by Anne Hope
“What’s that smell?” Becca came to stand beside him.
“Blood.” The color drained from Martin’s face, giving him the look of a ghost.
Becca’s face crumpled. “The kids—”
“He wouldn’t hurt them,” Zach reassured her as he scoured the plant, with Becca and Martin hot on his heels. “They’re worth more to him alive. And I just heard Noah call out for help. He’s here.” His chest clenched at the vastness that surrounded them. “We need to split up. Martin, stay with Becca. You two search up here. I’ll check out the cellars.”
Becca clutched his arm. “I don’t think you should go alone.”
“There’s no time to argue. Go.” He turned to Martin. “Watch out for her.”
Then, leaving the woman he loved in the care of a man he’d never trusted, he lunged down the stairs.
The night was cold and wet, like the drooling mouth of the giant reptile he’d drawn in his comic book. Noah’s heart flapped out of control as his dad’s old boss lugged him into the darkness. Shadows gathered around them, baring blackened teeth.
“Let me go,” he screamed, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Neil Hopkins had stopped listening the moment the glass shattered.
Uncle Zach and Aunt Becca had come for them. Noah was sure of it. He needed to get away, find them before something bad happened to Kristen. But the man’s grip was tighter than a python’s.
Scary-looking trees hunched over them. They looked mean and hungry. A cold wind swept between the trunks, flecked with rain. Noah shuddered from the cold. “Put me down.”
Something icy brushed his arm. A chill raced down his back. Hopkins was beginning to pant. He wouldn’t be able to carry him much longer. Noah was heavy, and the creep was old and out of shape. A minute or two later, the man stopped to catch his breath. Remembering the rusted nail he’d shoved in the pocket of his shorts, Noah dug it out, then plunged it into his captor’s hand.
Neil Hopkins’ scream made the trees shake. It was louder than thunder, louder than Will. The thought of his brother made tears pool in his eyes. He missed the little pest. He missed Kristen, too. With a surge of strength, he pried himself free from Hopkins’ grasp and stumbled into the woods. He had to get back to the building, find his sister, find his aunt and uncle. Then the nightmare would end. But the shadows were deep and determined, the forest a complicated maze, like the ones in the activity books his mom used to get him.
He was good at mazes, but this one made no sense. The grass was long, and bristly weeds snagged his legs.
Behind him, the air rustled. Neil Hopkins had recovered, and he was raging mad. His screams rode the wind as he trampled the wet grass in search of him.
With a broken sob, Noah plunged deeper into the woods.
Rebecca stopped mid-step. “Did you hear that?”
Martin’s grave expression was all the answer she needed. His features reflected the same crippling fear that afflicted her. “It sounded like a scream.”
“I think it came from outside.” They weaved their way between pumps and presses, grape conveyors and tanks, until they found a narrow passageway, where the light receded and the stench of mildew thickened. At the end of the corridor, a door gaped. From beyond, the night beckoned them, cold and bottomless.
Her pulse matched the tempo of her heels as she raced down the hall and flung herself into the vast web of trees that bordered the plant. Martin matched her pace, vigilant and on guard beside her.
They began to search the woods, but it seemed fruitless, despite the rows of grape-bearing vines that enfolded them. Acres and acres of land stretched as far as she could see. They tried to stay on the paths, avoiding the tangled mass of weeds that snaked across the ground on either side of them. The more they searched, the more convinced she became that they needed help. They couldn’t do this alone. Maybe Pat could get a search party out here.
“Give me your cell,” she told Martin. She knew he always carried it with him. He did as she asked, digging the phone out of his coat pocket and placing it in the cradle of her palm.
She punched in the Jenkinses’ number, hoping Tess had managed to reach her husband and that help was on the way. The phone chimed annoyingly, and she snapped it shut in frustration. “No service.”
“Let’s keep looking. The scream came from somewhere nearby. We wouldn’t have heard it otherwise.”
Martin was right. The kids had to be close. But the night was exceptionally dark, the shrubs thick and impenetrable. Brambles of neglected grass scraped their legs as they struggled to advance.
When they came to a wide clearing, something soft lumped under her feet. Rebecca grabbed the flashlight from Martin and angled the beam toward the ground. Whatever she’d stepped on was small and pink. She swooped down and retrieved the object. “A teddy bear.”
Martin squeezed in for a closer look. “Kristen’s?”
She shook her head. “I don’t recognize it.”
Then she heard the wheeze. If she hadn’t stopped for the toy, she would have mistaken it for the whistle of the wind. But now the sound was shrill and clear and released a torrent of ice-splinters in her bloodstream.
“Kristen?” she called, her voice an odd blend of hope and terror.
The only reply was a gasp, punctuated by another wheeze. She quickly followed the sound to an alcove of hunched trees. Nestled between their peeling trunks, Kristen lay still on the ground, laboring to breathe, her skin an eerie blue shadow, glistening in the rain.
A violent wind swirled up to swallow them. The child shivered. Rebecca dove through the trees and scooped the girl off the cold ground. Her heart pounding a ferocious beat in her throat, she pulled the pump out of her pocket and administered the drug.
“Come on, baby, breathe it in.” Anxiety tripped through her system. A sob swelled to crush her lungs until she, too, had trouble drawing breath.
Martin crouched down beside her. “Is she breathing?”
“Barely. I just hope it’s enough for the drug to work.” She pulled off her sweater and wrapped it around the trembling girl. It was damp from the rain, but it would have to do. “We need to get her to the hospital.”
“There’s one in Oak Bluffs. I can get you there in no time flat.”
“But Zach, Noah—”
“I’ll come back for them. I promise.”
Rebecca gazed down at Kristen’s ashen face and nodded. She had no choice. Kristen needed her. Decisively, she gathered the unconscious girl in her arms and stood. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
There were several cellars, all stacked with tall racks, oak barrels and dust-encrusted bottles—some full, some empty. It looked like none of them had been disturbed in years. Hell, decades. The stench of aged fruit spiced with mildew pummeled Zach’s nostrils. He closed the door of the last cellar he’d searched and moved on. The next room was locked, but the wood was old and mold-infested. With a few hard kicks, it splintered and burst open. Zach crashed inside, carried by the swift thrust of his kick. He found himself in some kind of makeshift office. A scuffed desk sat at the far-left corner, next to a metal filing cabinet. On a shelf over the desk, over a dozen hard drives stood side-by-side, perfectly lined up. He didn’t have to guess what information they stored. He’d seen their sick contents first-hand. This was where Liam had uncovered the truth, where he’d found the evidence he’d compiled.
And gotten himself and Lindsay killed.
Idiot.
If Zach had his brother-in-law in front of him now, he would’ve punched him. He should’ve gone to his buddy, the ADA, instead of taking matters into his own hands. Then again, wasn’t Zach guilty of the same thing?
Doubt poked at him, but he shoved it away. He’d taken a risk coming to the vineyard alone, with only Becca and Martin as back-up, but he’d had no choice. The kids were counting on him. There was no way he’d allow a bunch of red tape to jeopardize their lives.
With that bolstering thought in mind, he shot down the hal
l again, continuing his search of the premises.
He wanted to call out to his kids, but he wasn’t sure who was listening, so he kept quiet. The only thing he had going for him was the element of surprise. Then again he’d probably just blown that with the racket he’d made tearing the door down.
At the end of a winding hall he came to another room. The door was open this time. The place was a mess. A rack had been overturned, and barrels littered the floor. Some had burst open from the impact, spilling a sticky burgundy substance he assumed was wine. It sure smelled like wine. Or sour grapes.
A cold wave of air rolled in from the open window. Zach approached it. Wrapped around the latch was a familiar chain. “Noah?” he yelled into the night. The stomach-curdling liquid curled around his feet. He swept another cursory look through the stifling cell and saw a spark of silver bathed in red. He bent over and retrieved it, then wiped the band clean with his thumb. The ring, too, was familiar. It had once belonged to Liam. Noah had been wearing it around his neck when he disappeared.
A few feet away, drenched in wine, two Happy Meals squatted, partially crushed beneath a runaway barrel.
Fury suffused him, tempered by an odd rush of hope. This was where the bastard had kept the kids. In this damp room, with its stale air and hard, gray walls.
And from the looks of it, they’d escaped.
Noah’s breath came hard and fast. His sides hurt from exhaustion and from the fall he’d taken earlier. The forest grew so dense he barely saw where he was going. It seemed like he’d been running forever. He thought if he got back to the building, back to the window he’d pried open, he’d find his sister. But the night was deep, the trees alive and furious.
I’m lost. No way out. Nowhere to go.
Tears throbbed behind his eyes.
I’ll never see Kristen again, or Will, or Uncle Zach and Aunt Becca.
Wet tracks streamed down his face. The sky seemed to be closing in on him, like a black garbage bag blocking out the air. He gasped, choked on a sob.
Somebody help me, please.
The grass was sharp and vicious, clawing at his legs, taking nips out of his skin. Around him, a cold wind stirred, its breath foul. Noah tripped and fell to his knees. The sky opened up. Tears poured down over him, drenched him to the bone.
Not tears. Rain.
His teeth clattered. His body trembled. He was going to die.
Behind him, the forest cackled. Footsteps hammered the ground.
Get up. Run, you wuss. Get out of here.
But his legs wouldn’t listen. They were too busy shaking. Uncontrollable sobs pummeled his chest.
Shut up. He’ll hear you.
He tried to crawl away. The rough grass cut into his flesh, scraped his palms and knees raw.
Then a hand slithered around his waist, lifted him off the ground. His arms and legs flailed. Before he could stop it, a sissy scream tore loose from his throat. The sound continued to echo around him, a loud whistle, as harsh as the night.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Shh.” Zach pulled Noah close, tried to shelter him with his body. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
The fight melted out of him, and the boy turned to a boneless heap in his arms. “Uncle Zach?”
Zach hooked two sheltering arms around his nephew. Relief swamped him. After finding the trashed cellar, he’d circled the building to the open window and begun searching the surrounding woods, hoping the children hadn’t wandered too far. He hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to locate two small kids in this treacherous network of trees, with nothing but a flashlight to illuminate his way. If he hadn’t heard the boy’s sobs…
Helplessness rose to block his throat.
“It’s Mr. Hopkins,” Noah cried in a jumbled rush. “He’s after me. I don’t know where Kristen is.”
“We’ll find her,” he reassured the boy. “Becca and Martin are with me. They’re looking, too. The place looks big, but there are only a handful of paths you can take.”
“The asthma,” the boy implored. “She was having trouble breathing.”
Dread thickened in Zach’s veins, cold as ice. Desperation tangled his gut. He stripped off his coat and wrapped it around Noah. “We can’t stay here.” He put his nephew down and secured a firm hold on his hand. “Let’s go find your sister.”
Noah huddled close, and Zach felt a soft stab in his heart. The boy had never looked this small before. The bravado was gone. Undisguised fear shone in his eyes. That lost, beaten expression made all of Zach’s protective instincts spring to life. Nobody would ever hurt his kids again. Nobody. He’d tear them apart with his bare hands.
He was about to urge Noah down the thin trail that led to the boat, in case Martin and Becca had found Kristen and taken shelter there, when something hard and cold dug into his neck.
“Don’t take another step.” The voice was cultured, familiar. “One move and I’ll shoot you both.”
The doctors and nurses at the Martha’s Vineyard Hospital in Oak Bluffs were fast and efficient. The second Kristen arrived, they’d strapped an oxygen mask on her, infused with a very strong dose of Ventolin, then whisked her away on a gurney. Rebecca had tried to follow, but they’d forced her to stay in the waiting room. Her heart thumped a million beats a minute as she paced, waiting for news. Martin, keeping his word to return for Zach and Noah, had left almost instantly. She had yet to hear from him or Zach. She’d called Tess to check up on Will and give her an update. Tess still hadn’t reached Pat, but she promised to keep trying.
Now all Rebecca could do was wait, and she hated it. Hated the questions reeling in her head, the knot of fear in her chest, the unabated tension crawling through her limbs. But most of all she hated the sense of helplessness that had gripped her. She should’ve been in there holding Kristen’s hand or out there helping Zach find Noah. Instead, she was stuck in this stark room, alone with her dark thoughts.
“Why don’t you sit down, dear?” The woman’s voice jarred her out of her quiet musings and Rebecca turned to face the stranger. “You’re wearing yourself out. Not to mention the floor.” The lady’s smile was warm, comforting. Liquid brown eyes met and held hers, filled with compassion and a glint of humor. Was she a hospital employee, a patient, someone waiting for news about a loved one?
“I can’t.” Rebecca crossed her arms over her middle, hoping to hold in the pain, to crush the anxiety that thrummed beneath her skin. “Not until I know my—” She’d been about to say niece, but stopped herself. “Not until I know my daughter’s going to be all right.” That was what she considered Kristen now, her daughter, her baby. She couldn’t have loved her more if she’d felt her grow inside her.
Love was more than DNA. She understood that now. Love was holding a child in your arms while she fell asleep, comforted by your embrace. Love was nursing a baby through an ear infection, hoping a hug could lessen his pain. Love was staying awake at night worrying, defending a kid’s honor, telling him you understood even when you didn’t. Being a parent wasn’t about getting it right. It was about doing what needed to be done, even when you were in way over your head.
“Dear, do you need something? A cup of coffee? Water?” The older woman with the kind face and the salt-and-pepper hair was still watching her.
Rebecca shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
If only the same could be said about her family.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Neil urged Ryler and the kid through the woods to where his boat waited. Anxiety made his breath come in short, jagged gasps. He was getting too old for this. Maybe it was time to retire. He’d been thinking about that a lot lately. He had a house in the Cayman Islands, several offshore accounts set up. It wouldn’t be difficult to disappear.
“It’s over, Hopkins.”
Neil shoved Ryler as they wended their way through the trees, just a few yards from the bluff. “Shut up. Unless you want a hole in the back of your skull.”
T
he boy whimpered. Neil ignored him. The kid would be out of his hair soon enough.
“We found the evidence Liam collected,” Ryler persisted. “It’s in the hands of the ADA right now. Your cover’s blown. Everyone knows what you are.”
Neil’s stomach caught fire. “Impossible. You’re lying.”
“Dates, names, drop-off points and pictures. Lots of pictures.”
He wasn’t lying. Neil’s finger twitched against the trigger. There was no way Ryler could know what the files contained unless he’d seen them. But how? York had wiped the hard drive clean, fried the computer.
Unless there was another back-up out there. Something he’d overlooked.
Sweat misted over his face. A sharp pain lanced through him. He should have been more careful, destroyed the records, deleted the pictures. But they were his insurance policy. Over the years he’d kept detailed accounts of all his transactions, the people he’d dealt with, the places where drops had taken place. The Broken Angels knew that if he was to suddenly disappear or die mysteriously, all the evidence would be promptly turned over to the authorities and their smooth, nearly untraceable distribution network would be severely compromised. He’d left clear instructions, had scattered the evidence in several locations to ensure the Broken Angels didn’t uncover it.
His biggest treasure trove, however, was here at the vineyard. This was where he kept all the pictures—every snapshot he’d ever taken of every child he’d ever relocated. They’d become trophies of sorts, something he could hold on to when his best years were behind him. In time the need to remember the faces of all the children he’d placed had morphed into compulsion. He wondered about them sometimes, asked himself what had become of them. Many—the ones who’d survived—would be adults by now. What if he crossed one on the street and didn’t recognize him? What if someone came back with an ax to grind?