowly, finally, over the past month people stopped using it. They have moved on with their lives and implied that I should do the same. I go through the motions, even went back to work. But it's not really me up there talking about Sonnets of the Portuguese. I have no idea who the woman is, but she's not me.
Me, the real me, I'm still waiting for you and Josh to come bouncing through the door, tracking muddy footprints, leaving a trail of coats and hats behind you, Josh riding on your shoulders, laughing, you balancing as you bend over to kiss me without up-dumping him.
But you're not home. Not yet. And I can't give up. Not yet. Can't "move on", forget you, forget Josh, get on with life.
Not yet. I can't. Not yet.
CHAPTER 34
Sarah shrank back into the shadows, flanked by two mature hemlocks, her back pressed against an oak. Two men approached Sam. They kept their flashlights aimed at him so she couldn't see their faces at first. Sam stood, hands over his head, squinting into the light.
The first one rushed forward and kicked Sam's legs out from under him. Sam went down with a grunt. The man followed up with an elbow driven between Sam's shoulder blades. He held Sam down on the ground while the second man stepped closer and lowered his flashlight.
It was Alan. Sarah pressed back against the tree, her fleece jacket snagging on the bark. Alan held a gun on Sam while the first man searched his pockets, taking a cell phone and flashlight. Sam remained silent, his face pale in the light that danced over him.
"Where's Sarah?" Alan shouted at Sam.
Sam opened his eyes, a smile twisting his face. It wasn't any smile she'd ever seen from him before; it was the nasty, fooled-you smirk common to playground bullies. "She's long gone. Gone to get Josh. You're stuck with me."
Alan aimed a kick at Sam's ribs. "Sonofabitch. You'd better make it worth my while or I'll—"
"Got a wallet," the first man interrupted. Alan lowered his light and Sarah got her first look at the other man's face. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. He was older, mid fifties at least, and handled his gun and flashlight effortlessly. Like a professional.
She slid the semi-automatic from her pocket. If only they moved away from Sam, she could get a clear shot at one of them.
She froze. And what about the other? They both had their weapons aimed at Sam, they couldn't miss at that close range.
"Let's see where you've and your kid have been hiding," Alan said, yanking the wallet away from the other man's hand. He flipped it open. "St. Doriat, Quebec. Samuel Deschamps." He squatted down, taking care not to smudge his slacks, and aimed the flashlight back at Sam's eyes. "Well, Samuel Deschamps, you made a big mistake coming back here. Should have just cut your losses and run."
"Our deal's still good," Sam said. Sarah caught the undercurrent of desperation in his voice and was certain Alan did as well. "I'll get you Korsakov's money, you leave Sarah and Josh alone."
Alan and the other man exchanged glances. "Pick him up, Logan. Let's take him somewhere we can have a nice, long chat."
Logan. Sarah leaned forward, straining for another glimpse of the first man's face. Jack Logan, the FBI agent in charge of Sam and Josh's case.
She clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. Sam was right, they couldn't trust the police—not if they'd been involved since the beginning. They couldn't trust anyone.
Which meant it was up to her.
Logan hoisted Sam to his feet, twisting one arm behind his back until Sam had no choice but to bend forward before the bone snapped. Logan marched Sam onto the trail leading down to the reservoir. Alan swept his light around, pivoting with his gun arm crossed over his opposite wrist as if he'd seen too many bad Steven Segal movies. Then he followed the others.
When she could no longer see their lights reflecting from the fog, Sarah stepped free of her hiding place. She glanced at the path leading up the mountain, to Sam's truck and then to Josh. She stepped forward, following a low-riding trail of mist that beckoned her deeper into the woods.
The weight of Sam's gun pulled at her jacket, bouncing against her hip with her every movement. Alan and that man, Logan, they would kill Sam—or let the Russian, Korsakov, do it, torture him.
She stopped. The mist swirled around her, taunting her. She could be with Josh by morning.
Or she could save Sam.
Was there a way she could do both?
CHAPTER 35
Someone poked JD. Hard. In the ribs. He groaned and burrowed farther into the soft, warm pillow he had rested his head on.
"JD. Wake up."
The urgency in Julia's voice jarred him awake. He was lying on her lap—until she pushed him off. He sat up, blinking. Damn, they had fallen asleep. His folks were going to kill him. He smiled, remembering how they'd occupied themselves earlier. She'd only let him kiss her, allowed the merest brush of his hand against her breast, nothing more, but it was still better than anything he'd ever imagined. "What time is it?"
"There's someone out there. Look." Julia placed her hands on both his shoulders, twisting him around so he could see a parade of lights emerging from the forest.
A parade of three men. One of them was bent over, being prodded along by another. They were too far for him to see their faces, but when they stopped at the cabin and a man turned on the light inside, he saw the guns. Big guns, silhouetted by the stark light, aimed at the first man.
"What should we do?" Julia asked, her fingers clamped around his arm. She pulled herself up close to him. JD liked that she was asking him, trusting him to make the right decisions. He just wished he knew what to do.
"Call 911. I'm going to go get a closer look."
"No. Don't. What if they see you?"
JD swallowed hard, felt his heart flutter. Too late to back down now, he couldn't let Julia think he was scared or anything. "Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen."
It would have sounded a lot better if his voice hadn't had that squeak in it. He disentangled himself from Julia and began to belly crawl across the dew-laden grass separating their hiding place from the shed. He stopped, looked over his shoulder, saw Julia's face glowing blue from the light of her cell phone.
Nothing to worry about, all he had to do was keep an eye on things until Hal Waverly or one of his guys got there. Man, he'd forgotten his camera! Damn, damn, damn! That was all right, it was still going to be a hell of a story—most excitement this place had ever seen.
His nose itching from brushing against dandelions and wet grass, he finally reached the side of the shack. Inching his way up the cinderblock wall, he knelt at the base of the window.
The men were talking, he could almost but not quite make out their words. Not five feet away from him, the door opened, light spilling out onto the grass. One of the men, the skinny one came out. JD flattened against the ground, hoping the shed's shadow and the gathering fog concealed him.
The man slammed the door and turned on his flashlight, blinding JD when JD tried to look at his face. He took off at a brisk pace, following the dirt path around to the other side of the shack and up to Lake Road.
JD covered his mouth with his hands, trying to slow and quiet his breathing. Christ, he'd never been so afraid in his life! His heart was thudding so loud that it drowned out all other noise. He forced himself to creep back up to the window, see if the prisoner was all right. He hadn't heard a gunshot, but...
He edged his eyes over the windowsill. The prisoner was Sam Durandt! He was sitting on the ground, facing JD, aliver than life! How could that be? Sure, the guy had shaved his head and grown a beard but it was Sam. Mrs. Durandt was going to be so happy. But what about the big guy with the bigger gun?
JD wished there was a way he could let Sam know everything was all right. Wished he could be certain that everything would be all right. He lowered himself back down, huddled with his back to the wall. He didn't have any weapons, if he tried to rush in, surprise the guy it was for certain either he or Sam would get shot.
A hand grabbed his arm. He almost jumped out of his skin. He looked over, it was Julia. She was shivering, goosebumps covering her exposed skin as she leaned across and placed her mouth next to his ear. "I called the police. They thought I was joking at first, but finally said they'd send someone around."
Her words were so soft that he barely caught them. He nodded his understanding. Somehow having her there, beside him, made him feel braver—but also more frightened. What if something happened to Julia because of him?
A man's laughter rattled the window above them. It didn't sound like a funny ha-ha kind of laugh. It sounded like the kind of laugh you heard in the movies right before Hannibal Lecter cut someone's heart out with a spoon and served it with a nice Chianti.
Julia heard it as well, her arm wrapping around his. "What should we do?" she whispered, her breath stirring the small hairs on his neck.
JD wished like hell he knew.
Hal backed Caitlyn up against the door jam as they continued their dance of passion. She clawed at his shirt, as anxious to touch him as he was her. Intermittent, anonymous voices on the scanner were their audience, occasionally breaking their momentum.
At one point, he had lurched up, pulling away, listening.
"What?" she murmured, her teeth gently tugging at his ear, drawing his attention back to her.
"Nothing, sounds like some kids saw some more lights near the dam. The county can handle it."
She finally coaxed him free of his uniform shirt and started in on the T-shirt he wore below it, feathering her fingers under the cotton, tantalizing him as she drew it over his head. He grabbed it from her, wadded it in a ball and aimed it at the counter where the scanner sat.
Their lips collided once more. Caitlyn pushed him back a step, came up for air. "Well, this has been real nice, Chief," she said, her fingers twisting in his sparse chest hair, "but maybe we should retire to the comforts of your bed?"
Hal turned his head away from her, his gaze searching the shadows of the hallway beyond the kitchen. As if he were asking the ghost of his dead wife for permission.
"Here's fine," she reassured him, curling one leg around his hips, drawing him back to her.
She was enjoying the cascade of sensations that every touch, every sound brought. Wished she could have had one of these Alice in Wonderland type of migraines before—there was no pain, just a surge of conflicting feelings. As if she were all-powerful, in charge of the universe but at the same time hopelessly spiraling out of control.
Her depth perception had returned to normal, but everything still seemed too bright, too vivid, colors so intense they burnt her eyes. And touch—her skin was sensitive to the slightest brush, the heat of Hal's hands, the whisper of his tongue had already brought her close to climax several times.
If this was her last night on the job, she sure as hell was going out with a bang. Caitlyn laughed out loud at her pun. Hal didn't notice, he was too busy working her belt free of her slacks.
Sarah scrambled down the path at breakneck speed. She hadn't heard a shot, but that didn't mean Sam was still alive. She came to the edge of the grassy slope below the dam and stopped. Light from the caretaker's cabin cascaded onto the fog like a searchlight.
The cabin only had one window. She approached it quietly, the gun clenched in her hand. The grass was wet, slippery, the fog swirling in the breeze so thickly that it obscured the building only fifty feet away. She didn't really have a plan, but she couldn't let Sam die. How could she possibly face Josh again, knowing she could have saved his father?
And even though she was still angry—no, furious—at Sam for taking Josh from her, she couldn't deny the fact that she had once loved the man. Or the way it had felt so right, so natural, to be back in his arms.
Crouching, she rounded the corner to the side of the shack with the window and door. And almost tripped over someone lying on the ground.
"Ayyy," came a cry that was quickly muffled. Sarah flattened against the wall, holding her breath as she waited to see if anyone inside had heard. A long minute passed and she slid down to crouch beside a boy and a girl.
"Julia, JD—what are you doing here?" she whispered. JD removed his hand from where it covered Julia's mouth and opened his own. Sarah held a palm up to stop him and gestured to them to follow her.
Just what she didn't need: two kids in the line of fire. They quietly moved back to the edge of the woods, far enough away that they could talk freely.
"Mrs. Durandt," JD began in a rush, "your husband, he's—"
"You saw Sam?"
He nodded as the words burbled out. "Yes. He's alive. Kind of beat up. But he's in there." He jerked his head back at the cabin. "Two men—"
"One of them left," Julia put in. "We called the cops."
"They had guns."
Both teens stopped as they locked gazes on the gun in Sarah's hand. "It's all right," she was quick to reassure them. "Everything is going to be all right."
"But, Mrs. D, how did—"
"He was dead, everyone knew—"
Sarah was buffeted by their questions. Questions that she didn't have time for. "You called the police?"
"Yes, but I don't know if they believed me. Everyone knows that JD and I have been following the mystery lights."
"Julia thinks the cops thought she was playing a gag, trying to get them to rush out here for my documentary or something. 'Cause that was about twenty minutes ago and no one's shown up."
"You guys go home. And please don't tell anyone about seeing Sam. It's important that no one knows he's alive." The words emerged in a raspy whisper, an echo of all those sleepless nights when she'd cried herself hoarse hoping that somehow Sam and Josh would come back to her.
Beware what you wish for. The gun felt heavy in her hand. Sam was right. The only way to keep Josh safe now that Alan and Logan knew where he was was to silence both men. Permanently.
"But Mrs. D—"
"No buts, Julia. This is really, really important. Do you understand?" The girl nodded her head. Sarah leveled her stare onto JD. He'd be the bigger problem, the boy was a born journalist, questioning everything. "How about you, JD? Can you keep a secret?"
He met her stare then nodded solemnly. "Yes ma'am. But will you be all right? That man in there, he still has a gun."
"Don't worry. I'll be fine."
"Still, we're not going anywhere until we're sure you're safe." Julia wrapped her arm in JD's, standing firm with him.
"All right then, but wait here."
"Want me to call Chief Waverly?"
"No, I want you two to get the hell out of here."
Both jumped at her sharp tone, but Sarah didn't have time for apologies. She crept through the heavy layer of fog and returned to the cabin. She sidled up to the window and peered through it. Sam was lying on the ground, eyes closed. Was he dead?
Her heart stuttered and she realized she couldn't wait. Logan was leaning against a tool bench, legs stretched out before him, his gun ready.
Sarah crouched down and crawled to the door, then stood again, her hand on the knob. She raised her gun. Now or never.
CHAPTER 36
Sam inhaled the wet fragrance of damp earth and fertilizer. The longer he played possum, the more time Sarah would have to escape. Once she was in the clear, it wouldn't matter what happened to him. Sarah and Josh would be safe.
He forced himself to ignore the pain in h
is shoulder and ribs and tried to melt into the packed dirt floor as Logan approached.
"C'mon, I didn't hit you that hard," the FBI agent nudged him with his foot. "Sit up, we have important things to discuss before Easton returns with the car."
Sam debated his options and slowly sat up. Logan lounged against the tool bench across the room from him, between Sam and the door. Fine by Sam, he wasn't looking for a way out, he was looking for a way to stop Logan and Alan before Korsakov arrived.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked, leaning back against the cinder block wall, one hand knuckling his temple as he scoured the tiny space for possible weapons.
A rake and a shovel stood in the corner behind the door. A few hand tools on the bench beside Logan. But on Sam's side of the cabin there was nothing but bags of fertilizer stacked to the ceiling and an overturned galvanized steel bucket. Not a whole lot to work with. He fantasized about throwing the bucket over Logan's head or blinding him with fertilizer, but in the cramped space there was no way Logan would miss him once he began shooting.
"Same as Alan. A way to the Russian's money and a scapegoat once he finds it missing. Seems to me like you might be the key to both."
Sam thought about that. Alan had given him the impression that Logan was working for him, but it seemed Logan had larger ambitions. "You've been in touch with Korsakov?"
"Let's just say that I like to cover my bets. How hard is it to get to the money?"
"Not very." Sam watched as Logan's eyes glittered in the light from the bare bulb over head. "For someone who knows the pass codes. Like me."
Logan pursed his lips. "You stick with me and I'll let your kid and wife live."
"That's the same deal I made with Alan. Why should I trust you more than him?"