by Anne B. Cole
“Don’t scare me like that again, Sis. You have no idea how worried I was.” He released her and dug in his pocket for his phone.
With a step back, Gretta sucked in a fortifying breath. “I’m sorry. I pulled your number up on the phone when I was upstairs and first heard the noise. I must have hit send without realizing it. When I got to the living room, I didn’t have a signal.”
Ryan took in his own deep breath and checked his phone. He tossed it to the coffee table and picked up the bat. “I was pretty far away. If it had been an intruder—”
“I would have smacked the guy silly.” Gretta took the bat from him.
“I don’t like this. You’re staying with Mom. I’ll help you pack.” He took a step closer.
“I’m fine. Sorry I worried you. You said the cabin is secure, was secure, and the alarm people called right away. I’ve been fine all summer. Only two weeks to go, and I’m off to college.” Gretta sighed as his face fell. Even though their relationship remained more like brother and sister, she would miss him terribly.
Ryan’s voice lowered. “Until this guy is caught, until he makes his next move, you’re not safe.”
She shuffled backward. Her legs bumped into the couch so she sat down. “What are you talking about?”
He remained standing, focusing directly on her. “Remember the case I told you about? The one I’m working on with the feds?”
Gretta nodded.
“All three women disappeared during the same calendar week. If he follows the pattern, and most serial killers do, he will abduct his next victim this week.”
Her mind raced to women she knew. All lived far enough away to be safe. The ring on her finger caught the light.
Have I endangered anyone here? The only females I met this summer are elderly church members, Ryan’s mother, and his fiancée.
“Ryan, where’s Rachel?”
He inhaled another deep breath before he sank on the couch beside her. “She’s in Pittsburgh, at a conference until Thursday afternoon. I took this weekend off. When she gets back, we’re headed north to do some white water rafting. I want you to come with us.”
Gretta snorted, “No way. You two don’t need me to tag along. When are you going to give her the engagement ring you showed me?”
“I have to get it sized.” His eyes stayed trained on her. “Don’t change the subject. I mentioned it to Rachel last week and she agreed you’d be safer with us. The four of us have two rooms.” With the last sentence, he avoided her gaze.
“And who is my roommate?” Gretta demanded.
Ryan shifted nervously. “Chuck.”
“Chuck? Your brother, Chuck? I thought you were going to keep him as far away from me as possible? I’ve never met him, and, from what I’ve heard from your mom, I’m not his type.”
Ryan squirmed, clearly on the defensive. “Look. I’m not crazy about the idea. Rachel booked us adjoining rooms. Your room has two beds. I’ll handcuff Chuck to his bed if you’d like.” The arch of his grin told her he wasn’t going to give in. He cared about her, and was worried enough to protect her.
Against her better judgment, plans were set with Friday only two days away.
“Was it Chuck’s idea or yours? The handcuffs,” she added, trying to keep a straight face. Gretta giggled first. Ryan busted out laughing.
“His.” He leaned into the couch cushions and tousled her hair. “Mom likes you and has been on me to fix you and Chuck up for weeks. She says you’re the perfect girl to settle him down. Rachel came up with the idea of the four of us going rafting.”
“And Chuck is okay with being my roommate?”
“Can’t wait to show you off in front of his buddies. He already booked us a couple raft trips with the company he works for.”
Gretta frowned, pulling her feet up on the couch. She shivered and remembered how Sam was always warm. If he still loved her, this trip had the potential to divide them permanently. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Chuck promised he would behave, besides I’m not going to let either you or Rachel out of my sight.” Tossing his holster and gun on the end table, he continued, “You haven’t taken a break from this cabin all summer.” His face softened. “It’ll be good to get out and have some fun. Chuck’s a nice guy.”
“Are you looking out for me or Chuck?” Gretta demanded.
“Well, if you two did get together, we’d be real siblings.” His smile faded. “I don’t want to scare you, Gretta, but there is something you need to know.” He hesitated, then blurted, “Three years ago. The first woman who disappeared, the one police never found, lived in this cabin.”
“What?” Gretta’s skin prickled.
“I didn’t catch it at first since the cabin address changed. The land had not been divided into lots, and the road up the mountain was considered a driveway. It’s the same cabin, I verified it. The man who owned this mountain, Mark Hanson, was a widower for five years before he married a woman half his age, Lily Gibson. Locals didn’t like her because he was fifty-nine and rich. He had one son, from his first marriage, who didn’t seem to mind the age difference. Often the son and Lily were seen in town together. They appeared to get along very well.”
“Were they having an affair?” Gretta questioned.
“We’re not certain of anything, but he’s clean on paper. Hanson built this cabin for his young bride. They moved in after the honeymoon. Three years later, Lily went missing. The Sheriff’s Department scoured the entire mountain and found nothing. The only lead was very strange. Lily had taken a million dollars out of their joint bank account the day before she went missing.”
“So, she took off with the money?” Gretta enjoyed a good mystery, and this one seemed simple.
“Unfortunately, no. No one in the area knew Lily came into the marriage with more money than Hanson. He claimed he didn’t know about her millions, and neither signed a prenuptial agreement. Detectives grilled Hanson and believed he told the truth. Lily’s will left everything to Hanson, but because her body was never found, her funds remain frozen. In this type of case, it takes at least seven years before the state will declare a missing person dead.”
“But Reverend Glenn told me the original owner died, leaving everything to his son, except this cabin which he donated to the church,” Gretta mused.
“Correct. Hanson died from a bacterial infection four months after Lily’s disappearance so he’s not our serial killer.” Ryan paused.
“How are you certain Lily’s disappearance and the other two murders are related?”
“No one is certain. We didn’t make a connection until last summer when we pulled the second woman from the river. There is one common thread. All three victims were last seen on August twenty-fifth. Each woman turned up missing exactly one year apart. The two bodies were found three and four weeks after they disappeared, but the coroner estimated both dates of death to be about a week after they were missing.”
“Friday is August twenty-fifth.” Gretta’s heart pounded. “Today is Wednesday.”
“I know. I’m picking you up to take you to Mom’s house after tonight’s shift. I’ll be here at six, Thursday morning. Mom took the day off so you won’t be alone while I catch some sleep. Rachel drives back from her conference Thursday afternoon, and we’ll be on the road to West Virginia as soon as she repacks.” Ryan fidgeted.
“When did you plan on informing me of this little trip? What if I tell you I’m not going?” Despite the growing uneasiness inside of her, she refused to make this easy for him.
After an initial look of shock, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her to her feet in one swift motion. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you would give me grief. I suppose I could handcuff you to your bed and Chuck to his.”
Struggling against his hold, she tried to
break free.
“Do what I taught you. Go for the knees,” he commanded.
Gretta kicked hard and dropped to the floor, causing him to lose his balance.
“Better. But you can’t stop struggling. Do whatever you can to break free.” His grip on her arm tightened.
She sighed in resignation before leaning against his arms. Too tired to continue with one of his self-defense demonstrations, she cried out, “I give up.”
“Never give up, Sis.” He pulled her one arm behind her back.
When Ryan’s hold remained, she imagined a gun pressed to her right temple; a sash tightened around her neck. Within seconds, everything went black.
Gretta woke on the couch with Ryan pushing damp hair from her cheeks.
“You okay? Have you ever passed out like this before?” he asked.
“Like what?” Her heart raced. She needed more than a moment.
“You’ve escaped from that hold many times. All of a sudden, you went limp and passed out cold. Are you coming down with the flu or something?” He touched her cheek with the back of his hand.
“Low blood sugar,” she grumbled, leaning into the cushions.
He frowned. “You still run the mountain every day?”
She nodded.
“Don’t get up.” He went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of orange juice. “Drink all of this, slowly.”
She complied and her strength returned. Her feet swung to the floor as Ryan sat down.
“Stay put. I’m too tired to pick you up off the floor again.” He plopped his feet on the coffee table, pulled an old quilt over her legs, and closed his eyes.
Memories of being entwined within Anya filled her mind. She recalled Anya’s wrist breaking. In vivid detail she relived how Anya was captured by the pirate. Images she wanted to forget.
Ryan’s side radiated warmth, but not as warm as Sam. With each new memory she regained from her experience with Anya, she longed more and more for Sam. She snuggled into the fold of the couch next to her big brother.
Within minutes, she fell asleep.
Chapter 40
Protectors
Gretta
“Hey.” Sam’s voice floated inside Gretta’s head.
She snuggled closer.
Sam?
“Wake up, Sis.”
Not Sam. Ryan.
She lifted her head off his chest and retracted a leg from his lap with a sigh.
Glancing at the clock, she noticed they had slept for over an hour.
“You were dreaming about him.” Ryan’s voice held overprotective tones.
“Who’s him?” She had evaded telling Ryan about Sam, despite several inquiries.
“You called out, ‘Sam’ more than once, and it wasn’t because you were afraid.” He didn’t hide the smirk on his face.
Gretta gasped.
“Don’t worry. I stopped you from tearing off my shirt.”
“Oh, God, Ryan—”
“No, it was, ‘Oh, God, Sam.’”
Her head snapped up. “I didn’t have that kind of dream.” She tossed the quilt at him and stomped to the kitchen. “Coffee?” She desperately tried to change the subject.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She heard him pick up his gun and holster as she plugged in the coffee maker. When she retrieved coffee and a tea bag from the pantry, she thought she heard it again. A barely audible, mournful cry. She gazed out the kitchen window and scanned the backyard. Several minutes passed.
Nothing.
She poured a cup of black coffee and tossed a tea bag into her cup of hot water.
Ryan stepped into the kitchen. “Got a needle, thread? A button came off my shirt. You gotta tell me about your dream.” He accepted the mug and took a sip, grinning ear to ear.
Gretta swirled the tea bag around in her cup. “Use your imagination.” To escape his teasing, she walked to the living room, grabbed the quilt, and disabled the alarm. She took a seat in the wicker rocker on the porch.
Ryan stood in the doorway, looking at the broken screen door. “You still care about him. At least you do in your dreams.” He scrutinized the damaged hinge.
“I broke it off,” she replied.
“No, I did this.” Ryan touched the door with a bit of pride. “Got a sore shoulder to prove it.”
“Not the door. I broke up with Sam. Never mind.” Gretta sipped her tea. It scalded her tongue.
“Why?” Ryan pressed.
“It’s complicated.” She blew to cool it and watched the surface ripple.
“Maybe you should call him, give him another chance. You convinced me to talk to Rachel.” He focused on her. When she didn’t respond, he gazed at the door. “I’ll pick up a new hinge and have this fixed before dinner.”
“Thanks.” She shivered and adjusted the quilt.
I wonder if Sam has dreams about me.
“I’m gonna run a check on him,” Ryan announced.
“What? How? You don’t know his last name,” Gretta blurted, terrified he might contact Sam or his father.
“You forget, I have connections with the Feds. There can’t be too many eighteen to twenty-five year old construction workers named Sam in Virginia. Even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find out.”
Panic rippled through her. “He . . . he doesn’t know where I am. No one does.” The words escaped from her lips unintentionally.
“Damn it, Gretta. I had a feeling you were on the run.”
“I email my mom once a week. She thinks I’m working at a camp, one with no cell service. She doesn’t worry because I’m responsible. She trusts me.”
When he gave her a skeptic look, she swallowed hard.
“They’re not safe around me.” She watched his aqua eyes dart in confusion, widen in curiosity, and then narrow with anger.
“Who are you afraid of? Is it Sam?” He sat in the chair across from her.
“Sam Daggett is his name, and no, I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid for him.” She scrutinized her hands, rubbing the edge of the quilt between her fingers.
“Daggett,” Ryan mused.
She studied his face. A slight twitch revealed he had made the connection. “Brother of the New York cop, killed this summer. You didn’t respond when I asked if you knew him.” His accusation stung.
“I didn’t know Justin. I met Sam in early June. He rescued me from getting crushed under a falling tree at his job site.” Her mind scrambled for something to say. “He saved my life.” Painful images of Sam holding her hand filled her mind. “And he was there for me when my father died.”
“Go on,” Ryan gently pressed at her hesitation.
Gretta’s heart raced. “Bad things happen to people I love.”
Ryan sighed. He slid his chair close. “It wasn’t your fault your father died.”
She blinked back tears. “Yes, it is.”
“Gretta—”
“There’s more. My grandmother died. Sam’s best friend, Tony was in a terrible wreck at the track and was badly burned. Sam nearly died from a staph infection and his brother—”
“Terrorists killed his brother, and you said you didn’t know him.”
Ryan’s point struck a nerve.
I never met Justin, and barely knew Tony. Sam did. Is he cursed, too? What if he is endangering other people? Tim? Ruby?
She deleted every incoming email. What if something horrible happened this summer? What if something had happened to Sam?
“You have to find out if my family is okay. They’re in danger, all of them. Please, I can’t go back.”
Ryan studied her for several seconds. She edged away from him, curled her feet up on the rocker, and wrapped her arms around her knees.
<
br /> “You think I’m crazy,” she muttered. Frayed edges of the quilt remained clutched in her hands.
“Being afraid of terrorists isn’t crazy. Bad things sometimes happen to good people. You can’t blame yourself.” When she remained silent, he continued, “What about me? Nothing has happened to me.”
“It’s not the same. I love you like a brother.” Her heart sped fast with acknowledgement.
Ryan leaned back in his chair. “Exactly. Your father, grandmother and boyfriend’s brother all die within weeks of each other.”
“Days,” she corrected.
“Okay, days. Sam and his friend narrowly escape death. Gretta, I don’t see how I would be exempt from death or serious injury if you were cursed.”
Cursed.
She looked at the ring on her finger and remembered the Latin word, maledicta. Before Victor died, he cursed anyone who wore the ring.
I’m not crazy. I’m cursed.
“Hey, I love you, like a big brother should. I would have let you have your way with me earlier if it was any different.” He grinned.
When she attempted to smile and failed, a frown formed. “It’s okay to be afraid, but you can’t run away, especially from people who love you.” He stood and held a hand out to her. “Come on. I’ll run checks on your family at the station.”
Accepting his hand, she stood. “Sam, too?”