Bad Road to Nowhere

by Linda Ladd

  “What else did the girls say?”

  “Most of them are afraid of the guys who run the Triangle. Especially Sandy, like I said. Most of them are underage and runaways from big towns around here. Chattanooga, Memphis, Atlanta, one came over from Knoxville. Some like what they’re doing, some hate it. We all get paid a lot, though. And your buddy Sandy? He used to watch me all the time. Didn’t trust me one little bit. So I’m glad he’s gone. I think he might’ve been on to me, maybe, a little. On to you, too, I bet. You get that feeling?”

  “Forget him. He’s not coming back.”

  “He acts tough and wears all that leather, but I think he’s smarter than he lets on. I think he’s probably a sociopath. It’s in his eyes, like I told you. They go all black and dead when he gets angry. One girl told me that he stripped her down and made her get on her knees while he beat her with a riding crop. She showed me the marks. He’s bad news, Will.”

  “Like I said, he’s not coming back. Listen to me, Mariah, I want you to check out of this motel tonight and find a safe place. Somewhere busy, with lots of people around, lots of traffic. Or somewhere out in the woods might be even better. Someplace hard to find. Hard for someone to follow you there. Isolated. Wilson may have somebody watching us. He asked about you so he’s suspicious of your motives and our relationship.”

  “I’ll just tell them you came here for sex. That you think I’m smokin’ hot and can’t keep your hands off me. Too bad that’s not the truth.”

  Novak was suddenly fed up with the entire situation. He really wanted to wash his hands of the whole thing and go home. He was a little worried about Adonis being alone for so long. He needed to check on her. He wanted to sail his boat down the bayou and forget about the willful woman who looked like his dead wife. Who brought up feelings inside him that he didn’t want and hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. “How about this, Mariah? Take that car out there you rented and drive back to Bonne Terre. Stay there until I get Emma out and bring her down there. Things are going to start happening fast now. You are going to be a complication that I don’t want or need. Understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, of course.” She sighed, looked resigned in a way that he would never believe to be true. “Okay, I’ll think about it. You’re probably right. And I’ll check out of here tonight and find somewhere safe to stay. I’ve been getting bad vibes out there, too, to be honest. I think they do watch me all the time. Expect me to do something.”

  “You’re an amateur when it comes to people like this. Believe me. They are well organized up there, well-armed, and not as incompetent as I first thought. I think some of them are probably ex-mercenaries or paid killers. There’s a barn up there that’s guarded day and night and locked up tight. I need to find out what’s inside. If it’s something illegal, then I’m going to contact the Georgia State Patrol.” He looked at her, trying to make her understand the seriousness of the situation. “I’m fairly certain that some of the cops around here are on the take. Nobody could get away with running a place like the Triangle otherwise, not in Georgia. Maybe not all of them, but I don’t know who is and who isn’t. So we can’t take a chance contacting law enforcement.”

  Now Mariah became serious. Maybe he’d gotten through to her, after all.

  “Stay here with me tonight, Will. I want you to. I really do.”

  “Just do what I said, and I’ll find out if the woman up there is Emma.”

  “Have you seen the boy? Ryan?”

  “No, and I’ve only seen her twice, and from a distance. My gut tells me it’s her, but I’ll find out. And stop with all the texting. If they take my phone, they’re going to think we’re working together.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep the texts romantic from now on, in case they look.”

  Novak studied her for a moment, surprised she’d agreed so readily. Wasn’t like her. Maybe she was finally beginning to sense danger. And that would be enough at the moment. All she needed to do was back off and wait for him to get the job done. Fat chance of that.

  Chapter Twenty

  A private getting-to-know-you evening at Wilson’s well-protected cliff house proved to be in the cards, after all. A couple of days after Novak’s covert meeting with Mariah at the Avalon, he was invited to dinner while he was still on duty at the Shoot Club’s office. Wilson showed up late one afternoon, by himself, and instructed Novak to come along with him, because he was coming to dinner. It wasn’t really an invitation. It was a summons. An order. Novak got into Wilson’s Jeep, hoping that’s where they were really going. He felt edgy and uncomfortable with the sudden, compulsory invite. He was armed. But so was everybody else dressed in identical camouflage uniforms, including Wilson. It was unlikely that Wilson would trust the new guy this soon. Especially around his wife. Something was off, all right.

  And why such special treatment? Wilson had indicated he was impressed by Novak’s military record and that could very well be true, but Novak knew full well that some other staff members were ex-military, too, maybe even in special forces like he had been, maybe even worked the same kind of operations. Wilson was not a stupid man. He had a reason for choosing Novak. Novak would be a hell of a lot more comfortable when he knew what that reason was.

  While they rocked and bounced their way up the winding gravel road leading back into the deep woods, Novak wondered if Wilson would disarm him when they got atop the cliff. He had yet to do that, and both his .45 and the Ka-Bar he carried on his belt were in place and secure. He had never been searched. Not his person or his gear. Never been told to disarm. Still, he remained alert. They were way too many questions inside that compound for which he had no answers. Not yet, anyhow.

  So on Wilson drove, without a word spoken, past the turnoff to the bunkhouse, cabins, and garage. About a mile farther along, they hung a left, rumbled over a newly constructed wood bridge that crossed a narrow part of the same swift river in which Novak had the life-and-death struggle with Boyer. Then they wound their way up another steep hill. In time they emerged high atop that gray granite cliff and into Wilson’s own personal sanctuary. Wilson followed a narrow meandering driveway up to the front of the big modern house perched atop the precipitous cliff.

  That’s when Novak got his first close-up, daylight view of the place. The interior side didn’t have as many windows as the cliff side, but had lots of cypress siding. A massive garage ran the entire length underneath the first floor of the house. They both got out and climbed up a short set of stairs to an open-air but covered front porch and then entered the inner sanctum itself. Inside, the house lay as silent as death. Never a good sign, that.

  Outside, the afternoon was waning quickly. Darkness was beginning to settle over the width and breadth of Wilson’s domain, yet no lights had been turned on inside the ultramodern and sparsely furnished house, none that Novak could see. He trailed Wilson down a wide central hallway floored with glossy dark oak hardwood past what looked like some kind of a home office on their right and a big formal sitting room on their left. Both rooms were closed off from the foyer by multipaned, mirrored French doors, but with two-way mirrors so that Novak could see through but anyone inside the room could not see out. Usually it was the other way around. Good for spying on people within. Both rooms were empty of people and/or signs of family life or any other kind of life.

  The whole place seemed cold and uninhabited and uninviting, like an empty house up for sale. Wilson didn’t switch on the tall shaded lamps on the tables sitting along the hallway as they walked, either, so they proceeded in the cool and silent semi-gloom. They walked on toward the back, Wilson out in front, Novak a few steps behind him, not saying anything, watchful and alert, every sense he possessed expecting something to happen any moment.

  Eventually they reached the back of the long central hall, and Wilson slid back a wide set of oak pocket doors, which stood at least eight feet high and accommodated Novak’s height better than most places he’d been. Inside, he found a gigantic room that stretc
hed the entire length of the back of the house. It was separated by furniture into living, dining, and kitchen areas, all visually open. The ceilings were vaulted, planked with the same dark wood as on the floors. Undraped mullioned windows that stood a full two stories high took up the wall overlooking the cliff and river below. In the distance was a dark ring of mountains, misty blue and beautiful.

  The sun was just going down, and the view was absolutely magnificent, almost breathtaking. The fiery globe was sinking behind the vibrant hills and open fields of tall grass that he’d fought his way through the night he’d been surprised by Sandy Boyer. All around the wide field, wooded hills blazed with the same autumn colors as he’d seen everywhere in the mountains, shining in the soft rays of the setting sun. The edge of the sky had turned the color of fresh salmon swirled through with deep purple and shreds of lavender. It was a gorgeous sight, and the water-colored softness of the sunset filtered through the gigantic windows and tinted the entire room in a pastel pink glow.

  Novak’s eyes noted and then latched on a powerful telescope sitting on a tripod near one end of the windowed wall. A small red cushioned chair was pulled up in front of it. He wondered if it had a night-vision lens, and if anyone had been watching him as he skirted the edge of those fields below under the cloak of night. The moon had been out, not bright but casting dark shadows. Yes, a watcher from that window could have spotted him. He hoped to hell not.

  The kitchen was separated by a high counter, twelve or thirteen feet of gray- and white- and tan-speckled shiny granite. Just beyond it, Hester was busying around the stove big time and looked to be cooking up a storm. Whatever it was inside her oven, it smelled great. She did not hear them come in, of course, and he had a feeling she didn’t hear much of anything else that went on inside that house. Probably the main reason she’d been hired on. She kept her eyes downcast, only aware of her culinary tasks. If she noticed them entering the room, she didn’t indicate it or she’d been instructed not to indicate it. Wilson pointed to the dining area, which was located precisely in the middle of the magnificent glass wall. A long white table with ornate carved legs was positioned there, ten chairs on either side. Two crimson-cushioned, carved matching armchairs were positioned at each end.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Novak, take a seat. I’ll go fetch Em.”

  Emma. Em. Could be her, all right. Novak would find out soon enough, unless she’d had as much plastic surgery performed as her husband had obviously had. Novak had been looking for an opportunity to poke around inside the house and case out how the interior was laid out. He needed to know where everything was, especially the exits and the windows. “I’d like to wash up first. Is there a bathroom around here?”

  “Of course. Sorry. Outside in the hall we came through? Take a quick left, second door on the right. I’ll be right back.”

  Novak noted the direction taken by his host, wanting to know where the flight of stairs leading up to the second floor was located. He waited long enough for Wilson to disappear through a door at the far end of the room on the side away from the kitchen, and then he glanced at Hester. The old woman had her back to him, now taking something out of the oven that just smelled delicious. She was humming a tune to herself. Some kind of a church hymn. Amazing Grace, maybe. All else lay silent. Not a sound. He headed in the direction that Wilson had gone, opening the same door through which the other man had disappeared.

  It led Novak into another family room, much smaller, one with a fireplace made of round brown river rocks that took up the whole end wall. The room was a good deal cozier than the first one had been, looked like a comfortable place to relax, and was probably where Wilson and his family spent most of their time. Steps led up to the second floor. They were unusual, built against the interior wall and made of logs cut in half. Logs that had bark on the underside. Very rustic. No bannisters. Just the wall on one side; a high drop-off on the other. Bright yellow couches, the color of sunflowers, three of them, positioned in a C formation facing a raised hearth. There were matching lamps between each sofa. All of the lamps were made of mercury glass and were lit up and made the room look bright and cheerful. A small boy sat on the sofa, the one directly facing Novak. He was playing some kind of a shooting game on a smart phone. Novak could hear the catchy music. Star Wars, it sounded like. The ringing sounds of successful kills. The boy looked up at him.

  “Hey, kid, I’m looking for the bathroom. Took the wrong door, I guess.”

  “It’s that way.” The boy pointed at a different door, one that probably led out to the center hall.

  “What game are you playing?”

  “Star Wars Angry Birds.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  The kid nodded but didn’t smile. Looked like a very serious kind of kid. “Yeah, I like it pretty much.”

  “I’m Will Novak. So I guess you’re Mr. Wilson’s son?”

  “Yeah, I’m Ryan.”

  Novak was zeroing in on his target. The kid’s name was right, and he looked a hell of a lot like the boy in Mariah’s photographs. Maybe a little bit taller, thinner now, face narrower, brown hair longer. Strong Australian accent. It had to be Ryan Adamson. Just a Ryan Adamson that was two years older. That would make him seven, going on eight.

  “Okay, Ryan, thanks. I gotta go wash up. Dinner smells good.”

  “Yeah, Hester’s making beef pot roast and carrots and potatoes. She always has coleslaw made with lots of mayonnaise with it, ’cause she knows it’s my favorite. Sometimes she makes applesauce with red hots in it, too, to go with it, ’cause that tastes real good with roast beef. And she’s making this special chocolate cake recipe with icing that tastes like chocolate fudge, I guess because you’re gonna be our guest.”

  Now Ryan appeared more animated, interested in the conversation. Either he was hungry or a chef in the making. “See you at dinner, then.”

  “No, you won’t. They make me eat in here by myself. I never get to eat with Mama.”

  “Well, your dad’s gone up to get her, so I better get a move on, too.”

  “Yeah, he’s got to let her out for dinner.”

  Novak stopped in front of the hall door, his hand on the door handle. He turned back to the kid. “Let her out?”

  “Yeah, he’s the only one with the key. But Daddy always gets her out in time for dinner, even when she’s been bad. She was really bad today, too. She’s in trouble again.”

  The boy didn’t take his eyes off his game. He kept on playing as he told Novak about his mother’s punishment, his dark eyes glued on the screen, fingers dancing on the keys. He didn’t seem to realize that anything was wrong with his mother being locked in her room until dinnertime. Novak didn’t need any further explanation. Wilson most likely kept her locked up when he was out of the house. Maybe punishment for that unsanctioned ride down on the riverbank? Wilson hadn’t seemed too pleased to see her out riding by herself. He’d said that she wasn’t supposed to go down there. The boy didn’t know any better. Status quo at the Wilson house, maybe. Mama locked up. Daddy’s got the key. No big deal. Looked like Adamson was a sicko, an abusive man just as Mariah had feared. So why was he inviting a stranger into the house where he kept his wife a virtual prisoner? Novak sure as hell didn’t think it was because Wilson trusted him.

  “Well, thanks for pointing me in the right direction. Nice to meet you, Ryan. Good luck with the game. May the Force be with you.”

  At that, the kid looked up and grinned. Then he went back to shooting down Imperial Starfighters. He was doing well, if all the ringing and exploding and booming sounds designated success in battle.

  Novak exited the family room quickly, not wanting Wilson to find him talking to his son. Now he knew almost everything he needed. And he was about to meet the lady who would clinch the one last verification before he could begin the extraction. He found the guest bathroom easily enough, and it was big and elegant and slightly woodsy like every other room in the house. Gold fixtures, even. Wilson was getting a lot of money
from somewhere, all right. He washed his hands and face, finger-combed his hair. Hoped Emma didn’t recognize him from the old neighborhood. Didn’t see how she possibly could. They had been kids when they’d lived there. He didn’t remember her at all. Not even her name. Certainly not the face he’d seen in the pictures. He was pretty sure that she wouldn’t know him. He hoped to hell not.

  When he arrived back at the spacious room, the sunset had faded into twilight, the pink glow chased away by the falling darkness on the edge of the horizon. Wilson and his wife were already in the dining room. Wilson was sitting on a high black iron stool at a wet bar, just behind the dining room table. He appeared to be making cocktails. The woman stood alone at the windows with her back to Novak, staring silently out into the gloaming. She was small, very tiny, just like Mariah had described. Slight of build, fragile, delicate, also as Emma Adamson was purported to be. She couldn’t stand more than five feet tall, maybe even an inch less than that. She looked like a small child standing there. She looked lonely. She wasn’t much bigger than her son.

  “There you are, Mr. Novak. Just in time for drinks. I make the hell out of martinis. Here, let me introduce you to my wife. We call her Em around here. You know, like Auntie Em in The Wizard of Oz.” He grinned, the host with the most, all of a sudden.