by Diane Hester
But the news wasn’t all good.
Vanessa watched the cop disappear up the hall then glanced back at the doctor, who was now on the phone. From what she’d overheard they were trying to track down the hospital shrink to see if he could get Corey to talk. Which meant she hadn’t much time to intervene.
With no cops or nurses anywhere in sight, she edged up the hall and into his room.
Holding her breath, she moved towards the bed. The fact he’d bonded with her back at the ‘safe house’ hopefully meant he’d believe her lies now. She stepped into view. The boy’s eyes widened.
‘Oh, sweetheart!’ she whispered, rushing forward and taking his hand. ‘Thank God you’re all right! I was so worried!’
She bent and covered his cheek in kisses. ‘I’m so sorry I sent you away with those men. I had no idea what they were like. Can you forgive me?’
Corey’s initial fear turned to joy. ‘Vanessa!’
‘Shhh, don’t talk.’ She pried her hand from his desperate grip, then reached into her bag for the clothes she’d brought. ‘Here, put these on. Nolan and Tragg are on the way. We have to leave before they get here.’
She helped him dress then led him over to stand near the door as she groped in her bag for the lighter. She tore a page from the chart on his bed, set it alight and waved it beneath the smoke detector. Five seconds later the ward erupted in a wailing alarm. She swung back and lifted Corey in her arms.
Out in the hall the scene was chaos – visitors milling, patients yelling, nurses running. Clutching her prize, Vanessa walked calmly towards the exit.
Shyler staggered across the cabin and laid her burden on the couch. She slid the rifle from her shoulder and set it on the coffee table within easy reach. Not that she expected to have to use it right away. The man was dead – God help me, what have I done? You had to, there was no other choice! – and from what she could see from the tracks near his car, he’d been alone. The others would surely show up eventually but for now, Jesse was safe.
She dropped to her knees and smoothed the hair away from his face, then gently examined his upper body. He didn’t look injured. A scratch on his cheek, bruises forming around his throat, but no major blood loss or broken bones.
He was, however, burning up.
She quickly removed his shoes and socks and lifted his legs up onto the cushions. A moan escaped him.
‘Jesse? Sweetheart, are you hurt?’
When she couldn’t rouse him, she bent and checked his legs more closely, and let out a gasp.
Twenty minutes later she was pacing the cabin. The fire was going, Jesse lay swaddled in a quilt on the couch, his wound washed, disinfected and bandaged. It wasn’t enough. The infection was serious. He needed antibiotics fast.
At the window she scanned the clearing, the woods beyond. No way would she risk taking him to the doctor. If they knew he was injured that’s just where they’d be waiting to grab him. No, the cabin was safe. It always had been. She must keep him here.
She swung round and paced to the opposite wall. She could go and see Doctor Hadley herself but what could she tell him? To say the medicine was for her son would put Jesse in every bit as much danger. Not from Hadley himself necessarily but if he ever mentioned it to anyone else –
With a hand to her head, she turned again. No, that would never work. A doctor wouldn’t give out medicine for a patient he hadn’t seen. And she wasn’t sick or injured herself so she couldn’t pretend the drugs were for her.
Jesse moaned. She rushed to the couch. Before, he’d been shivering; now he was sweating. She drew back the quilt, dipped the washcloth in the bowl of water and draped it gently over his forehead.
She slid her hand down the side of his face and cupped his cheek. ‘Don’t worry, baby. I’ll work it out.’
The bandage encasing her thumb drew her gaze.
Slowly she raised her hand before her and studied the sterile layers of gauze, visualising the wound beneath. The sutures in her thumb were healing nicely, not the slightest hint of infection. But hadn’t Doctor Hadley said, if the cut had been deeper, and not as clean . . .
She swallowed hard. Looked from her hand to the boy lying flushed and feverish before her. Then she pushed to her feet and walked to the kitchen.
Chapter 30
Chase looked up from his computer to the treatment room door. Elaine had left a half hour ago, not long after his last appointment, but he could’ve sworn he’d just heard someone moving around in the outer office.
‘Elaine?’ Had she forgotten something and returned? He pushed his chair back from the desk.
Beyond the door a shadow slid along the far wall. A silhouette too slim to be his receptionist appeared in the doorway, then stepped forward into the treatment room light.
‘Ms O’Neil!’ Stunned, he got to his feet. ‘What – I wasn’t expecting you till next week. We’re actually closed at – Not that it matters, I mean –’
He let out a huff and shook his head. He’d been searching for this woman, thinking about her, casually inquiring of everyone he’d met if they happened to know her, since she’d left his office three days ago. Now here she was standing in front of him and he couldn’t string two sentences together!
‘Please, come in. I’m glad to see you. I hope you haven’t had any problems with –’ His smile faded when he saw her hand. The dressing he’d applied was still intact but above it a filthy blood-soaked rag encased her arm from elbow to wrist. ‘Apparently it’s something else that’s brought you.’
She stood silent, her gaze darting around the room, taking in the corners, flitting to the window, searching the area beyond the treatment table.
‘Ms O’Neil?’
Her attention shot back to him. ‘I’ve had another accident.’ Without hesitation she crossed to the table. In the time it took him to step to her side she’d ripped off the bandage and thrust out her arm.
Chase took the soiled rag from her hand, frowning at the injury revealed. ‘Two lacerations requiring stitches in less than a week. You certainly are having a run of bad luck.’
He tossed the bandage into the bin and noted the feel of dirt on his fingers. Hard to imagine she couldn’t have found something cleaner to use. He started for the sink, then turned back when something caught his eye.
Swinging the lamp down over her arm, he bent to examine the wound more closely. The edges of the six-inch laceration had three distinct notches, suggesting that whatever object had caused it had paused in its track across her flesh.
He felt a sickening chill wash over him. ‘Shyler, how did this happen?’
‘I was cutting some wood and slipped with the saw.’
‘A saw?’
He looked up when she didn’t respond. He’d lapsed and called her by her first name but she hadn’t noticed. Nor had she noted his doubting tone. Her gaze had strayed to the window again. Her pulse was racing, her breathing rapid. She was even more anxious than at her first visit, only this time it seemed about something outside.
With her attention distracted he turned her hand to examine the wrist. Nothing. The skin was free of scars. Partly relieved, he reached for the other hand.
She jerked it away. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor, but I’m in a hurry.’ Her face was only inches from his, her green eyes wide, their pupils dilated despite the glare of the overheads.
‘Shyler, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. My arm, that’s all.’
He lowered his voice. ‘You know I only want to help you, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ She swallowed. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
He held her gaze a moment longer, then, sensing she wouldn’t respond well to pressure, he got to work.
Throughout the procedure she remained distracted, seeming more intent on sounds from outside – a gust of wind, a car going past, the scrabble of dry leaves across the roof – than to any discomfort she might have experienced. He held off on the small talk this time, in part because the procedure dema
nded his full attention but also because he doubted she’d hear it.
Ten stitches and a tetanus shot later he rose from the stool. ‘Shyler, this cut was obviously more extensive than the one to your thumb, and you didn’t manage to keep it as clean. I’d like to give you a course of antibiotics, just to be on the safe side.’
‘Yes, all right.’
He went to the cupboard and dispensed the tablets. When he turned back she was standing by the door.
‘Before you go, there’s one other thing.’ He took up a pen and pad from his desk. ‘It seems you forgot to leave your details with Elaine last time. If you’ll just write them down for me I’d be grateful.’
She glanced towards the door. ‘Doctor, I –’
‘It’ll only take a second. Address and phone number is all I need.’
For a moment he thought she was going to run. Then she took the pen, scrawled some words across the pad and handed them back. After assuring himself he could read her writing he held out the bottle – but didn’t let go when she reached to take it.
Startled, she looked up, their hands overlapped.
‘It’s getting cold out. Would you like a hot drink before you go?’
The offer surprised him as much as her. The urge to detain her had hit him suddenly. If he kept her here he could keep an eye on her, make sure she took the pills he’d given her, see she didn’t have any more accidents, keep her safe from whatever dangers were lurking outside.
But she was already pulling the bottle from his hand, stepping away. ‘I . . . I’m sorry, I forgot to bring something to barter this time. I –’ She stopped, her gaze fixed on something behind him.
Turning around, he saw it was the row of carved wooden figures that lined the shelf behind his desk.
He shrugged and smiled. ‘I’m a fan of your work.’
Chapter 31
It was dusk when she reached her driveway again but beneath the trees it seemed much later. Rounding a bend, her headlights glinted off the stranger’s car standing where it had been when she’d driven out.
She slowed as she neared it. Something was wrong. Something had changed. From her current perspective she ought to have been able to see . . .
But, no, she couldn’t. Not even when she pulled up twenty feet away and shone her beams directly on the spot where he’d fallen.
The body was gone.
Twisting in her seat, she strained to see out into the surrounding gloom. She’d hit him so hard, she was sure she’d killed him. Where could he be? Was someone else here? Had they dragged him away?
A sudden thought snapped her gaze towards the cabin. Was that person right now inside her home, intent on finishing what his partner had started?
She unclipped her belt and reached for the rifle on the seat beside her. Even as her fingers closed on its barrel her door flew open. Hands thrust in, grabbed for her throat.
He pushed her back. She tore at his arms, struck at his face, but his grip was relentless. Forced sideways, she groped the seat again. The rifle was gone, knocked to the floor.
She stamped with her foot, hit the accelerator. The car shot forward, churning wheels throwing up rocks and debris.
Incredibly the man held on. But the force he exerted as he hung from her neck, legs dragging, threatened to wrench her from the seat. She yanked the wheel, turning the car to sideswipe a bush. With a final shout, the man fell away.
Shyler sped on. She drove around to the front of the cabin, threw wide her door, found the rifle and jumped from the car. By the time she’d cleared the side of the porch all she could see of her attacker was his car’s tail lights disappearing down her driveway.
The rifle trembled in her hands as she stood gasping. Her heart was a time bomb inside her chest. Had he really left? Had he called for help while she’d been gone? Was someone else here?
‘Well, well, look who it is.’
She spun at the sound of the voice from behind her. No one was there. They’d sounded so close. How could the person have vanished so –
‘Some mother you are.’
A different voice. Yet somehow familiar, as the other had been. She swivelled again, but again there was no one.
She raised the rifle and stepped towards the woods. ‘Where are you? Show yourselves.’
‘Here.’
She swung back.
All at once they were standing around her. Scarecrow with his flaxen hair, Beret, Snake, Puppet with his twitching hands . . .
‘Where’s Jesse? What have you done to him?’
Fish Hook jerked his head towards the cabin, ignoring the rifle she aimed at his chest. ‘Didn’t look after him very well, did you?’
‘What do you mean didn’t?’
‘What kinda mom leaves her sick kid alone?’ Scarecrow leered.
‘I went to get medicine.’
‘Ain’t gonna do him much good now,’ Puppet whispered across her shoulder.
She whirled to face him. ‘No. You’re lying.’
‘Getting it off with the doctor, were you?’ Fish Hook bent closer. ‘You liked those big strong hands of his, didn’t you? The way he touched you, pretended to care.’
She bowed her head, squeezed shut her eyes. No. No.
‘Been a while, hasn’t it? Yeah, we know. And I’m sure the kid would’ve understood. If only you’d got back in time to explain it to him.’
‘No! You’re lying!’
Pushing past them, she ran for the cabin. She charged up the steps, burst through the door, then fell against it, slamming it shut.
A small still figure lay on the couch. She flew to his side, dropped to her knees and placed her hand on his smooth, dry, over-heated brow.
A sob clawed its way up her throat. Hot, not cold. Jesse was alive.
She jumped up again and raced to the window. Not the slightest movement or deeper shadow disturbed the near-total darkness outside. Fish Hook and his gang were gone.
If they’d ever been there at all.
Nolan stumbled through his cabin’s back door, head screaming, vision blurred. It was a miracle he hadn’t killed himself driving back. Several times he’d veered off the road, twice to the shoulder, once into the oncoming lane. Thank God this hick town had so few people there hadn’t been anyone coming the other way.
He groped to the kitchen and hunched over the sink. Judging by how dark it had been when he’d woken, he’d lain unconscious on the forest floor for several hours. Only moments after he’d pushed to his feet, he’d spotted headlights coming through the trees, giving him the seconds he needed to hide. But when the woman had pulled up right in front of him, he’d lunged at her car with one thought in mind – to snap the fucking bitch’s neck.
But even that had been too much for him. After she’d scraped him off her car it had been all he could do to get back into his own and drive away. He knew what Tragg would say of his efforts but there was just no way he could deal with the bitch in his present condition. Especially seeing as she had a rifle and he was unarmed.
He turned and stumbled into the bathroom. Light hurt his eyes but he needed to survey the damage. Bracing himself, he flicked the switch.
A rivulet of blood streaked his face from scalp to chin. Gingerly he probed for the source, wincing when his fingers touched an egg-sized lump in the centre of his crown. He wet a washcloth, swiped at his face, then staggered out again.
Somehow he ended up in the living area. He eased himself down onto the couch, lay back and closed his eyes. He had to rest. Just for a while. Just until the room stopped spinning. Then he’d work out what to do next.
Chapter 32
The sudden jolt of her head lolling forward snapped Shyler from her doze. Instantly alert, she looked around. The cabin was quiet, the room lit only by the gentle glow of the hurricane lamp beside the couch. An occasional crack and sputter from the fire was all that disturbed the pre-dawn stillness.
She checked the clock above the hearth. Four twenty-five. She hadn’t been dozing for mo
re than a few minutes but she couldn’t risk nodding off again. She got up, threw another log on the fire and walked to one of the windows that faced the front porch.
The full moon’s light revealed not a single unfamiliar shape in the clearing outside – no figures, no movement. Were they hiding further back in the trees where the light couldn’t reach? Somehow she sensed the answer was no. They weren’t here yet, but they were coming. Soon. Probably when it got a bit lighter.
She looked at the rifle in her hands and felt sick. A single weapon. Against all of them. It would never be enough. They’d encircle the cabin, create a diversion, attack from one side to draw her attention. And while she was busy defending that front, one of them would sneak in and –
She turned to Jesse asleep on the couch. Maybe she should take him away after all. Someplace where they’d never be found. But was he well enough? His fever hadn’t broken yet. Could she risk taking him out in the cold?
She let the curtain fall back and went to him. Even from several paces away she could hear the difference in his breathing – deeper and steadier than it had been all night. She bent and lay her hand on his brow. It might only be her imagination but his skin seemed cooler.
She stood gazing down at him, her heart constricting. Her beautiful boy – how big he was growing. Those almond-shaped eyes with their long dark lashes. Those glorious dark curls – wildly untidy at the moment, of course, but then he was sick. As soon as he was well again she’d brush out the tangles. As soon as they were safe . . .
The thought went crashing around her head. She clutched the rifle to her chest. One weapon. Against all of them. Never enough. But there were other alternatives to guns. Ways to level the odds a bit. Eliminate as many of them as possible, before they even reached the cabin. Yes, there were ways.
With a final look at the sleeping boy she went to the door. She watched through its window, assuring herself as much as possible no one was there. Then she slipped out and closed it silently behind her.