by Janet Dailey
All her life, she’d believed in being open and honest. But now she found herself drowning in secrets. She was keeping secrets from her employer, from Pearl, from Marlena, and from David. And now, she realized, she’d be keeping the most vital secret of all from John.
* * *
The mail run had taken longer than usual. Not that it mattered. This was Alaska, where life didn’t always run on the clock. Pleasantly tired, John taxied into Refuge Cove, secured the Beaver to the dock, and carried the mail pouch to the Jeep. He’d tried not to think about Emma during the long day. But as he drove to the post office, he couldn’t help wondering how she’d managed with her new job, and whether she’d seen or heard any sign of Boone.
After checking the mail pouch into the post office in Ward Cove, he turned the Jeep around and headed back up the highway, toward home. He was tempted to call Emma on her burner phone, before he lost service. But no, he’d already done what he could for her. She had a pistol, a safe place to stay, and plenty of access to help. It was time he stopped hovering over her like an overanxious parent.
A bank of fog had moved in from the narrows, spreading like a misty flood across the highway and into the forest. The night was eerily quiet— maybe too quiet. As he switched the lights to high beam and turned off the highway onto the logging road, John felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck—a sign he knew better than to ignore. Stopping the car, he drew his .44 pistol from the holster, where it lay on the seat beside him. With the heavy pistol cocked, and a round in the chamber, he drove on. If Boone, or anybody else, was waiting for him at the cabin, he would have to be ready.
Nearing the cabin, he switched off the headlights and climbed out of the vehicle. Here the fog was just moving in. Ghostly fingers of mist wove through the trees, but the night was clear enough for John to see his way. He moved like a shadow, gripping the pistol as he slipped from tree to tree.
His ears heard nothing but the familiar sounds of night. But the smell that reached his nostrils, faint but somehow familiar, raised a nauseous sensation in his throat. His gut tightened with a sense of dread.
He had almost reached the clearing when he saw what he’d been meant to see. A pale, lifeless form hung by a rope from the corner of the porch, drooping shoulders, dangling limbs, no visible head.
Driven by a sick panic, he plunged forward. Only then, as he got closer, did he realize what he was seeing.
It was the skinned carcass of the young bear.
* * *
The ringing cell phone woke Emma in the night. She grabbed it off the nightstand and took the call.
“Emma?” She could hear the strain in John’s voice. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m in my room. You woke me up.”
“Is your room locked? Both the key and the bolt?”
“Yes. I always do that in hotels. What’s wrong?”
“Is the window locked, the shade down?”
“Yes. For heaven’s sake, John, what is it? What’s happened?”
There was a beat of silence on the line. “Boone was at the cabin today, while I was gone. He wasn’t there tonight, but he left me a message.”
Emma felt the chill, as if an icy hand had run a finger up her back. She lowered her voice. “What kind of message?”
This time the pause was longer. “It was a dead animal. You don’t need to know more. It was pretty sick.” He took a breath. “Emma, the man’s not just dangerous. He’s crazy. Let me fly you out of here tomorrow. It’s the only way you’ll be safe.”
“My job—”
“You don’t need the damned job. You can get another one in Sitka. And when your credit cards get here, I can pick them up and drop them off to you on the mail run.”
Emma took a moment to think. John was making sense. She might be safer in Sitka. She could find another job. But how could she leave when she’d just met David? How could she abandon the only hope, however dim, of bringing John and his son together?
“What about you?” she asked, stalling for time. “Aren’t you in danger, too?”
“If Boone meant to hurt me, he’d have done it by now. What he wants is to get to you—and going through me is one way to do it. So what will it be? Will I have to drag you onto the plane to save your life?”
Emma braced for a storm. John wasn’t going to like her answer. “If Boone figures out that I’m in Sitka, there’s no reason he can’t get on a plane or boat and follow me there. I’m safer here, where the police can keep an eye out for him, and I have friends to protect me. Besides, I promised to stay at my job for two weeks. Hopefully, by then, this will all be over. Boone will be in jail, and I’ll have enough money for an airline ticket out of here.”
He muttered a curse. “Emma, you’ve got no idea—”
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “I’ll be fine. So let’s both get some sleep.”
He muttered something she couldn’t hear. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said, and ended the call.
* * *
John had driven back to the highway to get cell phone service. After his call to Emma he radioed the dispatchers for the police and state troopers and warned them to be on the lookout for Boone. Not that it would do much good. The bear carcass had been cold. Unless Boone had stayed around to watch John’s reaction, the bastard would be long gone by now.
He could only hope that Boone would keep to the family homestead and the backwoods, leaving Emma safe in town. Boone was clever, but John also knew him to be vain. He might not want to show himself in Ketchikan with that ugly burn down his once-handsome face. But there was no way to be sure of that. Boone could be as unpredictable as the path of a lightning bolt.
Still seething with frustration, he drove back up the logging road to the cabin. He’d done his best to talk Emma into leaving. But he might as well have been talking to a brick wall.
Damn the woman! Why couldn’t he make her listen?
Maybe he should have told her what Boone had done to the bear—and it had been Boone, all right. He’d seen the fresh tracks around the cabin, and the blood where he’d gunned down that poor dumb bear and skinned it.
John had laid a plastic tarp under the carcass and cut it down from where it hung. When he got back to the cabin, he would drag it off into the trees, wrap it, and bury it. He could leave the job until morning, but he knew he wouldn’t rest until it was done.
At the cabin, he strapped on his shoulder holster to keep the pistol handy. There was always a chance that Boone would show up again, or that the scent of blood would draw more bears, or wolves, to investigate.
With the Jeep and cabin secure, he opened the garage, found a shovel and a pair of heavy rubber gloves, and went to work. The task ahead would be grueling and dirty, but it had to be done.
What would’ve happened if Emma had been here in the cabin, alone? Blocking the question from his mind, John pulled on the gloves, picked up the shovel, and went to work.
* * *
Emma had meant to sleep late, but the sounds of workers, revamping the rooms on her floor, woke her early. By the time she’d climbed out of bed, showered, dressed, and gone downstairs for the free breakfast of cereal, fruit, and toast, her shift was still more than two hours away.
John would want her to stay inside the hotel, but she’d spent too much time behind closed doors. She needed fresh air, sunshine, and room to stretch her legs. As long as she stayed in the open, with plenty of people around her, she should be perfectly safe.
Megan had given her the address of a good thrift shop and marked the location on a map of the town. Its distance from the hotel gave Emma a good excuse to try out the new bicycle.
With her money in her jeans, and her jacket, her phone, and the pistol in the backpack, she wheeled the bike out of the storage closet, through the front door, and across the street to the wide boardwalk that ran by the docks. She hadn’t ridden a bicycle since she was in college, but how hard could it be?
The bike’s smaller size wa
s a perfect fit for her. She straddled the seat, gripped the handlebars, and took off pedaling. For the first few dozen yards her progress was wobbly. But soon her muscle memory took over, and she began to enjoy herself. By the time she headed uphill toward the thrift shop, she was riding like a carefree teenager.
The charity thrift shop had just opened. After an hour of browsing, Emma bought a waterproof down parka, a quilted vest, a pair of stretch pants, two nice sweaters, some socks, and a bra. She was tempted by a pair of barely worn boots, but those could wait for another visit. For now, it was all she could do to stuff all her purchases in her pack. She wouldn’t look glamorous like Marlena in her “new” clothes. But at least when the weather changed, as it was bound to, she’d be warm.
As she left the store, she glanced at the clock above the register. It was barely ten o’clock. Her shift didn’t start for another hour. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to go exploring a little on the bike. As long as she stayed where there was plenty of traffic, she’d be fine.
With the backpack strapped to her shoulders, she climbed on the bike and set off, headed south on the Tongass Highway, past the businesses that were strung along the road.
* * *
John was at Refuge Cove, servicing the Beaver after yesterday’s mail flight, when his cell phone rang. Hoping it might be Emma, he grabbed for it so fast that he almost dropped it in the water.
“Emma?”
The laugh on the other end chilled his blood. “So how did you like my little present, brother?”
“Can’t say I was impressed. That bear wasn’t half-grown and no meaner than a dog. It wouldn’t have taken much of a man to shoot it.”
“That little bearskin will be just right for makin’ me a new winter hat. But I’ll bet I scared you. I’ll bet for the first few seconds you thought it was her, hangin’ there. Lordy, I wish I could’ve seen your face.”
“You’re sick, Boone. I’d say you need help, but something tells me you’re long past that.”
“Where is she?” Boone’s voice had turned hard and mean. “I know she’s not with you because of how you answered the phone. But I’ll bet you know where she is.”
“She’s gone. She won’t be at the cabin anymore. So you can quit coming around.”
“Tell me where she is, and you’ll never see my face again.”
“Give it up, Boone. She’s gone for good. And if you show up looking for her, I’ll be seeing your ugly face behind bars.”
Boone laughed again. “Hell, I didn’t do anything to that little bitch except give her a thrill. And even if I’d committed a crime, you think I’m dumb enough to get caught? I’ve got eyes all over the place—friends, family, you name it. Any one of them spots her, and she’s mine for keeps. Maybe I’ll give her a real wedding this time, just to keep things nice and legal.”
The call ended with a laugh and a click, leaving John glaring down at the phone in mute fury. Was it true? Did Boone have other people watching for Emma—people who could snatch her off the sidewalk before she even had time to react?
Damn it, why had he assumed Boone would be acting alone in this? If what the bastard had said was true, Emma wouldn’t be safe anywhere in town, maybe not even in the hotel.
He needed to warn her. Maybe now she’d listen. Maybe now she’d agree to leave.
He brought up her cell number, called it, and held his breath as it rang. Pick up, damn it, Emma. Pick up. . . .
A chilling fear stole over him as the phone rang again, then again and again.
* * *
By the time she’d pedaled a mile along the shoulder of the road, Emma’s legs were getting tired. A cool wind had sprung up, the traffic had begun to thin out, and she was getting thirsty. The map she’d picked up at the hotel showed the highway going south, rounding a point, and changing to unpaved road that ended thirteen miles out of town. But she was not going to make it anywhere near that distance. It was time to turn around and go back the way she’d come.
A few minutes ago, she’d felt a slight vibration against her back. After the third or fourth time, she’d realized it was her phone, buried in her backpack beneath all the clothes she’d bought at the thrift store.
It was probably John, calling to check on her and lecture her about the need to leave town. Since she could hardly empty the pack on the roadside to get to the phone, there was nothing to do. She would have to call him back from the hotel.
After turning around, she pedaled back toward town. The distance seemed much longer now that she was getting tired. A hundred yards ahead, on the far side of the road, was a business that sold liquid propane, exchanging full tanks for empty ones. Emma had paid it scant attention when she’d passed it going the other way. Now she braked and skidded to a stop, her heart pounding in her throat.
Pulled up next to the door of the business was a camouflage-painted pickup truck. Even without the shell on the back, there could be no mistaking that sloppy spray job. It was Boone’s.
Two people, a man and a woman, stood outside the truck. From a distance, Emma could see that the woman was of medium height, stocky build, with gray hair knotted in a bun. The man was tall, even taller than Boone, with long, unkempt blond hair and a long, shaggy beard. Both of them were clad in baggy jeans and plaid lumberjack-style shirts. They had to be Boone’s mother and his brother, Ezra, in town from the homestead. So far, she could see no sign of Boone. Maybe he wasn’t with them. But he could have gone inside the building.
Emma waited, keeping her distance and wondering what to do next. There was no way she could get back to town without passing them. The sides of the highway were overgrown with thorny scrub. Leaving the road with the bike and cutting around through the trees would be next to impossible.
She could pedal past them, look the other way, and hope she wouldn’t be recognized. The pair had never met her. But Boone had probably shown them a photograph of his bride-to-be. She couldn’t take that chance, especially if they were looking for her—and especially if Boone happened to be with them, inside the building or even in the truck.
She could always wait for them to finish their business and leave. But if they were headed south, out of town, they would be driving right toward her. There had to be another way.
Suddenly Emma saw her chance. The mother and son were headed into the building, and now that they’d moved, she could see that the cab was empty. It was now or never.
Pumping with all her strength, she sped forward. She would pass the place on the opposite side, but the road was narrow. If seen, she could easily be recognized. How long would it take her to get a safe distance past the truck? Surely no more than seconds, but it was as if everything had fallen into slow motion, like a chase in a dream. Faster . . . she urged herself. Faster . . .
She was coming even with the truck. So far nobody had come back outside. She was going to make it. She was going to be all right.
Just then two shaggy heads popped up from the bed of the truck, followed at once by a chorus of baying, barking howls.
Boone’s dogs. They must’ve recognized her scent. Or maybe they just didn’t like cyclists.
Panic driven, she pumped harder. She could still hear the dogs. Even without looking back, she could tell that they’d jumped out of the truck and were coming after her. If they caught her, she wouldn’t have a chance against the big wolf hybrids. They would bring her down like a deer.
Faster ...
Her legs were getting rubbery, and her side had developed a painful stitch, and the dogs were gaining. The bike wobbled as powerful jaws caught the rear tire. If she threw down her backpack, would they attack it and let her get away? But why even wonder? Before she could get the pack off her shoulders the dogs would be all over her.
She pushed ahead, but the small bike wasn’t built for speed. Sharp teeth caught her pants leg—and then, like a miracle, came a sharp whistle and a string of curses from the direction of the truck. Abruptly, the dogs wheeled and trotted back the way they’d come.
Relief and exhaustion hit her like an earthquake. Too shaky to ride on, she pulled off the shoulder of the road to catch her breath. When she dared to glance behind her, she saw that the camouflaged truck was nowhere in sight.
And coming toward her, at breakneck speed, was a familiar tan Jeep.
CHAPTER 9
Emma waited in the passenger seat while John lifted the bike into the rear of the Jeep. When he climbed back in beside her, his mouth was a grim line.
“John—”
“Don’t say a word.” He started the engine, turned the vehicle around, and drove back toward town. Emma had seen him angry before, but not like this.
For a few minutes he drove in silence. Then he began to speak, the words coming sharp and hard. “I got a call from Boone this morning. He said his friends and family would be looking for you. I tried to call and warn you. When you didn’t answer your damn phone, I called the hotel. They said you’d taken the bike out.” He shot her a stormy glance. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“It was buried in the pack. I couldn’t get to it. I meant to call you when I got back to the hotel, but then—”
“Never mind. I saw enough to figure out what happened. You’re damned lucky to be alive.”
Tires squealing, he swung the Jeep onto a narrow, little-used side road that cut through thickets of willow and salmonberry and ended at a dilapidated boat ramp on a narrow stretch of beach. Braking, he switched off the engine, then sat gazing out at the water.
Emma waited in the tension-filled silence until she could stand it no longer. “I’m sorry, John,” she said. “I never meant to worry you.”
An eternity of seconds seemed to pass before he turned in the seat to face her, another eternity before he spoke. “Damn it, Emma, I never thought I’d say this. But right now I’m almost wishing I’d just flown home and left you to fend for yourself in that muskeg.”