The sweet, pungent smell of wet forest mingled with the tang of sea air. She inhaled deeply, letting the freshness fill her soul. Thank You, Jesus.
The air was still damp. Ruth shivered, thankful for her coat’s scant protection, and sprinted for the garage. She came around the side of the building and tugged on the door handles. Bracing for a stronger pull, she saw the heavy metal padlock.
Angry tears crowded her eyes. She’d forgotten Harry locked the door. The ring in her hand only had the car key. There must be another key somewhere, but she didn’t dare go back to look.
Just the thought of returning made her heart stumble. She had to get out of here before Harry woke.
Ruth thrust the key ring into her pocket and looped her purse strap over her head and one shoulder so it wouldn’t fall off. She ran along the narrow driveway. Out of sight of the cottage, she slowed to a brisk walk. Who knew how far it was to the main road? In the rain and darkness when they arrived, it seemed like they drove for miles.
The mud-slicked wheel ruts made it hard to keep her footing, but Ruth walked as fast as she could. The lane led through sparse forest, a mixture of hardwood trees and evergreens.
The trees must have been thinned at one time, but now saplings and undergrowth crowded the spaces between their trunks. Not much light reached the forest floor, and the trees grew long and slender in their efforts to reach the sun. Here and there one lay fallen, slowly decomposing under a colourful jacket of lichens and fungus.
Something crashed through the underbrush behind her. Ruth’s heart pounded in her throat. Harry. She bolted down the narrow lane.
Her foot caught a rock in the road and pitched her face-first into the mud. She lay sobbing, waiting for Harry’s rough hand on her shoulder. But there was no shout, no pounding of angry feet. The woods were still except for the ever-growing chorus of birdsong.
Trembling, Ruth picked herself up and looked around. Behind her, in the middle of the lane, stood a doe with a young fawn. They watched her with wide, curious eyes.
Relief surged, followed by an almost hysterical wave of laughter. The mother deer snorted, flipped her white tail, and led her baby bounding through the trees.
Still chuckling, Ruth hurried on. She’d seen how sick Harry was. Even if he woke, he’d never catch her now. A song rose in her heart to match the music of the birds. God had kept her safe after all.
She stooped to wipe her hands on the grassy strip in the middle of the driveway. The streaky effect of the wet grass on her muddy palms and the sharp forest scents reassured her. This was much too clear and ordinary to be a dream. She was free.
A long growl from her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning when Harry raided the cereal containers in the kitchen. She walked a little faster and tried to focus on her surroundings.
There were so many different shades of green in the woods. Water droplets made glistening miniature prisms on the pine needles. The air tasted pure, rain-scrubbed, heavenly after the stale atmosphere in the cottage.
Maybe that’s what made the forest feel so overpoweringly fresh and peaceful. She’d left the fear and hopelessness of captivity behind. Out here, in this wooded lane, was liberty.
The highway couldn’t be too far, but the trees spread out to the left and right as if they extended forever. Around the next bend, the narrow track ended at a wider, better maintained, dirt lane. Ruth’s heart raced. This would lead her to the highway and safety.
She hesitated at the intersection. Surely there’d be help at either end of this road. It had to go somewhere, but what if it led to another cottage owned by Harry’s drug-dealer friends? There must be somebody in the area to get rid of the car once he was gone.
“Lord, You haven’t brought me this far to lose me. Where do I go?” She waited, hoping for an inner nudging to the right or the left. The minutes passed, but no distant sounds of traffic came to her ears. Only the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
She tried to visualize Wednesday night’s drive. Harry had turned left off of the paved road, she was certain. Then another left, but he’d turned a third time. Right or left? The more she tried to force the memory to surface, the deeper it slid.
He’d only stopped the car once, when she made that stupid crack about what his mother would think of him. She couldn’t believe she’d said it. He could have killed her right then and there.
Forget Harry. Ruth shook her head to clear it. This was crazy. She’d better take a chance and start walking instead of waiting here for him to call in reinforcements to find her. He probably had a cell phone.
If God wasn’t giving her any guidance, He must expect her to use her own resources.
Ruth turned right and set a brisk pace along the road, praying to reach the highway. If it led to more cottages, could she guess which one was safe to approach? What if she found the place with Harry’s accomplices?
Chapter 17
Ruth’s rain boots flapped against her calves. Her socks bunched around her ankles. Blisters stung her heels, but she couldn’t slow down. Anyone she met was as likely to be foe as friend. She had no protection out here on the road, and the trees that framed it loomed like sentinels, a living fence to pen her.
The early morning hush pressed in, increasing her sense of isolation. She had to get to a phone, let Tony know she was safe. Tell the police where to find Harry so they could get him back into custody—and to a doctor.
She pictured him lying on the couch, shivering with fever. At least she could have covered him with a blanket. What if he died before help arrived? Was he dying now?
She’d never expected praying for Harry to make her care this much about his soul. Then again, she’d never expected to pray for him at all. But God wouldn’t let go. Dreams of a dying man had haunted her sleep, sound-tracked with wild, abandoned wails. Waking, she’d hear an echo in her mind: Somebody had better pray for him.
She resisted until the final dream, the one she couldn’t fight.
The man was drowning. The water turned to quicksand. To fire. Hands of flame clutched him. Another figure plunged into the inferno, but the man twisted free of his rescuer and sank into a red-hot river of magma. The wailing had started again, a haunting lament, the worst yet.
Ruth shivered now in the sunlight. Her lungs fought for breath against the remembered weight of mourning. Is this how it would end for Harry?
Suddenly she was sobbing. However terrible hell was, she knew his crimes deserved it, yet something inside her begged mercy for his soul.
Wincing at the pain in each step, Ruth walked faster. She had to get help before it was too late. “Please, God, he can’t die this way. Not without You.”
Her boot slipped on the muddy road and she threw out her arms for balance. The burst of adrenaline stopped her crying. With more care for her footing, she pushed on.
She hadn’t spoken one word to Harry about his need for forgiveness, about God’s longing to save him. What if it was Harry’s last chance, and she’d left him to die alone?
Ignoring the blister burning her heel, Ruth strode even faster along the muddy lane. Her breath came in searing gasps.
She rounded a sharp bend in the narrow road, her feet sliding in the mud. Before her mind could register what she saw, a massive black Rottweiler lunged at her from the front of a cottage, chain rattling. Booming, throaty barks drowned her scream.
Instinct sent her flying back along the lane. A hoarse voice shouted a curse, and the dog fell silent. She risked a quick look back. She was alone.
Not daring to stop, Ruth slowed to a staggering walk. She pressed both hands against the stitch in her side. Thank God that dog was tied. Tears burned her eyes, and she trembled all over.
She’d caught a brief glimpse of a large, extravagant A-frame building, more a house than a summer cottage. A glossy black sports car parked carelessly on the lawn, alongside a mud-spattered all-terrain sport vehicle.
If it were a smaller place, maybe with a station wagon or
some kids’ toys in the front, she could have asked for help, but she couldn’t risk this fancy spot with the guard dog. It looked like the sort of set-up only a drug dealer could afford, and Harry had said his accomplices were nearby.
Ruth trudged forward, the pounding in her chest slowly fading. God, help me reach the highway, or show me a safe place to ask for help.
The sun had crested the treetops, and its gentle fingers of warmth comforted her. How high would it get before she found help? What if that was too late for Harry?
“God, I’m sorry if I failed You. Give Harry another chance to hear... soften his heart... it’s not his fault I didn’t know what to say.”
A squirrel scolded from a tree high above her, and she jumped. She tuned her senses to the scurry of small creatures in the underbrush, the chatter of birds, the other woodland sounds. The scents. Anything to take her mind off the pain in her feet and legs—and off the sick man she’d abandoned in the cottage.
Move one foot, then the other. Don’t think. Just move.
A low-pitched droning behind her turned into the sound of an engine, and she realized she’d been hearing it for a while. She threw a glance over her shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief at a battered blue pickup. Not one of the vehicles from the doom-dog’s home.
The truck slowed, then stopped beside her. The young man at the wheel reached to roll down the passenger window and gave her a slow once-over. “Lady, you okay? Looks like you’re limping. Do you need a ride somewhere?”
He looked to be in his early twenties, clean-cut with an open face. Safe. Tears prickled Ruth’s eyes. “Yes, please.”
Her rescuer popped open the door and she hoisted herself onto the seat. “Thank you so much. I need to get to a phone. Or the police.”
The truck jostled slowly along the rutted track. “Police? What’s up?”
She wilted against the headrest, her last scrap of fear gone. Harry’s associates would have recognized her. They’d have been following the news. “I’ve been abducted. My name is Ruth Warner, and I know where Harry Silver is.”
“Holy crow. They’re searching everywhere, but nobody thought he was anywhere around here. I can’t believe you got away from him.”
“Me neither.”
He snickered. “Way to embarrass the big, bad serial killer. But you’re headed in the wrong direction. I’ll find us a spot to turn around.”
“Are you sure you have time? I’m sorry to be an inconvenience.”
“No worries. Besides, you don’t want to be walking. He’ll be looking for you.” He nosed the truck onto a narrower lane, reversed, and headed back the way they’d come.
Harry. God could send someone else to reach him. Once he was safely behind bars.
If he made it back. If.
She stared out the window. The passing foliage and the vehicle’s gentle motion lulled her, and fading adrenaline left her thick-headed.
They drove past the lavish A-frame cottage and the Rottweiler started barking again. Even in the safety of the truck Ruth shivered. “I came this way but that dog scared me out of my wits. Are the owners... friendly?”
She could hardly ask if they were drug dealers.
Her rescuer grunted. “They party a bit loud, but they’re okay. The dog’s all bluster.”
He slowed and turned up the next driveway. “You can phone from my place. When the RCMP pick you up, you’ll be able to show them where to find their dangerous offender.”
Ruth frowned. She’d feel safer at the nearest station, but she couldn’t insist he drive her there. “Could I phone my husband, too?”
“Sure.” He parked behind a tidy-looking cottage and hopped out of the truck. Ruth followed him across a raised wooden patio to the back door. He held it open and motioned her inside.
Ruth stepped into an empty kitchen that smelled of stale pizza. The sound of gunfire and a helicopter said someone was watching television in another room.
Behind her, the door clicked shut. Her host yelled, “I’m back. And I brought company.”
Ruth didn’t see a phone. Before she could ask, a second man entered the room. Dressed in a muscle shirt and cut-offs, he was heavier but not much older than the one who’d brought her. “Good job, Chris. Bring her in. Silver’s still not answering his phone.”
Ruth’s mouth opened, ash-dry. Her tongue wouldn’t work. Her lungs heaved for air. Harry’s partners.
The young man at her side—Chris—grabbed her arm and marched her toward the doorway. Muscle Shirt stood aside to let them pass, flashing Ruth a hungry look that chilled her bones.
Ruth knew she should feel something, but she had nothing left.
Chris led her into a room dominated by a huge television blaring an action show. A third man, old enough to be the father, looked past her. “Denny, grab a kitchen chair and some rope.”
Four of them? But it was the second man who dragged a wooden chair across the floor and made bold eye contact before stumping away. He was back in a minute with a handful of rope. “Where do you want her, Beck?”
Not their father, then. But clearly the one in charge.
“Over there by the wall, away from the windows.”
Ruth couldn’t breathe, could barely think as they tied her up. The one called Denny pawed her shirt. He smelled of beer and bacon, and Ruth’s stomach heaved.
Chris slapped Denny’s arm. “Get off, dude.”
Denny stepped back, but he pinned Ruth with a gaze that brought the blood to her face. “She’s already dead, far as everyone knows. Looks like we got us a free ride.”
A sob bubbled from her lips, and she bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from screaming.
The older man—Beck?—swore. “She’s going back.”
Denny’s eyes burned brighter. Hands in his back pockets, he tilted his head and studied Ruth. “She’s not as hot as his usual picks, but I’m game. Let Silver have our leavings.”
Ruth’s heart thudded so hard that the sound filled her ears. The edges of her vision greyed. Denny’s flushed face dominated her view.
He stepped nearer. A quick blur, his head snapped back, and he fell. Chris picked him up and shoved him toward the couch.
Despite the pounding in her ears, Ruth heard Beck shout. “Denny, you moron. Sit down and shut up. It’s bad enough we’re on damage control for Silver’s blunder. We do not want to get any deeper into this.”
Denny rubbed his jaw, his eyes never leaving Ruth. The other men hadn’t looked directly at her since she was brought in. Guilt at sending her back to her death?
She noticed four smaller screens, two on each side of the mammoth television, with black and white images. A small cottage, front and rear views. And two angles of a road Ruth assumed ran past this one. Webcams. No wonder they’d gone after her when the dog barked. Had they seen her leaving the cottage and sat waiting to catch her?
Chris prowled around the room. “If she’s going back, let’s do it now. Silver must have left his phone behind when he went after her. Or he forgot to charge it.”
Beck nodded. “Keep her tied and drop her where he’ll see her. With a note saying the boss will add a delivery fee. Plus the cost of cleaning up whatever he leaves behind.”
Denny licked his lips. “I’ll take her.”
The others ignored him. Still not looking at Ruth, Chris untied her from the chair and bound her wrists and ankles on top of the bruises from Harry’s ropes. A new hope blotted out the pain. If they thought Harry was still out searching, and Chris dumped her into the cottage, she could sneak away after dark.
Ruth stared at the webcam feeds. She’d be safe to slip around to the side of the cottage and into the trees. Oh, God, keep Harry unconscious. Her conscience prickled. Unconscious, but alive... let him live until someone could lead him to forgiveness.
Chris pulled her to her feet and swept her up in his arms. For a small guy, he was strong. Solid biceps held her without a quiver. “I’ll do a coffee run while I’m out. You guys want anything?”
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As if returning her was a simple errand. Hope of escape softened her anger, and she almost smiled. Who’d have thought she’d want to go back to Harry’s cottage?
Chris laid her none too gently in the cargo bed of his pickup, then tossed a musty grey blanket over her. “Don’t try to jump out, you’ll just break something. And I’d still take you back.”
The ride was agony, with each jostle grinding her shoulder and hip against the hard metal of the truck bed. A couple of times they went over bumps that banged her head. Ruth gritted her teeth and held onto the thought of escape.
At last the motion stopped. The blanket whipped off, and Chris vaulted into the back. He picked her up and lowered her over the side. She pulled her feet under her and leaned against the truck for balance as Chris jumped down beside her.
Ahead lay a grey cottage with bright blue shutters. Ruth focused on twin lilac bushes that framed the front door. Their soft pale clusters of purple flowers drooped, battered by the storm.
Storm-battered. That was her.
Chris picked her up in the classic groom-carries-bride-across-the-threshold position. Except that traditionally the bride did not have her hands tied behind her back. He headed for the building, chin up, and avoiding eye contact. “How did you get out?”
It took three tries to make her voice work. “Back door.”
He grunted. “We’ll be watching this place until he’s gone. Don’t try anything else. Not that even a washed-up killer would let you escape a second time.”
Washed up? He wouldn’t say that if he’d seen Harry in action last night. Ruth shivered.
Chris held her nearer while he twisted the doorknob. He took a couple of steps into the darkened kitchen, opened his arms and let her drop.
Ruth cried out, twisting in midair to protect her back and head. The door slammed behind her. She landed hard on one knee. Pain shot clear through to her hip, nearly lifting her off the floor. Jerk. He could have put me down gently. She rolled onto her other side, tears streaming, gasping for air.
At least the young thug hadn’t waited for Harry to come back. She might still have a chance.
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