The Girl in the Mist: A Misted Pines Novel

by Ashley, Kristen

  I didn’t pause to ponder direction.

  I just ran.

  I hit an incline and had to climb up. It was steep. I skidded down some loose gravel and found it difficult to get a foothold to keep climbing. It seemed to take a year before I caught an outcrop with the sole of my boot, and heaved myself up, scrabbling on hands and toes.

  I made it to surer footing, took my feet and kept running.

  I was out of breath. A hitch was slicing through my side.

  And I heard, “For an old bitch, you got a great ass!”

  “Oh God,” I whispered, pushing onward.

  But he ran like the wind, and I was making a lot of noise and…

  I slammed into a tree.

  I careened off it, lost balance, threw my arms out, my body twisting in a way I didn’t want it to, and I saw him through the mist, gun butt to his shoulder, taking aim.

  At me.

  The memory of Bohannan’s voice thundered through in my head.

  Down! Bellies!

  I threw myself down.

  The roar of a shotgun blast that seemed preternatural, like it was not one blast but two, pounded my ears.

  I closed my eyes tight.

  But…

  Nothing.

  I opened my eyes, turning to him, pushing up on a hand and arranging my feet to launch off again…

  And through the mist I saw a man standing over Ray, who was down on a hand and his knees. The man had his shotgun lifted vertical in both hands above him. He brought the butt down on Ray’s head.

  I could swear I saw a spray of blood and Ray collapsed to the needles.

  The man hit him in the head with the gun again and then immediately tucked the butt into his shoulder, took a step back and aimed it down at Ray.

  “You’re good, gal, you’re good. Just sit tight,” he called to me. “Don’t run. You run, you could get lost in these woods forever.”

  I was gasping for air, on a hand and hip, staring through the mist at an old man aiming his shotgun at a prone Ray.

  Still keeping his eye on Ray, he asked, “You got a phone?”

  I pulled in another shuddering breath, then pushed out a “No.”

  “Bugger,” he muttered.

  What was…?

  What was happening?

  “Don’t think this boy is right in the head,” he remarked.

  I nearly started laughing hysterically.

  I would have if I wasn’t shaking uncontrollably.

  Moving cautiously, he bent down, grabbed Ray’s gun and tossed it my way. It fell with a robust foof to the dirt and needles a few feet in front of me.

  “You get your wits about you, little lady, you get a handle on that. You with me?”

  I didn’t care I couldn’t coordinate my limbs.

  I clambered to that gun as fast as I could.

  When I had it in hand, I asked, “Who are you?”

  “Yeah. Sorry,” he replied. “We haven’t met. I’m Paddy. Paddy Tremayne.”

  That meant nothing to me, even if I knew I’d love Paddy Tremayne forever.

  “And I sure did like you in that TV show,” he finished.

  Well.

  Damn.

  Fifty-Nine

  Not from Where I’m Standing

  Since I didn’t have a phone and Paddy Tremayne didn’t have a phone, and Ray was unconscious and I had absolutely no intention to get anywhere near him, nor was I going to leave him behind, because no way in fuck was I going to give him any shot at getting away, and I didn’t like Paddy’s chances if Ray came to and charged him since Ray had youth on his side and the body of a pro football player, and Paddy one hundred percent did not have either, we had to wait for Bohannan.

  This didn’t take long.

  And I felt him before I saw him.

  The trees closed in on us, and even Paddy grew more alert and chanced a look around.

  He’d kept an eagle eye on Ray (and we’d both kept our guns aimed at him). And Ray had just woken up, groggy.

  But it didn’t take Ray long to realize things had gone south for him, what with being shotgun whipped, twice, bleeding profusely from the head, and half his shoulder having been blown off by Paddy’s shotgun shell.

  Ray did not keen in pain, whine or moan.

  Ray was on his back, cradling what was left of his shoulder with his good hand and not taking his eyes off Paddy.

  “Don’t do nothin’ dumb!” Paddy called into the mist. “Got the woman. She’s all right. Got the…whatever he is. He needs an ambulance.”

  They formed out of the mist, first Bohannan, Jess, Jace and Harry.

  Then Wade Dickerson, Dan, and—fanned out and all around—what looked like every deputy on staff and a couple of dozen other men from town, some who I’d seen around, others I hadn’t, all I didn’t know.

  Bohannan’s gaze came to me before it went down to Ray.

  Same with Jess and Jace.

  Also Harry, but he started talking to Paddy right away.

  “You can stand down, Paddy. We got this,” he said, aiming his rifle down at Ray.

  Paddy stood down and seemed relieved to do it.

  Bohannan tossed the strap of the rifle he was carrying over his shoulder, skirted Ray and came to me.

  I noted the men were moving into position to get a lock on Jess and Jace, which I thought was smart, as Bohannan slowly took the shotgun from my hands.

  I relinquished it readily.

  He handed it off to someone I didn’t know and asked, “You injured?”

  “No,” I answered.

  “Can you take your feet?”

  I stuck out my hand.

  He used it to pull me to my feet and held it until I was steady.

  When he let me go, I brushed off my jeans at my ass.

  Bohannan examined me, fully, but his gaze lingered at the swelling around my eye.

  “You okay?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  The trees closed in again, and before they spontaneously combusted due to the fever pitch of Bohannan’s wrath and burned us all to the ground, I said, “I’m fine.”

  Along with his continued visual examination, my words seemed to assuage him, until Paddy, God bless him, shared, “Swear to Christ, seen it all now. Some cuckoo-crazy young buck huntin’ a famous woman through the woods. And everyone thinks I’m nutso for keepin’ myself to myself. Now, somebody better tell me, what’s this world coming to?”

  And the Bohannan wrath detonated, and it didn’t burn us to the ground, but it took about fifteen men to hold only three of them back.

  I defused this by saying loudly, “Boys, I really want to go home!”

  Bohannan pushed off from Dan and three other guys and prowled to me.

  He gave every indication he was going to pick me up, so, quickly, I said low, so Jace nor Jess would hear, “He carried me in. I need to walk out.”

  The expression on his face scared me, but he nodded, and I didn’t hesitate to let him take my hand.

  He walked us wide of where Dickerson was working with a field kit to dress Ray’s wound.

  Even so, Ray called out, “I still won.”

  Bohannan didn’t break stride, nor did he look at him, when he replied.

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  And then, holding my hand, the twins at our back, he walked me out of the mist.

  Sixty

  Scorecard

  Since the game was played, regardless that one side would have given anything not to play it, in order to keep score:

  Ray Andrews had been an Eagle Scout.

  Ray Andrews had spent the summers of his junior and senior years in high school and his freshman and sophomore years in college as a camp counselor at a remote outdoor camp in Oregon. This was because Ray’s father was an avid outdoorsman, and Ray was too.

  Ray Andrews was beloved by his family, as well as, until recently, his hometown.

  Ray Andrews had been prom king.

  Ray A
ndrews had been voted by his senior class as best looking, one part of the best couple, best eyes, best legs and most likely to succeed.

  Ray Andrews had been salutatorian of his high school class.

  Ray Andrews had been an all-state linebacker who still held the record for most interceptions in a season for any player on any team in the entire county.

  Ray Andrews had earned a full ride to a Pac-12 team at a university I’d rather not name.

  Ray Andrews performed so well for this team, he was eligible and encouraged to enter the NFL draft, but he was nowhere near the best linebacker not only in the draft, but he’d be far from the best in the league. The estimate of what round in which he’d be selected was very low, but it was expected he’d be selected. He chose not to enter the draft.

  Ray Andrews graduated magna cum laude with a degree in non-profit administration.

  Ray Andrews had an unheard-of seventy-eight percent success rate in having grants he’d written funded.

  Ray Andrews had been the youngest person in history to receive a key to the city (an honor which had since been rescinded), because, in the position he held before coming to Misted Pines, his award-winning, highly funded and since-copied initiative completely revamped the school lunch program into healthier eating. Resultant surveys showed the children had significantly higher energy, better concentration and improved grades, as well as uptake in physical activities. It was widely accepted that part of the reason for the success of this program was, in doing it, he’d directly engaged the kids.

  Ray Andrews had started hunting at the age of fifteen and had many kills, including bagging a black bear—he’d done that on a hunting trip he took with Tony Romano.

  Ray Andrews played the stock market online in his spare time, and at the time of his incarceration, had amassed a portfolio worth seven hundred and twenty-three thousand dollars…and some change.

  Ray Andrews had painstakingly, and faithfully, recorded much of his life in manifest journals.

  And as such, it was learned that he had indeed, first sought out Tony Romano due to underground chatter about the depth of services he offered in his adventure business.

  However, at this point, Ray Andrews had read the account of the pursuit and capture of Al Catlin, and two about the same of Percy Gibson. Therefore, he’d already moved to Misted Pines and was laying the groundwork to be a trusted part of the community so the test he intended to administer to Cade Bohannan would not result in casting suspicion on him.

  Upon meeting Tony Romano, learning the fullness of his skills, and the ease in which he earned the other man’s devotion, the final pieces of the plan fell into place.

  Upon searching the home Ray Andrews shared with Shelly George, it was found that they’d had a highly kitted BDSM dungeon installed. And upon interrogating Shelly George, it was discovered that they had a Dominant-submissive relationship that was so much a part of their lifestyle, he selected the clothes she wore every day, and she never did anything without his permission.

  In-depth study of his journals exposed that Ray Andrews was deeply in love with and totally devoted to Shelly George and Tony Romano.

  In other words, with some of this, Ray Andrews could have been a really damned cool guy.

  If he didn’t turn his brilliant mind and abundant energy to killing people.

  On the other side of that coin:

  The woman working in The Joy of Joy heard me shouting.

  She was calling 911 before she looked out the window and saw Ray punch me then shove my unconscious body into his truck.

  She recognized me.

  She had been working at the store for only three weeks.

  So, although he was a long-standing customer and friends with the owners, she, as yet, did not know Ray.

  As a matter of course for Ray, his purchase that day of a new set of nipple clamps—because, as he told the clerk, his last pair had broken—had been in cash.

  Upon getting the call, Harry Moran, already moving out, told Polly Pickler to phone Bohannan.

  The first thing Bohannan did was contact Hawk Delgado.

  Therefore, within ten minutes of my abduction, they’d called up my fob and saw where I was heading.

  A deputy in the area swung by The Joy of Joy, saw the boat, remembered the report about what a boat of its description was used for, and also saw the R on my Volvo.

  En route, this information was relayed to Harry Moran and Bohannan.

  It was then, Bohannan knew who had me.

  And why.

  Onward from that:

  Within days of the media sharing the role Ray played in the deaths of Alice Pulaski, Malorie Graham and the shooting of David Ashbrook, and with this sharing photos of Ray, Ray started receiving a trickle of fan mail.

  Within weeks, it was an avalanche.

  Within the month, The Joy of Joy was burned to the ground. No one was harmed in the fire.

  Two days after that, Harry Moran found the arsonists and arrested them.

  Also within the month, Shelly George took her own life with an overdose of sleeping pills.

  Within a day of learning this, Ray was under twenty-four-hour guard because he’d gone apeshit crazy.

  Two days later, Bobby Graham had been found in his car in the garage in the home he was renting outside Seattle, asphyxiated by carbon monoxide.

  Not long after that, it was learned that he’d left his somewhat vast holdings to his still-wife Lana.

  The day after that, a young man came forward to the police in Berkeley, California and informed them he’d been hired to play a prank on a girl in a dormitory on the campus. He admitted to getting paid five hundred dollars to do it. He also admitted to having sexual relations with Ray Andrews. That young man bore more than passing resemblance to Tony Romano.

  A week and a half after that, Harry Moran arrested Leland Dern for multiple felonious abuses during his tenure as sheriff, including not following through with investigations of reports of two of his deputies’ consistent sexual coercion of female suspects in custody and misappropriation of department funds. Not long after that, on the evidence presented, a grand jury indicted him.

  That same day, Gary Spoonacher resigned as county commissioner.

  A day later, Kenneth Warner announced his planned retirement from the town council upon the beginning of the next term.

  Three days later, the woman who provided an alibi for Tony Romano in the death of Malorie Graham was arrested in a prostitution sting in Portland, Oregon. She was extradited to Misted Pines and charged with providing a false statement to the police in a murder investigation. She has since recanted her alibi.

  The next week, the Misted Pines Town Council invited Paddy Tremayne to their next meeting to accept an honor for the role he played in capturing Ray Andrews and saving my life.

  The next day, Paddy Tremayne, a recluse who lived in a cabin in the hills above the lake directly opposite from the Bohannan compound, a man who came to town only once a month to get supplies, called Polly Pickler to ask her to communicate his response. And that response was, “Tell them to go stuff it.”

  The council accepted this because it was expected, considering it came from Paddy Tremayne, but also because they had no other choice. However, they didn’t know Paddy came around the lake to eat dinners Bohannan or I cooked for him regularly.

  Three months after that, The Joy of Joy celebrated their grand re-opening.

  Within the year, regardless that the author had not had the cooperation of any of the players, including Ray Andrews, who was reportedly furious that his and Tony’s families were badgered for information, the first book about Ray Andrews and Tony Romano was published.

  It was titled Real Men.

  It was a bestseller.

  And word was, they were making it into a movie.

  Epilogue

  The End

  But I’m getting ahead of myself…

  The End.

  I typed those two words, stared at them and
smiled to myself.

  Finally, the next Jack Mullally was ready (after a reread) to submit to my publisher.

  I was so far past deadline, the one for next year’s Priscilla Lange romance was only three months away.

  But…so be it.

  I had a life to live.

  And I was going to live it.

  No more detailed planning every task and every second. I could be organized, but I didn’t have the time to be obsessed with it.

  I had three beautiful daughters, even if one wasn’t strictly mine, two handsome sons, even though they also weren’t mine, and a fabulous man, who was definitely mine.

  I had a job I loved.

  I had a beautiful home with a beautiful view, and a future that was blindingly bright.

  And I’d also had an experience that I decided, firmly, I’d use to remind me, instead of life being a day-to-day battle, it was a gift.

  You could struggle through it.

  Or you could rise each day and make the most of it.

  I chose the latter.

  I hit save, closed the chapter, went back to the directory, opened the Prologue (and the next five chapters besides) to start reading so I could make my last-minute tweaks, when I heard it.

  Concrete Blonde’s “Joey.”

  “Oh boy,” I said to my computer, sat back in my chair, my right fingers, like they did often, moving to tinker with the bracelet on my left wrist, and I looked out the windows in my fabulous new office to the mist on the lake.

  This song meant I either had to get up and do something or put on my noise cancelling headphones.

  There was a time when I was used to the presence of teenage girls (and their moods) when I wrote.

  That time was passed.

  I needed to get that mojo back.

  Once the song was over, it started again.

  Celeste had great taste in heartbreak songs. And that particular one was enduring. I’d listened to it myself back in the day.

  During breakups.

  I felt him before I turned around and saw him in the door.

  Bohannan.