Bad Road to Nowhere

by Linda Ladd

  At that point, the woman turned around and looked directly at Novak. Their eyes met and seemed to lock like lasers. Novak was taken aback. The woman in front of him was drop-dead gorgeous. Honey blond hair, quite long, curling on the ends, flowing down past her waist. She had huge blue eyes, an unusual pale blue, pure like aquamarines, and a slender, waif-like body. Heart-shaped face, skin untouched by the sun. Ever, it looked like. It was Emma Adamson, all right, in the flesh, no doubt about it. No plastic surgery, no change in appearance, nothing. Except that she looked about a hundred times better in person than she had in any of Mariah’s old photographs. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women that Novak had ever laid eyes on.

  Their eyes remained connected for a long moment. Neither of them looked away; neither spoke. Novak found it hard to let go of her face long enough to look back at Wilson the way he should. She was the kind of woman who would cause any man to stare at her. Novak was no exception. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her. Her perfection was almost mesmerizing. Even for him. And that was rare as hell.

  “Come on over here, Em. Meet your new bodyguard. Will Novak. At least I hope he is, in any case. If he agrees to take you on. He hasn’t yet, though.”

  If Emma recognized his name, she didn’t react. And why would she recognize it? She had been a little girl. He was relieved she didn’t know him. She walked straight to him, obedient, graceful, across the width of the room with both men watching her. She stopped directly in front of Novak. She looked even smaller when she stood close to him, barely reaching the middle of his chest. She had on a simple red dress, fitted closely to her petite body, long sleeves, long in length, too, the hem almost touching the floor. Very staid and conservative. Flats, also red, the exact same shade as her dress. No makeup, no jewelry, except for a wedding ring set, an expensive one, sparkling with a fortune’s worth of diamonds. She appeared calm and serene and sad, and most of all, resigned. She looked like a woman who had been kept locked in her room all day.

  “How do you do, Mr. Novak?” She held out her slender hand, and Novak took it. It felt small and as cold as ice. “My husband told me all about you. Welcome to our home.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wilson.”

  At first impression, Emma Adamson aka Emma Wilson, was studiously polite, very ladylike, and very retiring. Shy, almost. The diametrical opposite of Mariah. But they had been good friends as children. Maybe it had been the opposites-attract sort of dynamic. This young woman could and would instantly draw out a man’s protective instincts, just like her husband had intimated. Novak didn’t doubt that for a moment. He was no exception. He felt the urge to pull out his weapon, push her behind him, and back out of the house. Free her as if she really was that small, exotic bird that Wilson had described. But a bird that had been caged up for life and could no longer sing with joy or spread her wings or soar free.

  “Give Mr. Novak a kiss, Em. Show him how much you like him.”

  Shocked by Wilson’s command, Novak jerked a look at him. But he wasn’t as startled as Emma appeared to be. He watched a soft blush of embarrassment run up under her skin. She looked totally humiliated, which had no doubt been Wilson’s objective.

  Novak saved her the trouble. “No need for that. I feel welcome enough.”

  It was clear that Wilson did not like Novak’s interference. “She always kisses my guests. You like it, don’t you, sweetheart? You like to kiss other men. Go ahead, kiss him. On the mouth. But not for too long. Then I’d get jealous.” He laughed as the color darkened on her cheeks.

  Emma kept her eyes glued on the floor, but she nodded. She raised her face for Novak to lean down so she could kiss him.

  At that point, Novak had had enough of Wilson’s boorishness. “I said that’s not necessary, Wilson. I think you’re embarrassing your wife. You sure as hell are embarrassing me.”

  Wilson’s eyes focused on Novak. Angry. Emma kept her attention on Novak’s face, too. Her eyes were tilted a little bit, and the azure depths filled now with open gratitude. “It’s okay,” she said, very softly. “I’m used to him making me do it.”

  Wilson took a step toward them. “Emma. You heard me.”

  Emma stepped closer to Novak, and that’s when Novak got the distinct impression that Wilson was really getting off on his wife’s humiliation. Probably enjoyed it each and every time a guest showed up for dinner. What the hell was he trying to prove? This woman was his wife.

  “Sorry, no offense, but I don’t particularly want your wife to kiss me, Wilson. I don’t think she really wants to, either, and you should be glad she doesn’t. So let’s just forget the kiss, okay?”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong about that.” Wilson laughed again, enjoying everybody’s discomfort. “Well, congratulations, Mr. Novak. You’re the only man who ever met my wife who didn’t want to kiss her and who didn’t immediately jump at the opportunity. Maybe you’re the man for this job, after all.”

  “Sounds to me like you might need to interview more honorable men.”

  Wilson stopped laughing, apparently feeling Novak’s jab. “It’s a test. You passed, by the way. I don’t let anybody touch my wife, nobody but me. So get those lewd thoughts out of your mind. I know you have them. Every guy who lays eyes on her has them. But she is off-limits to you and everybody else. She’s mine.”

  Novak frowned at Wilson. This guy was a goddamn asshole. Novak realized just how much he was going to enjoy spiriting Emma away from him and the abusive games he liked to make her play.

  Wilson stared pointedly at Emma now, a warning to her, it seemed, and she received his message, loud and clear. “Please, won’t you sit down, Mr. Novak? I believe dinner is ready.”

  The three of them sat down. Wilson sat at the head of the table in the cushioned armchair, showing his superiority over the other two. Novak and Emma sat on either side of him and faced each other. Novak tried not to stare at her, especially after what Wilson had said about her desirability. It was hard not to. Wilson was grinning as if he could read Novak’s mind. Maybe he was proud of her. Enjoyed other men’s envy. Hester served them, without a word uttered, still in her dingy lamb house shoes, shuffling her way around the table on the shiny hardwood floor. Probably couldn’t hear the sounds her shoes were making. Everybody else at the table ignored Hester’s existence. Emma kept her gaze exclusively on her plate. Nineteen empty chairs stretched to the far end of the table. Hester was taking the long way around. Slowly but surely.

  “Please return grace,” Wilson ordered Emma. Harsh and cold, brooking no objection.

  She bowed her head and said a short prayer, very low and quiet, like everything else she did.

  Novak was getting some really bad vibes inside this house, even worse than he had expected. Wilson was no doubt a misogynist, and his wife bore the brunt of it, probably every day and every night of her life. As they partook of the meal, Wilson did most of the talking, ignoring Emma completely, leaving her out of the conversation as if her opinion was neither wanted nor needed. She didn’t try to insert herself. Didn’t eat much. Didn’t react to anything. Typical abused-woman syndrome. Wilson bragged to Novak about his three businesses, how well they were doing, how he’d managed to accumulate so much land, how he loved the beautiful wooded mountains of north Georgia, on and on and on. Novak said little. Emma said nothing.

  Without any warning, Wilson suddenly turned on his wife again. “Well, don’t you have a word to say, Em? Are you going to be rude to Mr. Novak like you always are to my guests? That it? That what you’re trying to do? Humiliate me in front of one of my men?”

  But Emma said nothing, just hung her head and looked miserable. It looked like Wilson didn’t need a reason to abuse her, at least not verbally. But verbal abuse usually became psychological abuse, and psychological abuse readily became physical, and sooner rather than later. Right up until the woman ended up dead.

  Novak didn’t like it. Didn’t want to stand for it. He loathed men who abuse
d women about as much as anything and didn’t mind showing it. “I don’t like the way you’re treating your wife, Wilson. Is this another one of your litmus tests? If it is, either I just passed, or I’m going to knock you out of that chair.”

  Emma gasped out loud and darted a frightened look at her husband. Wilson looked shocked at first, but that soon turned into a mocking grin. “I can’t believe you’ve turned out to be such a gentleman, Novak. Not the way you’ve been breaking jaws and putting my men in the hospital. But that’s good, I guess, if you’re going to protect Emma. But just know this, and you listen good—it’s none of your business what goes on here in this house between me and my wife. I will do what I want to her and with her, and I will say what I want. You will not interfere. I’ll give you this one knee jerk reaction to her, but no more.”

  “Fine by me. Just know that I will put you down if it ever gets out of hand.”

  Pure shock again, from both husband and wife. Then Wilson laughed out loud. He picked up his wineglass, swirled it, sniffed it, then took a drink, like a real connoisseur. Not likely. “Know what? I like you, Novak. You got guts. Man, do you ever. You don’t take shit off me or anybody else. But be warned. Don’t feel sorry for my wife. She’ll have you wrapped around her little finger in the first five minutes, if she hasn’t charmed you already. Trust me, Novak, I know what I’m talking about. Em, here, she knows how to bewitch men. That’s why I have to keep such close tabs on her. But enough about Em.” He turned to his silent wife, who was still looking down at her plate. Reverted back to subservient mode. “You’re dismissed, Em. Go to bed but don’t go to sleep until I get up there. Because I want you tonight. And don’t go outside and mope around in that swing, either. You hear me? Wear that black nightgown I like, the see-through one. Take a bath in that lavender oil I got you and be ready for me. Understand?”

  Emma’s face went crimson again, and she couldn’t look at Novak. She just nodded and pushed back her chair and hurried out of the room.

  Novak stared at Wilson. This guy was sick in the head. That poor woman must be going through hell on earth living atop that cliff with him, locked up with no way out. No wonder she’d been desperate enough to contact Mariah with that cryptic note inside the matchbook. Novak wanted to get her out of there, her and her son, both. Immediately. Right now. That wasn’t possible, of course, but it soon would be. Count on it.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  After the stilted dinner with the Wilsons, Novak decided that he had better reconnoiter the compound a second time. He wanted to get Emma Adamson out of that house in the worst way, and he wanted to make it happen soon. First, he had to make sure that nobody saw him leave the cabin. Meaning Kiki. Lucky for him, she had gone down to visit friends in Sikeston for a couple of days. She’d told him that when she’d dropped by his cabin for a goodbye kiss. That girl just didn’t give up. That girl needed psychiatric help. If she wasn’t a nymphomaniac yet, she would soon be crossing the finish line.

  The predicted rain that had been pounding the Gulf coast had finally stormed its way up and hit the area like a sledgehammer. The remnants of Hurricane Christine had been fierce when they passed inland off the Florida panhandle, and Novak hoped his boat was secure at its moorings. Nothing he could do about that now, and the rains and winds were leaving a ton of flooding and pretty much wet and cold mayhem in its wake. Another hurricane was already forming out in the Gulf, and that meant additional storms and heavy rain, all throughout the South and the Midwest. It was raining outside now, hard and cold, a good steady downpour that had been drenching the compound for the last couple of hours. It had not worked itself up to full-fledged thunderstorm as of yet, but the local weather channel reported that it would and would probably keep up its onslaught for the next few days.

  When Novak opened the back door, ready to go, he was met with a wind-slanted deluge. Cold rain spattered on the leaves and brought them whirling down onto already sodden ground. The storm was making a loud clatter on the metal roof. But he wanted to go. He needed to get a good look inside that barn before he extracted the woman and kid. He wanted to see where Wilson kept his wife when he locked her up and how hard it would be to get her out of her prison without being seen or heard or setting off an intruder alarm.

  This time he took a different route through the woods, one that would take him all the way to the far edge of the grassy field. He moved down the tree line and was almost to the river when he caught a glimpse of a dark figure ahead of him. The other guy was crouched over and running through the woods at a forty-five-degree angle from Novak’s position. The man was keeping down very low, moving from tree trunk to tree trunk, but he was headed straight for the river, just like Novak was.

  If it wasn’t one of Wilson’s men, Novak just might have a big problem brewing with county cops or some other law agency. Maybe they were on surveillance out there, too, watching Wilson, suspecting him of perpetrating crimes inside his secret compound. Novak took off after him, staying down himself, rain drenching his camo jacket and pants and soaking the leaves underfoot. That was good. It dampened his approach to his newfound prey.

  Lightning flared for the first time, up in the west, a brief flash of pure energy that lit the entire woods in a black-and-white tableau that lasted maybe two seconds. The other guy went down on his haunches and huddled up close to a tree trunk. Novak did the same. They were only yards from the riverbed now, and Novak watched the other intruder focus a pair of binoculars up high on Wilson’s wall of windows. At that point, Novak was damn sure he was not heading up to the house to have a spot of tea. Whoever it was with the binoculars was up to no good. Just like he was.

  Not waiting for the guy to move out again, and using the pounding rain and thrashing tree tops as a distraction, Novak moved. He jerked out the Ka-Bar and stealthily approached the other man. He struck fast and hard, wrapping his left arm around the man’s neck and forcing him down to the ground. The guy didn’t put up a fight, so Novak didn’t use the knife. Novak held him down on his stomach, leaning on him with one knee pressed hard into the guy’s spine. He frisked him for weapons, found a gun, and pulled it out of his belt holster. The other man was smaller and didn’t fight back. He secured the weapon and flipped the guy over on his back. That’s when a fist slammed hard into Novak’s cheekbone, with enough force to send his senses reeling off course for a couple of seconds. Another blow came quickly, aimed at his Adam’s apple, but he evaded that one and got serious. He got the guy with both hands around his throat and started squeezing off his air. The man struggled desperately, kicking his legs, and made choking sounds until Novak let up some on the pressure constricting his windpipe. He didn’t want to kill the guy; he wanted some answers.

  “Stop! Stop it, Will, it’s me!”

  The man he just tackled to the ground had turned out to be Mariah Murray instead, and she was screaming every curse in the book at him, most of it drowned out by the wind and steady beat of rain. Damn it! She was like a freaking Biblical plague. She kept struggling, desperately trying to knock loose his grip. She couldn’t, of course. Will cursed, got to his feet, and jerked her up bodily by the front of her jacket. He slammed her back up against the tree trunk, leaned into her to hold her there, and yelled down into her face. “Are you crazy? What the hell are you doing out here?”

  “Let go, you’re hurting me!” She was gasping, still trying to catch her breath from his chokehold. The way he was holding her pressed down by his weight wasn’t helping her with that. “I’m watching Wilson,” she finally got out. “Trying to see Emma. For God’s sake, get off me! I can’t breathe!”

  Novak frisked her for other weapons, stuck her gun into his coat pocket, and got them both back down on the ground and out of sight while he searched the dark trees for guards, afraid they’d been spotted by the telescope in that big room across the river. Or by one of Wilson’s game cameras. He hadn’t seen any on the surrounding trees as he’d moved along. He’d been checking that carefully, but he couldn’t see
them as well now, not with rain coming down so hard. He kept his head ducked, face hidden. The rain pelted them both, loud and cold, soaking their clothing. Thunder rumbled far away, but he was still watching for alerted guards to come running. After a few minutes, he was pretty sure he hadn’t been spotted. Thank you, storm. High above them, the house loomed dark and dead, no sign of life.

  He turned to Mariah again, not happy. “How’d you get out here? My God, have you lost your damn mind?”

  “I got a car. That’s how, and you know it. Look, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I took you down in about two seconds flat, right? Now where’d you leave the damn car?”

  “Stop treating me like a child.”

  “You’re acting worse than that, like some kind of idiot, and you’re gonna get both of us killed doing this kind of stuff. You’re lucky that I didn’t just let you wander around out here until they spotted you and put a bullet in your head. Where’d you get that weapon?”

  “I stole it off one of the guards at the Triangle last night. My car’s well hidden. They aren’t going to find it.”

  Furious as hell, Novak shoved her out in front of him and made her lead the way. She staggered a few steps ahead of him but didn’t fall. She turned, ducked down low, and took off back through the trees, keeping inside the tangled weeds and undergrowth and angling away from both him and the river. He followed her, going slower, watching both the house and behind them, hoping she knew where the hell she was going. Ten minutes later she led him out onto a dirt logging road. Now turned pretty much into boot-sucking mire. Her car was hidden in a thicket about twenty yards down from where they exited the woods. He made her give him the keys and got in, waited for her to get in the passenger’s seat, and then backed onto the road and headed back to town.

  “Good God, are you overreacting or what, Will? Look, you’ve got to understand. I know what I’m doing. I don’t know why you can’t accept that. I’ve watched people lots of times, dangerous people, criminals even, for my job. I’m an investigative reporter. I’m not stupid and I don’t take stupid chances. I’ve never been hurt, never been caught once while on a job, not a single damn time. You’re the only one who’s seen me and guess what? I’ve been out there every night since you got hired on at the compound. That ought to tell you something.”