Expired Refuge

by Lisa Phillips

  Conroy shrugged.

  “Me and Tate?” She shook her head. “No way.”

  Conroy said nothing, even though it was tempting to point out that she might be protesting a little too much.

  His phone rang. He tapped the screen to answer Tate’s call. “Where are we headed?”

  “The campground at Makewitch.”

  Conroy followed him all the way there, until Tate pulled over into a small parking area. They were two miles west of the lake, in an area where one of four state-run campgrounds were. This one was the most accessible, with cabins that could be rented as well as hook ups for water and power, and spots that had no utilities. This was also the only campground that had WiFi, plus a building with bathrooms and even shower stalls.

  It was popular with all kinds of people for all kinds of reasons. And the subject of frequent drive-bys for the on-duty patrol officers during the on-season. Which this was not.

  “Cabin four.”

  “And you know this,” Wilcox said, “because how?”

  Tate’s lips curled up, and he leaned his hip against the hood of his car. “Need to know.”

  Conroy figured that was because of his contact. “Let’s go.” He led the way, and they circled to the cabin, staying away from the front path and the drive. “Wilcox, take the back door.”

  “Copy.” She wandered left, headed for the back.

  Conroy lifted up and looked in a window. “Two rooms?”

  “Technically three, since there’s a living room within the kitchen area. Bathroom. Bedroom.” Tate leaned against the wall beside him. Gun out. “He in there?”

  Conroy said, “Can’t see much.” The windows were dirty, smudged. The whole area smelled like someone had a fire blazing in their fireplace. Wood stove in one of the cabins, maybe. “Did your intel say she was here? Or Rich, or just Stiles?”

  “Stiles had this pegged as an alternate location. And since you blew his primary, I’m guessing he’s already here, or will be.”

  “I was going to sit on that rental house and wait for him to show up, but then Garrett started following her and we left to respond.”

  Did Stiles have somewhere else picked out to kill Mia?

  Like a desolate spot in the woods where he could leave her, barely covered by dirt, for animals to find. Before a hiker eventually stumbled upon her body.

  “You with me?”

  He ignored Tate’s question and headed for the front door. “Let’s go.” It was unlocked. Conroy stepped in. “Cold in here.”

  “Any sign of him?”

  He didn’t get the chance to answer Tate’s question before Wilcox joined them. “Clear.”

  Conroy nodded. Then he spotted a flash of headlights outside. “Down.”

  They all crouched. The car slowed. Conroy watched out the windows.

  “Is it him?” Wilcox asked.

  “Not sure.” He stared, trying to make his eyes work beyond their ability. Surely if he kept looking, he would be able to make out the driver’s features.

  Tate said, “Front door is open.”

  They’d left it like that.

  Conroy moved to it and looked out. He could see from there, enough to know the driver’s identity.

  “Anthony Stiles.”

  He stepped outside, gun first. Stiles hit the gas, spraying gravel as he drove away. Conroy took off running after him.

  A dark-haired woman sat up in the backseat.

  She put a hand to the back windshield.

  “Mia.”

  Thirty

  The engine revved.

  “Conroy!” Mia screamed his name.

  Anthony Stiles swung the car around a corner, headed for the exit. Laughing. Mia’s body flung to the left and she hit the door, crying out.

  That was why he’d gotten her out of the trunk. To begin the torment.

  “Conroy.” She whimpered his name.

  Where was her dad? How was Conroy going to find either of them? She’d looked for the rear license plate when he’d hauled her from the trunk. This car didn’t have one.

  It hadn’t made sense when he shoved her in the backseat. Then he’d sliced the side of her leg. A deep cut that seeped blood all over her pants and the seat underneath her. Now it was clear he wanted her close so he could start messing with her.

  Bile rose in Mia’s throat. She swallowed it back but couldn’t help the sob that escaped.

  She reared up and grabbed for Stiles’s shoulder as he drove.

  Anthony twisted in his seat. The car swerved. He uttered some choice words and shoved her grip from his jacket. His fingers bit into hers, and she cried out.

  Mia pulled her hand back. Shifting on the seat only aggravated the wound on her leg, and she couldn’t hold back a cry.

  Stiles just laughed.

  Drove.

  She looked back. No one was behind them. Conroy hadn’t followed, and he wasn’t coming.

  He would never find her now.

  Meena and Ed had taken her gun and her badge. Stiles had taken her will.

  And next, he was going to take her life.

  “Where is my father?”

  He just laughed some more.

  Mia collapsed against the seat, tempted to lose hope.

  No. Things were bad, but she wasn’t going down without a fight. She wanted to see her father. She wanted to tell Conroy that holding a grudge for what he hadn’t been able to prevent was stupid. For years, she’d been nothing but a bitter, stupid girl. Blaming him for something that wasn’t his fault.

  Now she was a woman who needed to set those feelings aside. She needed to trust God and His justice. Trust His plan—the one that had brought her back to Conroy so she could see how she’d been wrong. So that she could find, in Conroy, something else.

  Affection.

  Care.

  Maybe even love.

  Those childish feelings, the crush she’d had years ago, had been warped with bitterness and grief. Suddenly it was growing and distilling into something more. She needed Conroy. Not just because she thought she might not be able to get out of this without his help. No, it was more than that.

  He was the first person in her life—besides her dad, or God—who had looked at her and seen something of value. He’d chased the car until Stiles got too far away. He’d come after her. Determined to fight for her.

  She had to put the hate aside. All the pain over her sister’s death. “I know what it feels like.”

  Stiles said nothing. He just kept driving.

  “Ed Summers killed my sister.”

  Mia looked at the car’s back doors. The one closest to her was unlocked. She waited until he slowed for a corner and reached for the handle. Tugged on it.

  Nothing happened.

  He’d flipped the child lock. She had to get into the front seat if she was going to get out.

  She continued the conversation as though nothing happened. “Because of what he did to me.”

  Stiles spoke then. “You should have killed him while you had the chance. After today, you’ll never have another shot at doing anything.”

  The words that had been in her mind and on the tip of her tongue suddenly evaporated.

  He was going to kill her.

  Knowing didn’t make it any better. She would rather have not known, considering that meant she wouldn’t have to be processing it right now. “I want to see my dad.”

  “And I should give you what you want?”

  “Everyone gets a last request, right?” She tried to sound brave, but he already knew she was scared out of her mind.

  She’d been wrong thinking Thompson Stiles was the evil one. His brother, Anthony? The look she had seen in his eyes had been pure evil. There was not one good thing in him. Only the will to kill. This time as recompense for her killing his brother. But after this, would he even need a reason? He would know that he could truly do whatever he wanted. No consequences.

  Once he killed her, it would mean the death of his soul.


  Mia would be a sorry tale in the history of a murderer who killed without conscience. Nothing but a footnote, given how few people actually cared about her.

  She sucked in a breath and screamed. “I want to see my dad!”

  He laughed. “Where do you think we’re going?”

  Stiles pulled the car over. Mia looked out at the deserted street; only a few houses. No one around this late at night except a cop car she spotted, parked down the street. He grabbed something from the front seat and got out, slamming the door. Mia started. She watched him move nonchalantly down the street, making his way to the police vehicle.

  She moved then. Gritted her teeth and scrambled over the center console. Her foot got stuck, but she ignored it in favor of grabbing for the door handle. The unlocked door.

  Her fingertips touched the handle.

  The door lock clicked down.

  Headlights flashed, and the car horn sounded a short beep. She pulled at the handle anyway, even though she knew what had just happened. He’d locked the car. Down the street, Stiles pocketed the keys.

  She was locked in.

  Mia tried to flip the lock, and pull the handle, but nothing happened.

  He approached a police car. She didn’t know what the cop was doing on this street, just sitting parked on a regular residential neighborhood. Used to be a place families lived. In the eighth grade her friend lived in the blue house behind her, and they’d hang out there after school. Suddenly those lazy afternoons felt like a lifetime ago.

  The officer opened the door.

  Stiles closed in before the cop could even get out.

  “No. Don’t—”

  She saw the flash of a gunshot in the car’s interior. Stiles shut the door and headed back to her while she sat, frozen.

  He pulled the door open and saw her straddling the center console. Teeth glinted in the dark. A smile?

  She pushed off the seats and slumped into the back.

  “Want some of that, or you want to see your dad?”

  “Where is he?”

  Stiles climbed in. He turned the car on and pulled into the driveway of the house the cop had been parked in front of.

  “You killed him.”

  He yanked her out, leaving the car in the drive. Plain view was good. Someone would see. Conroy would come.

  “You brought me to a place the police know about.” She dragged her feet. “Someone will come.” The officer had to check in, right? He’d miss the call and another cop would come looking.

  “My guess?” he said. “We have about six hours until shift change and even more time before the questions start. Plenty of time.”

  Fear swelled in her. “Where is my dad?”

  He shoved her against the side of the car and moved to the trunk, clicking a button on the key fob. The trunk popped up.

  Her dad.

  He’d been back there the whole time. Shoved there after she was moved to the back seat? She had to have been unconscious at the time, or she’d have seen him.

  Mia launched herself at Stiles, stumbling as she put weight on her injured leg.

  He pulled his gun. She stopped short. He said, “Get him inside.”

  Her dad was awake. He could walk, but not without leaning a considerable amount of weight on her. She helped him inside.

  Stiles should just kill them right now, but there was no way she would be the one to point out that the longer he waited, the more likely his elaborate plan would fail. And surely not when that meant she and her father would be murdered any second now. If she kept playing along, she might be able to fight him. Get out of here. Or Conroy could find her—one of his people would come looking for his officer and realize where she was.

  Hope rose in her again, and she thanked God for that gift. Even in the middle of all this, there was still hope of a way out. God always made a way out.

  “Put him in the bedroom.”

  She walked her dad in that direction, teeth gritted against the pain in her leg, and found the bedroom. Her arm across her dad’s back was damp from his shirt. Stiles came up behind them and flipped the light on. Her dad grunted. She helped him sit on the bed.

  Stiles kicked at the back of her knee. She crumpled to the floor, crying out. He slammed the door shut and she could hear him chuckling as he walked down the hallway. Mia rolled to her back and sat up. She scrambled to her dad and winced. He’d been beaten, badly. She sat beside him, and they hugged loosely.

  He sucked in a sharp breath.

  She pulled back. “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” His voice was gravel shifting against more gravel.

  “What did he do?”

  Her dad grunted. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does. We have to turn on him, together. As soon as he comes back.”

  “Tried.” He shifted. The pale color of his face worried her. Then he lifted the side of his shirt, and she saw the blood on his back. That wet which had been against her arm.

  She gasped. “Dad!”

  “He cut me.” His eyes crinkled, and he winced at the pain. “Like that.” He motioned to her leg.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Slow leak. You’ll run out. Eventually.”

  She didn’t really understand but got the gist of what he was saying. They didn’t have a whole lot of time.

  He needed rest. She helped him lie down. Teaming up to fight off Stiles wasn’t going to happen. No matter how much rest her dad got, he wasn’t going to be able to rally. He would only fade away.

  Mia shook a pillow out of its case, balled the material up and pushed it on the wound. “Hold that there. I’ll take care of Stiles, and then we’ll get out of here.”

  Mia got up. She moved to stand behind the door. As soon as he came in, she could fight him. Do something. She had to, because the alternative was as good as lying down and waiting for death to come. That would only occur when she had no strength left.

  “Conroy will come.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t wait for that. Not when Stiles plans to kill us.”

  “Slowly.”

  “What?”

  “He said he was going to kill me and make you watch. Then he was going to torture you until you begged him to kill you, too.”

  “He thinks I’ll beg?”

  She thought that was entirely possible. If he pushed her far enough, and the pain was great enough, Mia thought she just might scream for death.

  But she was never going to let her father know that. If it came to it, he wouldn’t be here to witness it anyway.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Not happening.”

  She huddled against the wall. Waiting.

  Stiles came in. She held her breath, then lifted her good leg and kicked at the door with as much strength and all the frustration she could pull together. A scream escaped.

  Stiles got trapped between the door and the frame, grunting in surprise. She shoved at the door again. He shoved back.

  It nearly hit her in the face.

  Mia stumbled backward. Her leg gave out, and she hit the wall.

  Stiles set a camera on a tripod in the corner. “Good. I like a little fight. It’ll make the video of me torturing you that much more interesting when I watch it later.”

  He lifted the gun in his other hand and squared his aim.

  Then he pulled the trigger.

  Mia screamed.

  Thirty-one

  Conroy gripped his keys. “How did you get the intel about this house?”

  They were still there, at the campground, despite the fact Anthony Stiles had driven off with Mia in the back seat almost half an hour ago. He’d called in the description immediately. Nearly every one of his officers on the street tonight was looking for that car, which had allowed them to stay at the campground to go through the house. Thoroughly. They couldn’t risk missing something that could lead them to where Stiles was going.

  Where he had taken Mia.

  Where, presumably, he was
keeping Rich now. If the man wasn’t already dead.

  Conroy gritted his teeth, still waiting for Tate to answer the question.

  “Anonymous tip.”

  Wilcox looked about as impressed as Conroy.

  “That’s it?”

  Tate lifted both hands. “Chill, okay?”

  “You want me to chill?”

  “You don’t think I’m as worried for her as you are?”

  “No,” Conroy said. “I don’t think that.”

  “Well, I am.”

  Conroy just stared. “I’m not going to debate feelings with you. We just need to find Mia, and that’s all I care about.”

  “And Rich.” Wilcox folded her arms, a severe frown directed at Tate. She didn’t think much of him? The man had been decently helpful. To a point. Along with a whole lot of self-serving Conroy intended to unpack later, to see if any of it warranted persuading the district attorney to bring about charges.

  “We’re done here.” Conroy shifted his keys in his hand. “Unless you’d care to share more about this ‘anonymous tip’.” Most of the time he figured those were a setup. The suspect, jerking the chain of whoever was looking at him. Trying to throw off the cops. Make their jobs more difficult.

  Tate said, “It came from a private number, and I don’t have the resources to trace a call like that.”

  That was the trade-off for not having to get a warrant every time he wanted to breathe, the way Conroy felt like he had to do sometimes. Tate had different procedures. Conroy would never trade his shield for the life of a private investigator, though. Not ever.

  “Your tech could take a look, right?” Tate asked.

  Conroy said, “Not enough time to get a result and then trace a location. If the phone is even on.” The last one they’d had a number for that might have belonged to Stiles had been turned off.

  “So we hit the streets,” Wilcox suggested. “Look for that car.”

  “Yes, but...” Conroy pulled out his phone and headed for his vehicle so he could get moving. Standing here, doing nothing, was beginning to eat at him in a way that brought all those old feelings back to the surface.

  Ones he didn’t like.

  That guilt. The shame. Powerless to stop what he saw coming. It made him want to prove he could make everything perfect again, even though it would never be that way, and it hadn’t been in the first place.