Any Day Now

by Robyn Carr

  “We sure are,” Maggie said.

  Quite beyond her deliberate control, Sierra took such comfort in these small things—a new niece making ready for an appearance, a brother and sister-in-law who were thrilled she was near and always looking out for her, a strong boyfriend and a welcoming and bucolic setting in which to live. The end of summer brought later sunrises so she was having her morning coffee with Sully on the porch, in the dark. The approach of dawn brought out those campers who thrived on the early, early morning—the photographers and the hunters—who brought their coffee to the porch before 6:00 a.m. for a visit. They were friendly, outgoing folks, typical of campers she’d gotten to know over the summer months. Private, standoffish people didn’t seem to frequent campgrounds like the Crossing.

  Life really did seem so mild, safe and carefree. Sierra nearly forgot there was anything to worry about, any unknown threat of any kind looming in the back of her mind.

  Until she was driving to work early Thursday morning.

  Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. To keep our faces toward change and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable.

  —Helen Keller

  Chapter 18

  THERE WAS A car behind her and she felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck. She frowned into the rearview mirror, not understanding where that car could have come from. It hadn’t come from Sully’s and she rarely passed or was followed by another vehicle this early in the morning. She thought about turning around and heading back to the Crossing, but that would be difficult on this road.

  But surely that was just an innocent car. Hunters? But hunters almost always had SUVs or trucks and this appeared to be a small sedan. As it gained on her she realized that no, it was not just an innocent car. It was someone who had been waiting for just such an opportunity. And that could only be one person. Instantly, her foot hit the gas and she sped away. The driver was a man. She could not make out his features in the rearview mirror but as he accelerated, there was only one possibility. And his car almost caught up to her so easily because she was in the pumpkin and the poor, dear pumpkin just didn’t have the kind of power most late model cars had.

  And she was still so far from town, unsure she’d make it before he could crash into her or run her off the road.

  On a whim, she took the turnoff to Cal’s barn. It was closer than town. There was no one there unless Tom was getting a very early start since he wouldn’t be waking the occupants. But she could get inside and lock herself in. She had a key to Cal’s house right on her key ring. And once in the house she could call for help. She could press her alarm button—the noise wouldn’t serve any purpose, lost in the countryside, but it would signal Connie’s cell phone...if Connie even had his cell phone nearby. For all she knew he could be out on a call, some early-morning heart attack out on a ranch.

  But never mind, it was only important to get herself into a safe fortress and hope to be able to hold him off until help could arrive. She roared down the road toward her brother’s house. Mother Nature was trying her best to foil her—the road was blocked by a small herd of elk and she laid on the horn with all her might. They barely moved and she scooted that little pumpkin onto the shoulder and wove carefully through them. Seven of them, one bull. And apparently in no hurry.

  She heard a horn and looked into the rearview mirror—they had closed ranks around him and he couldn’t move. She sped down the road, digging in her purse as she drove. She grabbed her cell phone and her pepper spray and less than five minutes later, pulled right up to the door and ran from the car so fast she didn’t even put it in Park. He was just pulling into the clearing as she fumbled with the keys. A small squeak of panic escaped her as she tried to get the key in the lock, the door open. Just as she was getting inside she saw him running toward her and yes, it was him. Derek or Craig, or whoever else he was now pretending to be. She whirled inside and locked the door behind her. She depressed the alarm button and sent the noise screaming into the air.

  He rattled the door immediately. She backed away from it. She went as far back into the house as she dared to get away from the noise and yet be able to see the door. She dialed 9-1-1.

  “Emergency,” the operator said.

  “This is Sierra Jones and I’m being pursued by a rapist. I think his name is Craig Dixon and the police are after him. He followed me and I’m locked in my brother’s house.”

  “Address?”

  “Crap,” she said. “I have no idea! Conrad Boyle, firefighter in Timberlake, he knows. Please! Please! He’s trying to get in. Please!”

  “Where is the house, ma’am,” the operator asked.

  “It’s a barn turned into a house and it’s in the country, isolated, right between Sullivan’s Crossing and Timberlake. Crap.” She shoved her phone in her pocket and ran to the kitchen and lifted the cordless. She dialed 9-1-1 again.

  “Emergency,” the operator said.

  “Help! Help! The house is on fire and I’m trapped!” Then she laid down the phone with the line still open and grabbed her cell phone just as the door was kicked open. She hit the speed dial for Connie’s number but she didn’t have time to say anything. She put the phone down in the shrieking din of her alarm and backed away, holding her pepper spray behind her back. Terrified, she knew she’d have to let him get close for it to be effective. And his approach was so slow. Her alarm stopped. The silence almost echoed.

  “Well, clever girl, you tricked me,” he said.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  “How do you expect me to find you if you stop going to bars?” He turned around, kicked the door closed and then methodically pushed the heavy picnic table against the door. She noticed his strong arms, his muscled back and shoulders and was terrified. For the first time she found it strange that he didn’t seem to carry a weapon. But his strength was his weapon. Oh dear God, don’t let Connie get hurt, she prayed. She was backed right up against the kitchen counter.

  He turned toward her again. “I guess we’re going to spend a little time together, my little bitch.”

  She just shook her head and reminded herself not to let him get close enough to touch her.

  “I couldn’t find you,” he said. “You gave up the bars and you threw away your phone, naughty girl.”

  He was six feet away. Then four feet. Then she pulled out the small canister and fired right into his face. He cried out and with lightning speed his arm shot out and knocked the canister from her hand, but not before he’d taken a hit in the face. Maybe not as much as she’d hoped, but he’d been hit. And she’d gotten a little overspray; she felt the sting in her eyes immediately.

  Though half blind and disoriented, he grabbed her and slugged her in the face so hard she fell. He kicked her out of the way and she couldn’t breathe. She thought she was doomed but then he went to the sink and flushed his face with water. She wasn’t sure she could stand so she crawled away from him as quickly as she could.

  When she had a little distance from him, she pulled herself upright but looked despairingly at the picnic table against the door, her eyes tearing madly. If she broke a window, could she somehow outrun him? Was his vision bad enough to give her a chance? Because after being kicked in the stomach, she wasn’t going to be very fast.

  She couldn’t afford to think about it for long. She took to the stairs. She would be cornered up there but her only hope was to stay alive long enough for help to come. She’d made three calls for help. Cal’s house wasn’t close to first responders and it would take them a little while—ten or fifteen minutes—but she was banking on this man’s pathology. He wasn’t going to kill her until he tormented her. She’d survived him once, she could survive him again.

  She ran to the master bedroom and closed the door but of course there was no lock on the door. She gave the bureau a tug but s
he couldn’t budge it. She looked around for something to bar the door, something to hit him with. She looked in the master closet, so large it was almost a room unto itself. Cal and Maggie hadn’t moved their things into the closet yet because Tom was still in the process of finishing it with custom shelves and hanger rods. The finished wood was cut to the right sizes, stacked and about half the closet finished.

  She heard some powerful pounding coming from downstairs and she tried to imagine what he was doing. Breaking up the place? Destroying it?

  On top of the pile of boards sat the nail gun.

  She had to search for an outlet and plugged it in. She lifted it to turn it on and it was so heavy she could barely hold it. She’d been around Cal’s house when some of the building was going on and she knew from observation you couldn’t fire nails out of the gun by pulling a trigger—the later models had been improved and were much safer than the earlier nail guns. It had to be pressed against something to work. And it was too heavy for her to hold behind her back like a small canister of pepper spray.

  She heard breaking glass and wondered what it was. Was he trying to make his escape through a broken window? She sat atop the stacked boards, the nail gun in front of her and the outlet behind her.

  Then, without warning, he was standing in front of her in the closet doorway. She nearly jumped out of her skin. His eyes were red and already swelling, his burned cheeks wet with his tears. And yet the sneer on his face was so awful, so sinister. She remembered—this was what he liked! A victim who fought!

  There was a shout from inside the house.

  “Craig Dixon, you’re surrounded! You have no exit route—come out now—hands in the air!”

  “So, you told,” he said. And yet he grinned a sick and evil grin. “And here I thought you’d learned your lesson.”

  Suddenly she laughed. “You wish,” she said, matching him for bravado.

  “You’re a bitch,” he snapped.

  “And you’re an impotent loser!” she flung.

  He lunged at her, his hands around her neck, a growl coming from deep inside him. He squeezed and shook her, her head slamming against the closet shelf. It took enormous willpower not to grab for the hands that choked her but the self-defense training kicked in. The nail gun was almost too heavy to lift with one hand, so it was slow and she prayed not to lose consciousness before she could at least do some damage. She pressed it into his side and fired—crack, crack, crack, crack.

  His eyes were wide and startled as he looked into her eyes, but he didn’t lessen the grip on her throat.

  She pressed the gun into his side and fired again. Crack, crack, crack.

  An inhuman yowl escaped him, the cry of a wounded animal, and he resumed choking and shaking her and her peripheral vision began to darken. She saw stars for a moment.

  Then suddenly he let go and she was dimly aware of some kind of struggle but she couldn’t focus. She fell off the small stack of shelving to the floor, straining to take a breath and to focus. Her hand rose weakly to her neck and she thought, vaguely, I don’t think the police had time to respond...

  Then there was a face above her. Pete. The bow hunter. Oh man, he must have found her elk in Cal’s pasture! She had been rescued by an elk hunter. She let her eyes close.

  “Medical is on the way, Sierra,” he said, brushing her hair back from her face. “We got him. He’s in custody.”

  She looked at him. “Cus...” she tried lamely. Then she coughed. She could breathe better but her throat was certainly damaged. “Custody?” she asked again.

  “Yep, in handcuffs, in custody. You’re safe. I’m not leaving you and Medical is on the way.” She could hear a siren in the distance, still a long way off. She closed her eyes again.

  “Pete?” she whispered. “Were you shooting elk?”

  “No,” he said with a laugh. “I’m hunting more dangerous game. I have a lot to explain to you. After you’ve been to the hospital. Better make sure he didn’t hurt you too badly. Stay awake now. Stay with me—you took some hard knocks to the head—don’t go to sleep on me.”

  “He hit me and kicked me,” she said. “Is he dead? Did I kill him?”

  “He’s not dead,” Pete said. “But he’s done. You took a little blood out of him.”

  She sighed. “Is he going to the hospital, too?”

  “Not the same one you’re going to, don’t worry. He’s going to have a couple of FBI agents and some state troopers with him.”

  “God, I wish I’d killed him,” she whispered.

  “Nah, you don’t want that burden, too. But you gave him to us—you’re a hero.”

  “No, I’m a survivor,” she said in a hoarse whisper. Again, her eyes closed. Pete was moving around.

  Then there was a new presence. She opened her eyes to look into the piercing beautiful blue of Conrad’s eyes. “Hey, baby,” he said. “Open your eyes and let me look at them, okay? Good, good,” he said, shining a light in them. “You still need a head CT but I think you’re going to be okay.” He took her blood pressure. “Yeah, you’ll be okay now. Sorry I couldn’t get here any faster,” he said, wiping off her face. Coming into focus now, she noticed the wipe he used was bloody. “Just a few battle scars.”

  She smiled into those remarkable eyes. “Connie,” she whispered. “I nailed him.”

  * * *

  Sierra went all the way to Denver by ambulance so her sister-in-law could examine her and read the head CT. She would have been taken by medical air transfer if Connie had found anything in her preliminary exam that was questionable. Maggie chose to keep her overnight for observation and Conrad stayed with her, wouldn’t leave her side. Then in the morning before she was discharged, she had more company. Cal was back, as he had intended to be, but with him was Dakota.

  “Boy, what some chicks will do for attention,” Dakota said, taking her into his big arms and hugging her.

  “Don’t call me a chick,” she said. “I’m dangerous.”

  “So I hear. Good for you.”

  “Aren’t you late for a war?” she asked.

  “I’m not late yet. All your drama kind of demanded a visit before I head out again. I thought maybe you could give me some tips in kicking ass.”

  “You came to the right person,” she said.

  He touched her cheek. “You have a wicked black eye.”

  “I didn’t say it was easy. Do you want to come to the Crossing with us? It turns out some of Sully’s campers were actually FBI agents and I’ve been promised a debriefing, which is dangerous-chick talk for an explanation as to how all this crazy shit went down.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. And that’s all I’ve got—the day. I have to get back to Fort Hood. I can’t let them leave without me. They made the mistake of putting me in charge. I’m going to rent a car so I can come back to Denver later tonight.”

  “Forget about it,” Cal said. “I’ll take you back. I don’t want you alone and getting tired. You’re jet-lagged and worn-out. I’ll stay at Maggie’s place and rest before I drive back.”

  “I think he’s going to be a little overprotective as a father, don’t you?” Dakota asked Sierra.

  “No help for it,” she said. “Number one sibling put himself in charge many years ago.” She smiled at Cal. “I don’t think he’ll do any real harm.”

  They worked it out so that Conrad drove Cal’s truck with Sierra and Dakota because he couldn’t stand to be away from her for five minutes. And Sierra and Dakota were due a visit. Cal drove back with Maggie. Of course that meant Connie sitting through another recitation of all the events that led up to the capture of a serial rapist named Craig Dixon. Fortunately for him, Sierra was not quite as graphic with this brother.

  “Are you going to be all right now?” Dakota asked.

  “One in five women is sexual
ly assaulted. Some figures claim one in four. Yes, I’m going to be all right. It stole a year and a half of my life. I’m not letting it have any more than that.”

  “Plus, she got a little payback,” Connie said.

  When they got back to Sully’s there were four campers waiting for them. The first thing Pete wanted to show Sierra was the inside of Priscilla and Clyde’s RV. Even though there was quite a crowd waiting for an explanation, only Sierra was taken inside the RV. Behind a closet pocket door were some computer screens that were operated by electricity and WiFi, controlled by laptop computer and tablets and smartphones. “This is a surveillance van,” Pete said.

  “You had him under surveillance?” Sierra asked.

  “No, we had you under surveillance,” he said. “Our suspect had a pattern. He picked up strangers in bars all over the map, played the role of a rescuer in taking them home when they appeared to have had too much to drink, brutalized and raped them, threatened their lives if they told anyone, stalked them, and then to be absolutely sure, he found an opportunity to assault them again, proving to them he was in control and they would be punished for going to the police. At last count we know he assaulted seven women in three states. I’m sure there were more, probably at least twice as many. His first known victim was fifteen years ago when he was a heating and AC repairman, aged twenty. But, you were the only one who ran, that we know of. And you ran far and deep. You really threw him off his game. Not only did he have trouble finding you but when he got in the general vicinity, you were never vulnerable. You didn’t live alone, you didn’t go out to bars, you were always one step ahead of him. Sierra, we think he was obsessed with carrying out his ritual, for lack of a better word.”

  “So you were stalking me?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Priscilla and Clyde took turns watching the screens. We had a tracking device on your car, cameras in a few of your commonly visited locations—the Crossing, Conrad’s house, the street outside the diner. It wasn’t just to keep you safe, I’m afraid, although that was intended to be a fortunate by-product. We knew he was in Colorado—we had positive ID. We couldn’t locate him or his vehicle but he’d been seen and identified. We thought he’d eventually find you and we were going to be ready for him.”