Tempting Evil

by Allison Brennan

  Jo wrapped a waterproof blanket tight around Ben’s body. “Just don’t move around, okay? It’ll be a couple hours. Maybe a nap is in order.”

  “Do you have music?”

  “Sorry, pal, heat only.”

  Wyatt pulled an iPod out of his pocket, put the buds in Ben’s ears, the device in his hand. “Enjoy.”

  “Thanks, Mr. McBride!”

  “Don’t thank him,” Jason teased, “he only likes country music, like my dad.”

  “I like country,” Ben said.

  Her snowmobile radio beeped. She said to Wyatt, “Make sure that you have everything you need and that the boys didn’t leave any of their food out. Wouldn’t want you to be mauled by a hungry bear when you return tomorrow.”

  “You’re all heart.” Wyatt squeezed Jason’s shoulder, then went inside the cabin.

  Jo picked up the radio. “Hello, Jo Sutton here.”

  “Jo, it’s Stan.”

  “We made it just fine, we’re already about to move on out. We’ll be in time for a late lunch.”

  “Are you alone?”

  She glanced around. Jason was leaning over the sleigh talking to Ben. Thirty feet away were the other three snowmobiles, the boys standing around, checking out the gauges and talking to the Manns. Where was John? There, talking to one of the boys. Wyatt hadn’t come out of the cabin yet.

  “Sort of. Why?”

  His voice was low. “Jo.”

  “You’re going to have to talk louder.”

  “Put the receiver to your ear and listen.”

  She did what he said.

  “John Miller’s real name is Aaron Doherty. He’s one of the escaped convicts.”

  She couldn’t have heard right. Her blood ran cold.

  Jo looked over at where John Miller was standing with one of the scouts, showing him the features of the snowmobile. He glanced over as Jo stared, and she quickly looked away.

  “Are you sure?”

  Stan had to be wrong. How could an escaped prisoner from San Francisco make it all the way up here to the Centennial Valley? Why would he?

  Tyler said one of the convicts had her picture.

  That didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense! Why her? Her chest tightened and she was thrown back in time, to another day when a violent criminal threatened those she loved.

  She’d been alone with him. He’d seemed odd, but could he be a killer? Had she led a killer to six innocent boys?

  She swallowed bile as she listened to Stan’s confirmation.

  “Yes. He stole his mug shot off the fax machine. I found it in his bedroom. There is no doubt, Jo. Are you okay?”

  No, she wasn’t okay. But she’d have to find a way to pretend. To protect the boys, she had to make believe nothing was wrong.

  “I’ll talk to Wyatt,” she whispered.

  “Be careful.”

  Careful. She’d been talking to a convicted murderer for the last twenty-four hours. Had breakfast with him. Brought him out here even after getting that funny feeling about him when he quoted one of her books this morning.

  Why’d he come here in the first place? Why was he so interested in her books? In her?

  She glanced at Jason and Ben. She had to tell Wyatt, but she didn’t want to leave the boys unprotected. Wyatt would have a gun. Why hadn’t she listened to Tyler and kept a gun with her? But even if they confronted John—Aaron Doherty—he might still hurt someone.

  Lincoln Barnes had never meant to kill Timmy. Her son was simply in the way of Linc getting what he wanted.

  If Tyler was right—if one of the convicts wanted her for some insane reason—she had to get away from the boys. Right now they were occupied. She’d get to Wyatt, tell him, and they’d figure out what to do.

  Just pretend everything is normal.

  Normal. Right. Should she leave Jason and Ben alone to warn Wyatt?

  She was doubting herself, doubting her instincts because of what happened to Tim.

  John Miller—Aaron Doherty—was staring at her from thirty feet away. She was wearing her ski mask—a saving grace if she couldn’t keep the fear out of her expression.

  She turned to Jason and said as casually and quietly as she could, “Hey, I need you to go to Wyatt right now and tell him I have a, um—” She didn’t want to alarm Jason. What would Wyatt understand? Of course, the Highway Patrol codes they also used in search-and-rescue. “I have a 10-106.” Suspicious person.

  Wyatt was smart. He’d understand and come out prepared.

  “A 10-106? What’s that?”

  “An inside joke,” she said, forcing a false lightness in her voice.

  “O…K…” Jason said as if he thought adults had strange jokes.

  She didn’t want Aaron Doherty anywhere near the injured Ben Ward. She watched Jason trudge toward the cabin. It was slow going because the boys had to leave their snowshoes and skis behind. She started toward where Craig and Sean Mann were handing out helmets to the boys. Maybe she could alert them to Doherty.

  Doherty approached her faster than she could get to the Manns. She met him halfway, wanting to keep him as far from the boys as possible. She felt trapped. She didn’t know if she was doing the right thing, but she didn’t know what else to do. What if Doherty had a gun? Tyler had said the convicts were armed. What if Doherty took one of the kids hostage? Jo couldn’t bear the thought of another mother losing her son.

  She put on her best game face. “Hi, John. Ready to head back?”

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “Talking to?” Her voice cracked and she coughed to cover up her nerves.

  “On the radio.”

  Did Doherty sound suspicious, or was that her fear?

  “Stan,” she replied. “He wanted to make sure we arrived safely.” She was talking too fast. She needed to smile. Smile, Jo!

  She tried. She gave him a half smile.

  “But didn’t you already talk to someone on that guy’s radio?” He motioned toward the cabin.

  Jo glanced over to where Jason had stopped to watch her talking to Doherty. Go, Jason! Get inside! She willed him to keep moving toward the cabin. After what seemed like eternity, he did.

  She breathed a brief sigh of relief.

  “Joanna,” Doherty said, “what’s going on?”

  “Oh, that call? That was, um, Sam Nash over in Lakeview. He’s a veterinarian and I wanted to make sure that he could get through the avalanche today to take a look at Ben’s leg. We don’t have a doctor here in the valley, you know, but Nash is great, handles a wide variety of medical situations.” She was rambling. She needed to give Wyatt time to act.

  Please understand the code. Please, Wyatt, know what I mean.

  She forced a smile on her lips, but he was watching her eyes through the ski mask. She swallowed, shaking. She was going to blow it. She was going to get the boys killed.

  No.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jason enter the cabin and relaxed a fraction. No one was going to die. Everything was going to be fine.

  “You seem—different,” Doherty said. “Did the veterinarian have news about the escaped prisoners?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” she said quickly.

  She didn’t realize she’d averted her eyes when she spoke until after the words left her mouth.

  Doherty did.

  “You’re lying.”

  She wanted to laugh and deny it, but what would she do if someone who wasn’t an escaped convict accused her of lying? She’d be indignant.

  “Why on earth would you say that?” She stared directly into his eyes to show him she wasn’t afraid, when inside she was terrified.

  His eyes scared her with their intensity.

  Unconsciously, she stepped toward the cabin. “Mr. Miller, I think you’re being presumptuous—”

  The door of the cabin opened. She and Doherty looked at the same time.

  Wyatt didn’t have a ski mask on, and his face was hard. “Get away from her
,” Wyatt said.

  Wyatt had a gun in his hand. He’d reacted too fast, now Doherty knew for sure they were on to him.

  Doherty grabbed Jo from behind, held her to him. “Come with me, Joanna.”

  “Let her go,” Wyatt demanded.

  “Shit!” Doherty exclaimed. Cold metal pressed into Jo’s neck. “Who told you, Joanna? Who told you?”

  “Don’t hurt anyone. Please don’t hurt the boys.”

  “I’m not going to hurt a kid! I don’t kill kids like that bastard Lincoln Barnes.”

  Linc? What did Doherty know about Linc? What did he know about Timmy? Oh, God, this was a nightmare.

  “Just back away, John, back away from Jo and we’ll talk, okay?” Wyatt said.

  “Stop it!” Doherty yelled.

  Now all eyes were on them. Doherty was backing away from the cabin, toward the closest snowmobile. He pulled Jo with him, then turned his gun toward the Manns. “Get away.”

  Craig and his son herded the boys like cattle away from both the cabin and Doherty’s gun.

  “Okay,” Doherty said, “we’re going to do this my way. You’re coming with me, okay? Then no one will get hurt. Just you and me, Joanna. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  Jo stared at Wyatt. He was slowly shaking his head. “John, I don’t know what you want, but you don’t want to do this.”

  “Stop talking!” Doherty shouted at Wyatt. Quieter, to Jo, he said, “Please, Joanna.”

  She hesitated.

  Doherty turned the gun toward where Ben Ward lay strapped—trapped—in the sleigh thirty feet away.

  “I’ll come with you!” she exclaimed. “Don’t hurt him.”

  Doherty turned the gun back on her. “Good. Good!” He sounded happy. “Let’s go.”

  “Jo’s not going anywhere with you,” Wyatt said. He stepped out of the cabin.

  Before she knew what he was doing, Aaron aimed the gun at Wyatt and fired.

  Oh, God, Wyatt, no!

  Wyatt dropped to the ground.

  Aaron pulled her shocked body the remaining feet to the snowmobile. She started to fight.

  “Stop, or I’ll kill every one of them. I don’t want to, I really don’t want to.”

  He touched her cheek with his gloved hand. “You know me, Joanna. You know I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I love you. I wouldn’t hurt anyone unless you made me.” His eyes hardened. “Get on.”

  Shaking, Jo slid her leg over the snowmobile. Aaron Doherty was not sane and she didn’t know what he would do. She didn’t know him, she’d just met him yesterday. He thought he loved her? Unreal. He was unstable. She had to go with him, get him away from the boys. She couldn’t risk their lives. What if Wyatt had been one of the scouts? Jason?

  She dry heaved. Wyatt, please be okay. Please live.

  Aaron jumped into the seat behind her, his gun pressed against her side. He turned the ignition.

  “Drive.”

  Craig Mann crossed over to Wyatt. Jason stared at Wyatt’s body in front of the door. Wyatt was struggling to get up, blood spreading across his shoulder and dripping into the white snow.

  Aaron took charge of the snowmobile and they started off too fast, almost tipping them end-over-end. He regained control and within a minute, Jo couldn’t see Wyatt, Jason, or the cabin.

  FOURTEEN

  Doug tired of Vicky Trotsky quickly that morning and slit her throat in one clean slice.

  Aaron had said he didn’t want her to suffer.

  Aaron wanted him to go back to the first cabin. Aaron probably wanted him to sit and heel and sit at the back of the bus. Asshole.

  Doug was tired of taking orders from Aaron. He’d heard the snowmobiles leave well over an hour ago, didn’t know what was going on, but that meant there were fewer people at the lodge. Easier to gain control.

  But he’d been stupid. He’d left his gun at the cabin. No fucking way he could take anyone hostage with a knife. Might be able to slice one or two, but what good would killing someone be if he still got caught?

  Guns kept people under control. He’d sneak in, find someone by themselves, and then he’d have a hostage. Get everyone in one room, have them tie each other up, and he’d be in charge. Warm, in the big house, eating well. As soon as this shitty weather passed, he’d grab a truck and get the hell out of here. Take a hostage to drive, he had no idea where he was or how to get out of here.

  But maybe Aaron was right. Maybe he should lay low, go back to that cabin they’d found. They’d left the snowmobiles they’d stolen behind the cabin, shielded from casual observers. They were probably buried in snow by now, but Doug knew where they were.

  He could just leave fucking Aaron Doherty. The kid didn’t seem to want him around, anyway. And after all he’d done for him! If it weren’t for Doug, they wouldn’t have even had the guns. And he was the one who hot-wired all the cars they stole, he was the one who’d gotten the snowmobiles running. Damn, Aaron treated him like a sewer rat rather than the smart guy he was. He might not have acted as smart as Aaron, but who was the one with the college degree? That’s right, good old Doug Chapman had a degree in civil engineering.

  His head ached, and he blamed it on the Jack Daniels’s he’d consumed the night before.

  He stared at the dead woman on the bed, the blood drying on the mattress. He remembered killing her. The anger that had been building up inside all week. The rage that had gotten him in trouble all those years ago when he’d been drinking. But he had it under control, cut out drinking too much which made his anger harder to ignore. Then Tanya had to start fucking with him and he let the bitch have it.

  You didn’t want to kill Chantelle.

  God, he missed her.

  He turned his eyes away from Vicky Trotsky. She was just a nobody, Doug couldn’t bring up any real emotion or regret.

  No emotion except the bubbling anger he’d never understood.

  He looked out the window, saw nothing and no one. Nothing at all. The damn wind was kicking up snow all over the place and it was loud. How could the wind make so much noise? He’d always thought snow was silent, but there was nothing quiet about this blizzard.

  In the daylight, he had seen there were marked paths leading to the lodge through some sparse trees. He’d watched which way Aaron and the hot writer had gone. Other trees were marked as well. That would lead him back to his cabin—and his gun.

  “Thanks for a great party, baby,” he said to the dead woman and left.

  He’d give Aaron another chance, Doug thought as he hiked back to the cabin where he’d left his gun. But if Aaron fucked with him, Doug Chapman would invade the lodge and take over. He hated doing nothing.

  And if anyone tried to stop him, he’d kill again to feed the angry monster inside.

  Tyler and his men arrived at Nash’s house off South Centennial Road ten minutes after Tyler spoke to Jo. Agent Vigo immediately got on his cell phone. The Centennial Valley had virtually no cell phone service, however there were certain pockets that the locals called “phone booths,” several of which were in Lakeview.

  Tyler talked to Nash, who drew him a map on how to get around the avalanche. The detour would add only fifteen minutes to their timetable.

  As soon as Tyler and his deputies packed their supplies into the snowmobiles which Nash had already fueled, he motioned for Vigo to wrap up the conversation—they needed to get on the road. The wind had really whipped up the fresh powder and while there was no new snowfall, visibility was poor.

  Vigo approached and said, “That was my contact in Seattle, Quinn Peterson. He spoke with Annie Erickson, one of Aaron Doherty’s temporary guardians.

  “She confirmed everything in his file—Doherty was raised by friends and family his entire life, being uprooted by his mother when she felt like it. She also said that Ginger Doherty disappeared when the kid was sixteen. Left him with a great-aunt and went to work on a cruise ship. Never returned. Peterson is running down that lead.”

  “You think bringing th
e mother here is going to help us catch him?” Tyler asked. “We don’t have the time.”

  “Actually, I suspect she’s dead,” Hans said.

  “Why?”

  “Peterson ran her social and nothing popped since the year she disappeared. She received paychecks from King Cruises for three months after leaving Doherty with his eighty-two-year-old great-aunt Dorothy Miles. She died three years later, left everything to the kid. A house, some money.

  “So I’m thinking if what Ms. Erickson says is true,” Vigo continued, “that Ginger Doherty hooked up with men right and left—that maybe one of them killed her.”

  “Nothing in the files on her? No death certificate?”

  “Nothing we can find, but Peterson already put out an alert to the locals. Maybe there’s a Jane Doe out there that matches her description.”

  “How is this going to help us catch him?” Tyler asked, anxious to leave.

  “We need all the information we can get,” Vigo said. “The more we know about Doherty’s background, the greater chance we can predict what he’ll do next.”

  “I know what he’s going to do next,” said a frustrated Tyler. “He’s going to track down Jo if we don’t get to her first.”

  Vigo glanced at Bianchi, then said, “Peterson has letters that Doherty attempted to send to Jo Sutton through Ms. Erickson. The first letter was mailed to her—Erickson didn’t see anything harmful, it was a simple fan letter. Jo wrote back, a generic response—something like Thank you for writing, I’m glad you enjoyed my book. Erickson intended to give it to Doherty, but after reading his second letter, she decided to keep it from him and send no other letters to Jo.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It implied that they had a relationship, that he knew she wrote for him because that was the only way they could share intimacy.”

  Tyler hit the side of the garage. The mere thought that some psychotic bastard would butcher Jo’s innocent and beautiful stories angered him.

  “Erickson never mailed them—and Doherty was distraught when Jo didn’t write back. The prison authority just informed us that they uncovered dozens of letters Doherty had written to a ‘Joanna.’ They were hidden in plain sight—he’d highlighted words and letters in her books that, when read together, were messages for her.”