Blind Faith

by CJ Lyons

  Sam pressed the binoculars into the flesh of his face as if they would provide some way for him to be miraculously transported from his hiding place down to the drive. He wished he had kept his gun. If he had, this would all be over now.

  A blur of motion from the back of Sarah's house caught his eye. He moved his binoculars and saw her racing across the yard and up into the woods. No one followed her although another woman appeared on the back porch a few moments later.

  What the hell was going on? He pivoted and aimed his focus back toward the drive. Korsakov hadn't moved, didn't act as if he had heard or seen anything.

  Sam cursed silently. He grabbed his pack and sprinted through the trees to catch Sarah.

  He intercepted her just as she hit the trail leading down to the dam. "Sarah! Stop!"

  She spun around, her sides heaving with effort. She carried nothing with her, wore only regular sneakers, not her hiking boots.

  "Where are you going? Why are you running?" He drew close and wrapped his arms around her. "What happened?"

  She shoved him back. "They think I killed Leo Richland."

  "Who does?"

  "The FBI. They were going to arrest me. That would have messed up everything, so I hit her and ran." She began jogging down the trail.

  "Wait, where are you going?"

  "To find Logan. If we don't keep our end of the bargain, he'll kill Josh."

  "We've got worse problems than Logan. Come with me." He led her back to the ridge where he'd been spying on her house. "Look through there."

  She took the binoculars he handed her and stared through them. "There's a man standing by my car. He's talking with Caitlyn." She paused. "Caitlyn looks angry—no, scared. She's backing away."

  He wanted to wrench the binoculars from her, to watch for himself, but he didn't. She paused, her fingers clenched around the binoculars. "She's getting in her car. He's letting her go." She moved her head, following the man's progress. "He's going into the house."

  She lowered the binoculars and turned to Sam. "Who is that? What does he want?"

  "That's Grigory Korsakov. He wants to kill me. And you."

  CHAPTER 45

  "How did you find me?" Sarah asked as Sam led her to his cave.

  "I ran into those kids—JD and Julia. They gave me a cell phone and called me when you left the police station. I've been watching for Alan and Logan, thought we could settle things before Korsakov got here."

  "Too late now."

  "Yeah. Look on the bright side. If he thinks Alan and Logan have betrayed him, he'll kill them for us."

  "Great, so we'll have one psychopathic killer on our trail instead of three."

  "Maybe they'll all kill each other."

  They stopped at a large boulder angled away from a limestone outcropping. "I showed you this place," Sarah said as he threw his pack into the crevice behind the boulder.

  "It's come in handy over the years." His voice was grim.

  "What are we going to do?" she asked him.

  He looked past her, down the mountain towards the town. "We can't go through town. Korsakov is sure to have the road blocked." He paused. "You go up to the Colonel's cabin, get my truck and go get Josh. I called my landlady, she's taking him to a motel outside of Montreal."

  "And you'll be?"

  He rubbed at his side, turned away from her. "I'll create a distraction. Give you time. Go down there and give them what they want. Me."

  She was shaking her head before he even had a chance to finish. "No. We've already covered this. I'm not going to tell Josh his father is dead. I can't put him through that."

  "So we're back to square one. You want me to call Hal? Maybe he can get reinforcements?" His tone revealed his doubt that Hal and his small force could take on the Russian mobster.

  Sarah had other doubts. "Caitlyn thinks Hal was bribed to frame Damian Wright for your murder. Thinks maybe he was involved from the start."

  He tensed. "It would explain a lot. But where does that leave us?"

  She raised her head, nodded up the mountain. "Looks like the only way out is up. We'll climb the mountain, get your truck, go after Josh."

  "We can't. Not with three killers and their hired guns trailing us."

  "What do you want to do? Meet Logan like we agreed, let him take care of the rest?"

  He wouldn't meet her gaze. "I don't trust him, but it would get you and Josh out of the line of fire."

  "There's no time to argue. Grab your stuff and let's go."

  Grigory inhaled deeply. Sarah Durandt's house smelled like a woman. Soft and comfortable, no sharp edges. He ran his fingertips across the chenille blanket that draped the back of an overstuffed chair and imagined how the house would smell when he was done with her. That delicious scent of sweat and terror.

  He wasn't solely a visual artist, he enjoyed evoking all of the senses during his entertainments.

  The mess in the kitchen puzzled him. Two mugs, one shattered in the sink, two plates…so Manassas Red hadn't been here alone. She'd lied to him.

  He took his time wandering through the house, peering into private nooks and crannies, absorbing the essence of the woman who lived here. By the time Max returned, he was lounging on Sarah Durandt's couch, leafing through a family photo album. Happy people, laughing people, beautiful people all caught, timeless.

  Once he got his hands on Sarah Durandt, she'd never be happy, laughing or beautiful again. Not when he was through with her.

  "The lady went down the road a mile or so, turned into another house. Name on the mailbox was Waverly," Max reported after clumping into Sarah's house, destroying the blissful silence.

  Grigory merely nodded at Max's words. "The fascinating lady from Virginia lied to me. She wasn't afraid, yet she also asked no questions. As if she already had the answers."

  "I'll check her out. Not like she can go far if we want her back again. Not with Alexi blocking the road."

  That coaxed a smile from Grigory. Alexi was a wizard with a sniper rifle, would stop anyone trying to flee from Hopewell.

  The pale redhead with the creamy smooth skin and the husky voice…he imagined her screams intertwined with Sarah's. A symphony of horror.

  "Waverly. That's the sheriff's name, isn't it?"

  "Chief of police. Yeah. Think she's a cop?"

  "A Virginia cop who just happens to be visiting a small town police chief the same day I arrive?"

  Max was good at getting things done, but sometimes he missed the big picture. Grigory held his hands up as if composing a portrait. The big picture was what he was all about. Most people never realized they were mere points of light on the universe's canvas, but Grigory knew that. More, he knew he had the power to indelibly change that canvas, to draw his own portrait by pulling enough anonymous dots into his control.

  Grigory was destined for great things, to leave his mark on the world, on history. Just as his grandfather had. Just as Stalin had. A mark the color of blood and terror, a mark forever etched into the stories passed from one generation to the next. Grigory's story would be his ticket to immortality.

  Max fidgeted, uncomfortable as Grigory's thumbs and index fingers framed him. "You okay, boss?"

  A lazy smile widened Grigory's mouth. "I'm fine. Fine and dandy. I think I understand why I'm here, what I'm meant to do."

  "Uh, I thought you wanted to grab the girl, find out where Stan hid the money he stole from you," Max said as if uncertain of Grigory's mental capacity. Then he jerked his body away from Grigory's piercing stare and gestured at an array of photos lining the walls and fireplace mantle. "There's Sarah. Hey look, it's the old man from the diner. Looks like he's her father. That might come in handy."

  "Definitely."

  "Cute kid, though."

  "Very cute," Grigory allowed, stroking one finger along the image of Stan holding a bright-eyed toddler. "You remember that night we went driving on Mulholland? When Alexi clipped the dog and Stan jumped out, trying to save it?"

  "Yeah. Po
uring rain, mud sliding all around, cars skidding—Stan almost got killed. All for a mutt who ended up dying anyway."

  "All for a mutt." Grigory inspected the other photos of the happy family. Noted the gleam in Stan's eyes, the way he never looked at the camera, instead remained constantly focused on his family. As if they were the center of his universe. "Logan said Alan came here right after Stan and the kid were killed."

  "Guess he wanted to see if the missus knew anything about the money Stan stole."

  "What if Stan isn't dead? What if he knew Alan was getting close, took the kid and ran?"

  "Gutsy move. Why leave the wife behind? They sure do look happy."

  "Maybe he had no choice, no time." Grigory tapped his finger on the glass right over Sarah Durandt's pretty, heart-shaped face. "And now his luck has run out."

  "You think he'll come back? Now that he knows you're looking for him—it would be suicide."

  "The man already died once, what's he care?" Grigory laughed at the thought, the noise scraping past his throat. It'd been a long time since he'd laughed, a longer time since he saw anything as humorous. "Logan said he got here as soon as he heard Stan was here, then he and Alan both conveniently call to let me know they're doing their best to find my money—do they think I'm that stupid? That I don't know betrayal when I hear it?"

  Max flinched at the sharp edge in Grigory's voice. "We'll get them too, Grigory. Don't worry, we'll get everyone."

  "My family has disowned me, my people have betrayed me—everyone in this town is guilty, they all hid what was rightfully mine! She," he swept his arm across the mantle, dashing the photos to the floor where they shattered, Sarah's face smiling up at him through glass shards, mocking him, "she married the bastard who did this to me, she bore him a son."

  "Grigory, calm down. You know me and Alexi are here for you, man. Just tell us what you need us to do and we'll do it."

  "I need," his breath snagged in his throat, burning, "my cameras. Let's get out of here. We're going to start a new project. I'm going to title it: Death of a Treacherous Town."

  "All right then, JD," the Colonel said once they reached the clearing, "what did you need help with?"

  JD walked around the clearing, peering into the forest and over the ledge on the far side. No signs of anyone. "Sam?" he called quietly, his voice echoing through the trees. "Sam, you there?"

  The Colonel marched over and grabbed him by the arm. "What's going on? You know this is the place where Sam and my grandson...What kind of game is this? Answer me!"

  The old man's face was scarlet with fury and his voice made JD jump. "No game. Honest, Colonel. Sam's alive and so is your grandson. I saw him this morning."

  The Colonel's grip tightened like a tourniquet. As he stared into JD's eyes, JD knew what it would be like to face a firing squad. Then the Colonel let go. "Tell me everything."

  JD gave him a quick run down of what he and Julia had seen. "Julia's watching Mrs. D at her house, just like Sam asked us to."

  "So Sarah knows?"

  "Yes sir." The Colonel frowned then began to jog down the path towards Mrs. Durandt's house. "But sir. What about Sam?"

  "Face it, boy. There's no one here. Which means either they got Sam or they got to him. Maybe through Sarah."

  "But Julia, she's at Sarah's house." JD broke into a panicked sprint, passing the Colonel as he raced down the mountain. He stayed on the path, past Mrs. D's house until he hit Lake Road. Then he turned and ran to the clearing across from Mrs. D's driveway where he'd left Julia eating the lunch he'd brought her from the Rockslide.

  Their bikes were still both there. His cell phone that he'd lent Julia was lying on the ground, open and on. The towel she'd been using as a tablecloth was crumpled up and muddy as if someone had dragged it and the food that was on it through the bushes. On one edge a large, muddy footprint was imprinted. Much too large to be Julia's.

  JD's heart slammed into his throat, threatening to choke him. Pounding footsteps down the gravel drive signaled the Colonel's arrival. "Sarah's gone."

  "They got Julia," JD said, his voice cracking. "They took her."

  "C'mon. We need to get Hal and his men working on this."

  JD shook his head. "Sam said not to tell Chief Waverly. Said the bad guys would know." His eyes burned with tears. He blinked furiously, refusing to give in to the feeling that this was all his fault.

  "We can't handle this alone. We need to get the police involved. Now."

  The Colonel's barked order broke through JD's shock. He glanced around the clearing one final time, hoping he'd see Julia, her familiar, beautiful smile in place, returning with a great story of how she'd outwitted the bad guys.

  But the clearing remained empty. No Julia. No one except one frightened teenager and one scared old man, both trying to pretend everything was going to be all right.

  CHAPTER 46

  "Hal?" Caitlyn shouted again, her voice echoing through his house. Still no answer. When she'd called him, asked to meet, he'd said he'd be home.

  She walked down the hallway, gun drawn and ready, feeling dirty for suspecting him, dirty for allowing him to get so close to her. God, she'd almost slept with a man she now believed was involved with a murder.

  The kitchen and living room were empty. The hallway had three doors. One open to an empty bathroom. At the far end, another door was closed, but the second door in the hallway was ajar. Hal's bedroom, empty. After clearing it, she stepped into the final room, her gun sweeping from one side to the other. No one.

  Thick curtains pulled tight over the only window. There were dark smudges on the wall forming drawings and some sort of words in a strange language. She turned on the light and stepped closer. The words had been drawn in blood.

  The only furniture in the room was a card table covered with maps, a bureau, and an old brass frame twin bed. On top of the bureau lay an antique gilded hand mirror. Odd for a man to have, she thought as she traced a finger across its surface. A fine, white powder coated her fingertip.

  Shit. That explained a lot. Like why she'd been jittery, irritable all day, the way she'd jumped him last night, her inability to concentrate or stay still. She brushed the finger onto her jeans. Not heroin, probably not cocaine—the effects had lasted too long. Meth. He'd dumped methamphetamine into her drink last night.

  No, it had been in his drink. The powder he used for his coffee instead of sugar.

  She turned to the maps on the makeshift desk. They were topographic maps of Snakehead Mountain with detailed areas of the area around the dam and the water falls. Four places were circled in red.

  "I see you found my project."

  Caitlyn jumped at the sound of Hal's voice. How the hell had he managed to sneak up on her like that? Then she saw the open closet door behind him. In his hand was his Glock. Aimed at her.

  "Drop your gun and step away from it, Caitlyn," he ordered as he locked the door behind him.

  She hesitated, debating on a course of action. But there really was no choice. Obey or take a bullet in the face. She bent down, lowered the gun to the floor.

  She didn't move away, hoping for a chance to regain her weapon. The only other potential weapon in the room was the mirror.

  "How long have you been using?" she asked, nodding at the mirror.

  "Since before Lily died. I used to have to lock her in here when things got too bad." He grabbed her arm, pushed her toward the bed. "We had hospice workers for a while, but once the insurance ran out, so did they. I had to keep working, had already taken too much time off. And Lily—sometimes the pain would be so bad it'd drive her to hurt herself." He shoved Caitlyn onto the bed. Too late she spotted the handcuffs fastened to the railing at the edge of the mattress.

  Now she fought. She rammed a knee into his groin. He grunted and gave her the few inches she needed. She broke free and raced to the window, her only escape. She jerked away the heavy velvet curtains. And came face to face with a wall of plywood.

  "Lily tried to jump th
rough it," Hal explained in a gentle voice as he fastened his hand around her wrist, crushing her bones together. He held the gun to her head. "Lie down on the bed, Caitlyn. We've a while before it's time."

  "Time for what?" she asked, stalling, doing anything to prevent being chained helpless to the bed.

  He pushed her down and in one swift motion handcuffed one wrist above her head to the metal bar. Then he knelt on top of her, holstered his gun and reached for her other hand. Caitlyn struck out, aiming at his eyes. His laughter mocked her as he dodged her with a practiced move and grabbed her arm. The handcuffs ratcheted shut, clamping around her wrist.

  "Lily used to fight too. Some nights she'd howl and scream like a banshee," he whispered as he stretched his body out over top of Caitlyn's, his face angled away from her mouth so she couldn't bite him. "All I could do was lie here like this, let her know I was still here, that I loved her no matter what. Course, I wasn't getting much sleep and I still had to work, so I took some meth I'd confiscated from a trucker. It did the trick. I saved it for the really bad nights, but it got to the point where I was actually hoping Lily would have one of her spells. That way I'd have an excuse to use some more."

  He paused. Caitlyn squirmed beneath his weight, trying her best to throw him off of her. His breath was hot against her neck. "Those nights after I had her restrained, we'd make love. Over and over again. It helped get rid of some of her bad energy, like an exorcism of sorts. After, she'd talk, tell me the same story every time. Did you know that Ahweyoh means 'Lily' in Iroquois? Lily loved that story, dreamed of it. Used to say I was her Thundergod."

  Caitlyn felt his erection prod her stomach. She recoiled in disgust and held very still, hoping not to provoke him.

  "Last night," she swallowed hard, wishing she could block out the memory of last night, "you said you cared about me. That you wanted to help me."

  He raised up on his elbows, looking down at her with that Huckleberry Finn look of earnest innocence. Except his eyes now gleamed like a mad man's. How could she have missed the signs? His rapid mood changes, disjointed thoughts, dilated pupils, constant fidgeting? She'd been so vain—thought it was sexual attraction that had him so distracted.