Beneath Bone Lake

by Colleen Thompson

  “Keeping both of us in your thoughts? You think those kinds of fucking platitudes are—”

  A beeping interrupted, and to Sam’s astonishment, he realized he had an incoming call on a number he had given no one. On a number he had used but once.

  “—are worth shit,” Paulie finished. “I want answers, that’s all I want, and I fucking know you have ‘em. So where the hell’re you now? You back at the cabin?”

  “I’m heading out of town. I’ve gotta run now, Paulie.” Though he felt horrible about it, Sam cut off his old friend to accept the second call.

  “I’m here,” Sam said, not sure whether to expect Luke or maybe Sybil, if his former partner had given her the number.

  Or for all he knew, it could be the feds calling to let him know they were just outside the cabin and a sniper had his ass in his sights.

  “Sybil warned me to stay out of this, but I talked her into forwarding the information,” Luke told him. “Once I saw what you were tangled up with, there was no way I could let you—listen, Misty Bailey’s cell phone was turned on tonight, and I’ve got a bead on the GPS coordinates. It isn’t far from your house—not far at all, it looks like.”

  Sam scrambled clumsily for a pad and pen among the supplies he had cached earlier. As he forced his stiff fingers to do his bidding, Sam was humbled by the chance his friend had taken, especially with his current family situation. Whether Luke had hacked into a cell phone system or the sheriff’s office computers, he’d taken the kind of risks he normally farmed out to Sybil.

  “Thanks, Luke, and let me copy down that information.”

  “You know, the emergency responders could have gotten the location, too,” Luke assured him. “They’ll be hot to save this kid, or at least to get the guy who murdered one of their own. Every cop on the planet lives for chances like this.”

  “Unless their boss has been paid off to suppress the information.” Sam briefly explained what he had found in Sheriff Wofford’s banking records. “Or worse yet, she could warn the kidnapper somebody’s using Misty’s cell phone.”

  “You can’t go charging into this,” Luke said. “If you need to bypass the sheriff’s department, make an anonymous call to one of the other agencies involved.”

  The risks swarmed in Sam’s head like hornets, from concerns that the information would leak back to the locals to the knowledge that he’d be giving away his own location with the phone call. He weighed them against the lunacy of the only plan he could come up with.

  But time tipped the scales of his decision. His gut told him the killer would learn of the call made from Misty’s phone at any moment. Once he found out, would he destroy it and change locations? Or would he be enraged enough to slaughter the person who had dialed?

  “I need those coordinates,” Sam insisted. “And if you can, go to your computer and plug them into Google Earth. Get me an address or some landmark.”

  Without a GPS device on hand, he’d have to rely on the global mapping software, with its street address layer, to help him find the place. And he’d have to pray that it was close enough to the water’s edge for him to reach by boat.

  “Shit, Sam, you think I’m calling to get you killed? You can’t go charging over there, especially on your own. Sybil spoke to me personally, told me some of the things she’d heard about Best. This psycho will take you apart. Literally. And what’s more, he’ll enjoy the hell out of it. I wouldn’t walk into that with anything less than an army.”

  “Just give me the information, and I’ll call in the cavalry,” Sam promised, eager to get Luke off his back.

  “Who? Who are you going to call on this one? Tell me now, or this conversation’s finished.”

  “The Texas Rangers.” Sam recalled reading somewhere that the legendary law enforcers sometimes investigated sheriff’s department officials accused of corruption. So hopefully, his story would ring true to Luke.

  “You’d better. Because Susan says she misses your visits to the ranch here. Told me to quit my damned pacing around and do what I had to do to help you.”

  Sam smiled, relieved to know both Maddoxes had elected to forgive him. “Thanks, man, and give that gorgeous wife of yours a big hug for me,” he said.

  The two men exchanged information, Luke giving Sam landmarks as well as the phone number of the nearest company of Rangers. Sam, for his part, shared with Luke the password to allow access to his online storage vault, along with instructions on launching the same automated e-mail program he’d used to expose the California-based company that had screwed thousands of its own retirees.

  “Isn’t this the kind of thing that nearly landed your ass in jail the last time?” Luke reminded him. “Come on, McCoy. You ought to know better than anyone that the feds have gotten really good at tracking this kind of—”

  “It’s not going to launch. It’s just a fail-safe, meant for leverage.” He explained his plan to his old partner, with one notable omission.

  “If this comes back on me,” Luke said, “if it ends up hurting my family—”

  “It won’t,” Sam promised, knowing that the signs, the m.o., would all point back to him. And if the program launched, it would mean he’d been killed, after which he wouldn’t give a damn what was said about him.

  It wasn’t as if he had a good name to worry over, or any real familial connections.

  Regretfully, he thought of Aaron’s daughter, his not-quite niece, and his bond with Luke’s family, threads so tenuous and fragile the slightest breeze would break them. And he thought of Ruby Monroe, a connection he had even less right to consider, but one his heart claimed nonetheless.

  “What. Did you do. With the flash drive your friend gave you?” Trembling with rage, Best stood over Ruby Monroe, the extension cord still dangling from his hand.

  With one eye swollen shut, the other fluttered closed as her head drooped to one side. Already injured and still drugged, she’d been in no shape to take a beating. Perhaps in no shape to survive it.

  What on earth had he done, to toss aside his obligations—and all logic—to indulge a fit of temper? Maybe it was coming back here, festering in the same swamp that had spawned him, that had shorn him of his hard-won, carefully crafted composure. But how could he live with himself, fail to deliver on the promise he had given his employer? How could he bear the rest of his life stranded in the realm of shadow?

  “Please.” Tears streamed down Misty Bailey’s dirty face. “Unchain me so I can take care of my sister. If she dies now, what use has this all been? How will you ever find what it is you’re looking for?”

  He stared at her, suspicious but desperate to recover control of the situation…and himself.

  “I can help you,” she said. “I can get her to say what she’s done with—what did you say it was? A flash drive? She’ll tell me if I ask her…as soon as she can speak.”

  Misty yelped, flinching at his sudden movement as he dropped the extension cord and tore off the bedsheet covering her lower body. The horror in her eyes told him she feared he’d rip off her filthy shorts and rape her, that she believed he was no better than the revolting animal he had pulled off her more than once.

  Rather than touching her, Best looked down at her chained ankle, found it red and oozing, badly swollen. If she ran, she wouldn’t get far on it, and besides, he had long since shattered the thin veneer of her courage. Had long since destroyed her capacity for resistance.

  “If I unchain you, and you try to run”—he stared into the depths of her blue eyes—“I will find you and I’ll make you watch me kill them. I know how to make it last a long time. Do you believe me?”

  She nodded, and he saw a woman broken. Broken to his will.

  “Do you?” he roared, coming within inches of her face.

  “Yes, I do believe you, and I promise—”

  “I promise you,” he whispered, warming to the sense of power, of total domination. And feeling the start of an erection that had nothing to do with the lithe body on displa
y before him and everything to do with the weakness he exploited. “I promise you, you’ll be the one to cut the child’s throat, that by the time I offer you that chance, you’ll thank me for giving you the means to silence her screams.”

  “Whatever you want, you will have it,” Misty promised. “Just let me help my sister. And let me help you. Please.”

  Confident of his control, Best went to his bedroom to retrieve a basin of water, a sharp knife, and the keys to the two locks he’d used to secure her.

  Bringing them back out, he told Misty, “You have an hour to extract the information. Exactly one hour before I begin my work.”

  C HAPTER T HIRTY-THREE

  The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.

  —Joseph Conrad

  When Justine’s father arrived and gave her the chance to finally listen to all of her voice mail, Paulie’s Hammett’s grief-soaked fury made her blood run cold. Wincing at the stream of profanity, she disconnected, jumped into her SUV, and started driving toward the South Lake area, heedless of her son’s blood, which had stained her white silk blouse.

  In his present state, Hammett might do anything, say anything to anyone. He was the proverbial loose cannon, his fuse lit by a pain too unspeakable to bear.

  On some level, he must understand that she had nothing to do with Dylan’s death. But in all the years of the younger Hammett’s screwups, there had always been a Wofford there to protect him from the consequences of his actions. Her husband certainly had, allowing Paulie to spirit his son away to rehab rather than forcing him to face charges, and later, after Dylan had redeemed himself, overlooking several complaints about the way he did business.

  So Paulie had felt comfortable, he’d told Justine a few weeks after Lou’s death, keeping a Wofford in office rather than seeing “that hard-ass Savoy” claim the sheriff’s badge. When Paulie had first approached her with an offer of support, she’d thought he and his friends, a handful of the county’s most influential business leaders, only meant to help with the fund-raising. A crawfish boil at Hammett’s on the Lake, perhaps, or at most, a sit-down dinner at the local country club.

  What she hadn’t understood was the meaning of an “offer of support” in a Preston County race, and the shocking ease with which an outsider could be sucked into the area’s influence machine. To complicate matters, Hammett and the others felt certain she must know, since they had “worked closely,” as they put it, with her husband over the course of his six terms.

  By the time Justine understood that her new allies intended to steal the election for her, there had been no way to extricate herself. Not without destroying her own career—possibly even earning jail time—and not without bringing Lou’s own crimes into the public eye.

  So she’d allowed herself to be talked into accepting the unthinkable. Told herself it was for the good of the citizens of Preston County, who would be better off without a sanctimonious prick like Roger Savoy in charge of law enforcement. Once in office, she could change things, let the county’s movers and shakers know her influence was not for sale.

  It had been a hopelessly naive thought, a damned case study of how a public servant fell into corruption.

  “You think you can just accept our help, and then play the Virgin Mary?” Hammett had asked her. “You buck us, it’ll come out, and we both know whose damned name will be splashed all over the headlines. And what’ll happen to that boy of yours when you’re serving your sentence?”

  Justine had consoled herself with the thought that it wasn’t as if these men, Dogwood’s most influential business leaders, expected a whole lot for their money. A “lost” traffic ticket, stepped-up patrols around their properties, personal attention when they or their families were in need.

  But this evening, that unspoken contract had been broken. Hammett thought she’d deliberately blown him off, sending a deputy to break the news to him that his only child had been found dead. And worse yet, she had been the Wofford on duty when the consequences of Dylan’s actions had finally, fatally caught up with him.

  But only minutes away from Hammett’s, a call came over her radio. A report of a 9-1-1 hang-up made from the phone registered to Misty Bailey.

  Lacking the army Luke had suggested, or even access to any weapon other than a utility knife on his belt, Sam had risked placing an anonymous call to the Texas Rangers before returning to the stolen boat. With only moonlight and a more powerful flashlight he’d picked up to guide him, he raced in the direction of a bayou he knew well, a trip that would have taken only twenty minutes in daylight.

  Before setting out, he hesitated, then made another call, this time to information, which he asked to connect him to the main office of the Hook-It-Cook-It Motor Court.

  Opal answered on the sixth ring, her creaky voice tightening when she realized it was he. “That woman—the woman who was with you—Trisha saw him take her. Saw him toss her into his trunk and drive away.”

  Sam’s heart slammed against his sternum. Ruby. “Who did? Who? Did you call and report it?”

  “The car was a dark Mustang—that’s all she knows. And some deputies are here already. They found—they say they’ve found a body in the back of that white car you were driving. Did you kill that man, Sam McCoy? Did I shelter a killer?”

  “No, ma’am. I swear you didn’t,” Sam said. “I’ll explain it all to you as soon as Ruby’s safe.”

  “Trisha found your room’s door kicked in. If you left any valuables, they’re gone now. Except…she found a dog whining near the door.”

  “Hurt?” Sam asked, heart sinking.

  “She’s fine. We have her at the office. At least until we have to leave tomorrow evening.”

  After thanking her, Sam disconnected and started the boat’s motor. Because if Best had Ruby—and undoubtedly both the laptop and the flash drive—Sam couldn’t afford to wait for the Texas Rangers—or to risk finding they’d doubted his anonymous information and called Wofford. He couldn’t sit around or run to save his own hide while the woman he cared for—maybe even loved—was slaughtered with her family.

  He set off at an insane speed, counting on his memory and knowledge of the waterways and praying he wouldn’t smash the boat’s hull against a cypress knee and kill himself before he reached his destination.

  Water wakened Ruby, the lake’s waves rolling over her face as she lay on her back.

  Except this time, the nightmare had a sound track, its dark imagery overlaid with Misty’s voice.

  “You have to wake up, Ruby. You have to talk to me now.”

  More moisture. But Ruby recognized the coolness of a damp cloth touching her face. It touched off a cascade of a pain so overwhelming that her vision dimmed once more.

  Misty grabbed her shoulder, shook her. “No, Ruby, you can’t pass out. There’s no time for that.”

  “Don’t touch—don’t touch me,” Ruby begged. “It hurts. Hurts so much. Let me go back to—”

  “No. Don’t you get it? He’ll kill Zoe. If you don’t tell him about the flash drive, he’s going to cut her into pieces!”

  Ruby’s eyes shot open. Or at least one of them did. She wasn’t even certain she still had a left eye.

  But adrenaline jolted with one last burst of energy, giving her the strength to sit upright on the bed. Only now Misty sat in the chair, festooned with scraps of duct tape. As far as Ruby could see, she was free, and the kidnapper was gone.

  “Tell me,” Misty pleaded. “Tell me before he comes back. What did you do with it, Ruby? We only have a few minutes left before he—”

  “We have to grab Zoe and get out now.”

  “Are you crazy?” Misty demanded. “I can barely walk, and you’re half dead.”

  With a superhuman effort, Ruby struggled to her feet. A wave of nausea rose to meet her, but she forced herself to fight it off, to stagger toward the door that would lead her to her daughter. The room whirled around her head, stars e
xploding in her vision.

  “Just give him what he wants,” Misty whispered furiously. “For once in your life, why can’t you listen to me?”

  Using the doorknob to hold herself upright, Ruby lowered her voice. “Don’t you think I would’ve given him the damned thing if I had it?”

  Though the knob turned, the door merely rattled when she tried to push it open. From the other side, her daughter called, “Mama, did you come to get us? Did you come to get me like you promised?”

  “I’m here, Zoe. I’m here, baby.” With her vision nearly useless, Ruby felt along the door’s seam. Until she found the latch and combination lock that secured it.

  From behind her, Ruby heard a metallic clicking, the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.

  “Perhaps I can help you with that,” came the even more alarming voice. “Let me get that door and bring out your daughter for you.”

  C HAPTER T HIRTY-FOUR

  “What we fear comes to pass more speedily than what we hope.”

  —Publilius Syrus,

  from Moral Sayings

  Emotion overwhelmed Ruby, dropping her to her knees. Relief to see her child, after twelve months and a journey through hell. Fury at the sight of Zoe’s tangled hair and thinness, the terror in her eyes. Love and fear and overwhelming pain, far surpassing the physical agony Ruby had endured.

  She wrapped her bleeding arms around her daughter and kissed the child’s temple. For her part, Zoe cried and shouted at their captor with every scrap of outrage a four-year-old can muster, “You hurt my mom! You’re a very bad man.”

  “Shut up, if you don’t want me hurting her a lot more.” He grabbed Zoe’s arm and pulled her toward him.

  Refusing to let go, Ruby rose to wedge herself between the two, turning her body to force him to let go. He quickly jammed hard metal against her temple. The muzzle of the handgun she’d heard cocked.

  “Do you really want her to watch you die like this?” whispered the man who called himself Best, the man who could only be J. B. McCoy. “Do you want her showered with your brains and bone and blood before I cut her to pieces?”