He reached the outskirts, passing the strip mall and watching through the intermittent slap of his wipers for E-Z Builder’s long red roof. It came into view. Fifteen minutes later, the solvent was on the floor in his backseat, and he was heading for the kneepads in his shop. The sooner he finished the floor, the sooner he could complete his work and get back to the life he’d had before he started this job. He just couldn’t handle being around her anymore.
His cell phone chimed. Keeping his eyes on the road, he took it from his belt and said hello. The male caller’s voice was low and angry with a dash of malice. “I got your message,” Lawrence Chandler said without preamble. “Now I have one for you. Stay away from my wife and out of my business. If anything the two of you discussed becomes an embarrassment to me, I will ruin you.” Then he hung up before Beau could respond.
Beau pulled off the side of the road and hit a number on his speed dial.
* * *
Putting down her hairbrush, Jenna rushed to answer her bedroom phone before it shattered Aunt Molly’s sleep. She checked the caller ID window and answered hopefully. “Beau?”
“Hi,” he said. “I’m just checking in to make sure all’s well. My errands are taking longer than expected.”
Jenna’s spirits took another nose dive. He sounded tense—or distant. “We’re fine.”
“Good. I picked up the solvent, and I’m heading for home now. I might be longer than a half hour.”
“No problem. Take your time.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
Swallowing the knot in her throat, Jenna replaced the handset, then returned to the bathroom to finish brushing her hair. She’d changed from her jeans and sweatshirt into black socks, flats and leggings, and topped them with a long white cable-knit sweater with a deep cowl neckline. She pulled a few bangs onto her forehead. Small gold hoops shone from her earlobes, and a matching gold-filigreed, rose-quartz-and-onyx pendant hung from a gold chain around her neck.
But all of her efforts were for nothing, she thought as she left her room and moved into the hall. No matter what Aunt Molly said haute couture wouldn’t change the way Beau felt about her now. The only way she’d be able to regain the trust they’d once had was to—
Glass shattered, and nerves rioting, Jenna ran for the foyer as the piercing security alarm erupted in a pulsing cacophony that nearly split her eardrums. She got to the wide archway just as a short thin man wearing a stocking mask clambered through the smashed side light on the front door and dropped to the floor. Everything happened in split seconds.
Jenna ran for the staircase. She had to protect Aunt Molly! But the small man had already unlocked the door, and a taller intruder in a stocking mask burst inside while the short one took a baseball bat to the security keypad, silencing the alarm.
Jenna scrambled up the stairs. Halfway up, the tall man grabbed her ankles and suddenly she was airborne—crashing down on the steps. He dragged her to him. Fighting the pain, she twisted, turned! Got one foot free and kicked his kneecap. With a guttural cry, he fell on top of her. Jenna clawed at the face behind the nylon mask—went for his eyes, tried to bring her knee to his groin. Now the other man was on her, too, forcing a foul-smelling rag over her nose and mouth.
Chloroform! Help me Father!
The last few words she heard before she lost consciousness was Aunt Molly yelling, “You let her be!” and the tall man shouting that Jenna was supposed to be alone. Then he said something that made her fight harder, though her head was spinning and she was drowning in the blackness. “Take care of the old lady. I’ll get this one in the van.”
* * *
Beau’s cell phone chimed as he took a set of kneepads from a hook in his shop, and he set them down on his workbench. He was instantly afraid when he heard Fish Troutman’s grave voice.
“Beau, it’s Fish. I don’t have much time to talk, but Mrs. Jennings gave me your cell phone number and insisted that I call.”
If there was a problem, why wasn’t Aunt Molly calling? Why wasn’t Jenna? “Fish?”
“Jenna was taken. Fifteen or twenty minutes ago.”
How could that be? He’d just spoken to her! “What do you mean, she was taken? Taken from the inn?”
“Yes. Now before you get too—”
“Who took her?”
“Two men in stocking masks. The state police are setting up check points on all the roads leading out of town.”
The bottom fell out of Beau’s stomach. In twenty minutes she could be in the next county. In forty-five minutes, she could be on the interstate traveling at sixty-five miles an hour toward God knew where! He kept his phone to his ear as he ran to his truck. “Okay, you’ve said what the PSP are doing. What are you doing to find her?”
“What we need to do—looking for evidence that’ll help us locate her.”
Of course they were, and he shouldn’t be taking out his frustration on Fish. He started the engine, dropped the truck in gear and roared out of his driveway. He should’ve been with her. He’d made a promise! Suddenly, he realized he hadn’t asked about Aunt Molly, then did.
“She’s on her way to the hospital. One of the perps banged her up a little.”
“What?”
“Not intentionally. He shoved her in a closet and wedged a chair under the knob. She says she’s okay, though.”
Thank God for that. “What else do you know?”
“Beau, I need to go.”
“Just the basics.”
“Okay. Elmer Fox came by about ten minutes after the abduction to drop off some photographs and saw that four-foot side light smashed out of the front door. When he yelled through the opening, Mrs. Jennings yelled back. He went inside, got her out, then tried to call the station. But the perps had cut the phone line before they broke in, obviously so the security company wasn’t alerted. If Jenna’d had a wireless system that wouldn’t have worked. Anyway, Mrs. Jennings called us from her cell phone.”
Beau flicked on his wipers. The snow was thin and grainy, coating the roads and adding to the accumulation on the berms. He was approaching the strip mall now, and scanning every passing car and truck. “What kind of vehicle are you looking for?”
“We don’t know yet. I’m on my way out the door now to help Drago. We’re canvassing the neighborhood while Perris handles things here.”
“Fish, I need to help.”
“You can’t. Just pray and stay available, and I’ll let you know when we hear something. Bye.”
Sick to his soul, Beau tucked his phone away and kept driving toward town because there was nothing else he could do.
He’d never felt so helpless and afraid in his life.
FOURTEEN
Jenna fought the dream, fought the numbing cold. Beau was swinging that axe again, hacking at logs for a fire. Everything would be okay, he insisted. She’d be warm soon. But it wasn’t okay. She could barely feel her hands and feet, and the nausea and dizziness were getting worse.
Her eyes flew open in a rush of horror. This was real! The cold, the men in stocking masks, the drug-induced nausea! Dear God, she’d been brought here and left to die!
But where was here, and how could she get away with her hands tied behind her back and her ankles bound?
She rolled to her knees—tried to stand. The effort brought her slamming to the ground and crying out in pain. She got to her knees again and through a wave of nausea, took stock of her situation. She was in a wooded valley, in the middle of a roofless, three-walled, crumbling stone structure. All around her tall pines and bare tree limbs caught the snow that continued to fall. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Hypothermia was a certainty—her sweater, leggings and suede flats wouldn’t stop it. Death was a terrifying possibility.
Frantic, shaking uncontrollably, she glanced around, then moved toward the only shelter available.
Two of the long gray stone walls created a corner, approximately ten feet at its highest, then gradually decreased to four feet. There was
a hole in the third wall where a door had once been. She moved toward the corner, praying for help, snow-covered rocks and clumps threatening her balance and cutting into her knees.
Her labored gasps fogged the air. She knew where she was now. This was The Hideaway, the old turn-of-the-century railroad depot near Payton’s Rocks that Beau had told her about.
Beau!
Feelings of betrayal crushed her heart for a second, but in the next, she knew he’d never hurt her. He was everything good in this world. The men who’d broken in had to have learned about The Hideaway from the bugs at the Blackberry.
“Please, help me,” she prayed, trying not to cry and continuing to make her way over the uneven ground. People had to be looking for her—the police, friends, Beau. Aunt Molly had seen the men. She’d tell the authorities who to—
Jenna stopped abruptly. Now her tears did come. How could she have forgotten that Aunt Molly had been in danger, too? “Oh, dear Jesus, please let her be okay. Don’t let them have hurt her.”
The sound of a vehicle—distant, but coming closer—reached Jenna’s ears, and suddenly hope rose her chest. “Help!” she cried. “I’m down here!” Her thoughts sped along. Maybe someone had heard the alarm—given the police a description of the van they’d used. Maybe her abductors had been caught and told Perris where to find her!
The engine sounds ceased and in desperation she cried out again. But when no reply came after minutes of constant shouting, Jenna had to accept that help wasn’t coming.
She’d begun to move toward that stone corner again when she heard the unmistakable roar of a snowmobile or all-terrain vehicle. Someone was coming for her! “Thank you, God,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
One bright headlight pierced the grainy veil of falling snow. “Here!” she called jubilantly. “I’m here!”
The light came closer, the engine louder. She could make out the shape of the snowmobile and the rider now. Beau!
He stopped twenty yards away on the rise above her, then slowly got off the sled and descended the brush and sapling-covered ground toward her. And a new chill took away her last bit of warmth. The tall man in the dark topcoat and gray plaid muffler picking his way through the fine snow and brush wasn’t here to save her. He was here to kill her.
* * *
Beau parked his truck in the Charity PD’s lot and strode into the station. He’d spoken to a nurse in the ER and learned that Aunt Molly would be fine. Now all he could do was pray that Jenna would be okay, too. He loved her. There was no denying it anymore. No more flip-flopping about what was best for either of them. He loved her with every breath in his body, and he didn’t know how he could live through this nightmare if she didn’t.
Flame-haired, middle-aged dispatcher Sarah French bustled around her desk to hug him. They weren’t usually hugging friends, but he sensed that she needed to “comfort,” and he accepted her affectionate squeeze gratefully. Despite her flamboyant style—the royal blue pantsuit, half-dozen carnival glass necklaces and dangling gold fish earrings—she was dependable, smart and savvy.
“Fish thought you’d be coming by,” she said. “Charlie’s on his way in to mind the store, but he won’t care if you hang out here for a while.” Eagerness to help shone in the blue eyes behind her red-framed glasses. “Sit. I’ll get you a cup of coffee. Or would you rather have cocoa? We have some of those packets that you mix with hot water.”
“Thanks, Sarah, but I’m okay.” His stomach was burning, and caffeine would only increase the acid sloshing around in there. “I’ll take that seat, though.” Beau sank to a folding chair along the wall. Then he closed his eyes and prayed.
* * *
Jenna didn’t know how she found the courage to defy him, but as he stepped across the jagged rocks to tower over her, she refused to show fear.
“Well, well,” he said easily, “what have we here?”
She looked up into Courtland Dane’s smug, ice-blue eyes. They were the same, no longer hidden behind tinted glasses. The flawlessly trimmed mustache and close-to-the-jaw beard were the same, too. But his nose was broader and his cheekbones were more prominent. He’d had cosmetic surgery while he’d been underground. His hair was pulled back from his forehead in a short ponytail, and a diamond stud shone from his right earlobe. The limping man from the diner was unmasked.
“You ruined my life,” he said cordially.
“You ruined your own life.”
He ignored her reply. “I have to say it, Jenna. You looked much better the last time I saw you. Radiant. Beautiful. And now…” He shrugged. “But, no matter. I only want to talk to you—nothing else, since I’m not interested in the carpenter’s leftovers.”
He seemed to expect a denial from her, but she remained silent.
He gestured smoothly with black-gloved hands. “Nothing to say? Not even a plea for mercy? Or a blanket? Well, then, do let me get the conversation going—catch you up with what’s been going on in my life. Isn’t that what friends do when they haven’t seen each other for a time?”
He smiled. “Where have I been?” he asked, then said, “Thank you for asking, I’ve been living in Barbados, though I can’t say I enjoyed it.” He touched his nose, his cheek. “I wasn’t particularly fond of the surgery, either, but it was a necessary evil that—along with some nicely made credentials—allowed me to return to the States last month.” He walked around as though he were taking a summer stroll while grainy snow continued to fall. “Of course, as Thomas Wolfe said, you can’t really go home again.
“Are you cold, Jenna? Can you still feel your feet? Your hands? I’ve done some reading on hypothermia that you might find interesting. Taking into account the amount of time you’ve been here, you’ll soon begin to lose focus and hallucinate. Then your movements will become clumsy and uncoordinated. Although,” he chuckled softly, “you seem to have reached that point out of sequence.” He continued to slowly circle her. “Eventually you’ll wish you’d died the night you made me cut you.”
She couldn’t remain silent any longer. “I didn’t make you cut me! You did that on your own.”
Dane flew into a rage—knocked her to the ground. “I was entitled to compensation! You were mine, and you let that young miscreant touch you!”
Jenna fired back though her pain, refused to right herself because that meant kneeling in front of him. “I was never yours! And he did nothing but help me—”
“Oh, I know how he helped you,” Dane returned viciously. “I saw it on his face when he left.”
He took a moment to calm himself, then brushed snow from the lapels of his topcoat and raised his chin, once more the polished power broker. “You took away what I valued most in this world. While I still have wealth, I’ll never be able to return to my station in the financial community. Now it will give me great pleasure to know you’ll end your days in misery as well.
“Of course, my unhappiness will be tempered by the fact that I’ll still be breathing.” Smiling, he withdrew a small GPS from his pocket, flashed it, then returned it to his coat. “How fitting that your lover supplied the perfect place for your death.” He paused to adjust his scarf, then smiled again. “Goodbye, Jenna. Don’t get up. I’ll show myself out.”
Raw fear splintered through her, accompanied by a staggering sense of desperation. But she wouldn’t call him back, wouldn’t beg for her life because she knew it was what he wanted.
She waited until she heard the snowmobile’s engine roar to life. Then she got to her knees again and made her way through the snow to the corner of the ruins. Wedging herself into the crook, then moving up and down against the rocks, she managed to manipulate her sweater’s deep cowl neckline up to partially cover her head. It wouldn’t preserve much of her remaining body heat, but it would help. And she would keep moving her fingers and toes—keep living. Beau would come for her. He would remember what they’d talked about while they were being recorded, and with God’s help he would find her.
She looked into the fa
lling snow where a small portion of milky sky showed between the tall pines and hemlocks, and she whispered the Lord’s Prayer.
It was so hard to say, “Thy will be done.”
* * *
For the fourth time, the phone rang at the station and for the fourth time Beau leapt to his feet. This time, when Charlie Banks answered the phone, he didn’t send Beau a bleak look and shake his head.
Beau heard him speak over the news on CNN and the hum of the copy machine where Sarah was working. Banks was a heavyset, grandfatherly man with rimless bifocals, and gray walrus mustache, but the gruffness in his voice always made him sound like he was half ticked off.
“Good,” he said. “Is Perris handling it? Do you need anything from me? Traffic control? Okay, then I’ll stay here.” He looked at Beau. “Yeah, I’ll tell him.”
Beau was through the low gate dividing the office from the reception area by the time Charlie hung up. “Did they find her?”
“No, but Fish thinks he’s got the fella who took her. His rental car slid off the road out by the strip mall and smacked into a stone abutment.”
“He’s alive and talking?”
“Yeah, but he’s not bein’ cooperative. They’re waitin’ for the ambulance.”
Beau headed for the door. This wasn’t the news he’d prayed for, but it was something.
Charlie called out to him. “You won’t be welcome out there, but I expect you need to go. Careful on those roads.”
* * *
The snow kept falling as Beau passed the burning flares on the highway and pulled onto the side of the road behind a police cruiser. Fish and Drago were just handing over traffic control to a couple of firemen. Above the road, in the mall’s parking lot, a few curiosity seekers looked down on the accident. Leaving his truck, Beau sprinted across the road to where Chief Perris stood beside a late-model black sedan. The driver’s door was open, and a man in a black topcoat was leaning back against the headrest holding a cloth to his forehead. His right wrist was handcuffed to the steering wheel.
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