Words That Kill (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 3)

by Claire Robyns

  Joe. “But now he has an iron-clad alibi,” I said. “The FBI.”

  “Assuming time of death can be established.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t count on that if I were you.”

  She might as well have said, ‘Boiled bones don’t speak.’

  A shudder ripped down my spine.

  Jenna and I shared a look and made a non-verbal agreement. No more talking to the bat-crazy woman in the room.

  We drank our tea in silence and, finally, Isla said goodnight. One of the panels at the nose of the cabin was in fact a skinny door to her sleeping quarters. The lantern was off, but at least she’d left us un-gagged. She was curious, she’d said, how this unique ‘buddy’ situation would reflect in Jenna’s Final Hour. I had so many choice thoughts on that, I nearly choked on them.

  “Joe seriously placed himself in FBI custody?” Jenna said as soon as we were alone.

  “Nate suggested it,” I told her. “He thought the FBI might already have leads that could help us.”

  “I’m just surprised Joe agreed.”

  “He did,” I said with a small smile. “In a heartbeat.”

  “Huh, imagine that.” She sounded somewhat impressed. “I might need to take back that other half of my grievances against your no-good ex-husband.”

  “Yeah, imagine that,” I drawled. “You and Joe are working through your issues at last, and this—” I waved my bound hands about “—is all it took.”

  “Speaking of which…” Her voice dropped, losing some of its life. “Nate’s not coming, is he?”

  “Don’t be silly,” I scoffed lightly, although it was becoming clear our fate may rest on that wonky screw. I’d give Isla time to fall into deep sleep, then go to work. “He’ll find a way to save us, if only so he can strangle me himself.”

  Jenna groaned. “What have you done now?”

  “I might have stolen his truck.”

  “Never wise to come between a man and his truck.”

  “And he specifically ordered me to not do anything stupid,” I said softly, “and to take care.”

  “You’re right, he’s definitely going to kill you,” Jenna said, although for some weird reason it came out like, Yoore right, heees definitely going toooo kiiill yoooo.

  THIRTEEN

  The evil witch had gagged and drugged me!

  I couldn’t believe it.

  We had an agreement. I didn’t try to crack her skull again and she’d lay off the heavy medication. And now daylight bathed the cabin and the last thing I remembered was my firm resolve to not fall asleep. My big plans to free us from our chains during the night was a bust.

  How?

  Not in the food.

  I’d only eaten about two fries.

  The tea!

  I struggled upright from my slumped position, squinted across to Jenna. To where Jenna should have been.

  My heart dropped with a thud.

  Jenna was gone.

  I held my breath, listening. Outside, the wind howled something fierce. The boat rocked violently, creaking with phantom protests. But the only noise to be heard was made by the storm brewing out there.

  I was alone.

  Jenna and Isla were both gone.

  No. I looked around the cabin desperately, as if they might be hiding right in front of me. No. No. No.

  How was this possible?

  Why hadn’t I tried harder last night? I’d been complacent, half sure Nate would find us, half sure Isla would realize she was just a stamp collector and had no business pretending to be Killer Maxine. I’d been deluded, refusing to believe we wouldn’t be spared in the nick of time.

  I’d lost Jenna.

  Again.

  My gaze swept every nook and cranny, and hitched on a piece of chipped plate that lay in the shadow of the bunk.

  I slid down the bunk, grateful Isla had left my hands tied in front of me, and slithered along the floor. With my arms stretched to breaking, I managed to just snatch the jagged piece with my fingertips.

  That was the easy part.

  I quickly realized I didn’t have the kind of flexibility required to reach the zip tie with my wrists strapped together.

  Stuff that.

  I wasn’t giving up again.

  Gripping the enamel shard with two fingers, I put sheer effort into it, forcing my wrist to bend further, ignoring the pain as the plastic ribbon sliced my skin from the additional strain.

  The jagged edge scratched the tie.

  I couldn’t apply much pressure, not with the way my wrist was angled, but I scratched and scratched, making slow and bloody progress while the enamel shard shredded the tips of my fingers.

  Something inside me broke during those agonizingly slow minutes, tore me out of my own body. I felt oddly detached, but in a good way. I could put aside my fear and hopeless despair, the useless self-recriminations, and focus on getting Jenna back.

  My wrists had plastic burns, the ball of my palm had a permanent cramp, my fingers looked like they’d been in the wars, but the tie finally split apart.

  The first thing I did was remove the gag from my mouth and suck in a lungful of air. I’d never realized how much of a mouth breather I was until I’d been forced to rely on my nose.

  I massaged the cramp from my palm, then wound the scarf around one hand to protect my bloodied fingers before I picked the jagged piece up again and started on the ankle ties.

  Within no time, I was shaking my ankles free from their shackles, tugging on my boots and darting up the short flight of steps to get topside. Except, I hadn’t counted on the hatch being locked.

  Of course the friggin’ hatch is locked!

  I gave it a few hard bangs, which did wonders for my pent up frustration but not much else.

  Backing down the steps, I looked around for options. The portholes were too small to fit through, even if I could bash the glass out. I took another look at the solid brass latch-lock on the hatch. I could probably bash through that, with a 9-iron club or something…or something. A long-barreled dart rifle, maybe?

  I made my way over to the skinny door and Isla’s private sleeping quarters. Not a bedroom, I soon saw, just a three-quarter bunk built into the nose of the boat. I tossed the place upside down and eventually came across a handgun tucked beneath a fleece hoodie in an overhead cabinet.

  Okay, so maybe I could shoot the lock out.

  What had Nate said? Slide the safety off, point and shoot.

  I lifted the gun, tested the weight and feel in my hand as I returned to the main chamber. Was it loaded? I didn’t even know how to check.

  Well, here goes.

  I planted my feet firmly on the bottom step, gripped the gun with both hands, pointed at the lock, and squeezed the trigger hard. The sound blasted my eardrums. The recoil sent me staggering backward, which probably saved me from an eyeful of splinters.

  Ears ringing, I squinted at the damage. Pieces of the lock dangled from what was left of the reinforced wooden board that had held it.

  Slightly shocked and rather impressed with myself, I stared at the gun clasped between my trembling fingers. This would definitely be useful when I came face-to-face with Isla. The thought of shoving a loaded gun into my pocket, however, freaked me out. I had no idea how to unload the thing, or even know if I’d put the safety back on properly.

  With some reluctance, I returned the gun to its hiding spot—not out of respect for Isla’s personal property, but it seemed sloppy to leave a weapon lying about for any random person to find.

  Even without the lock, the hatch was a little sticky, probably bits of wood and metal caught somewhere. It took a few good shoves to get it open.

  Up top, the brewing storm had brewed. Angry clouds practically bubbled in the darkened sky, chased by a bitter, gusting wind. I tucked my chin below the collar of my coat and dug my hands into the pockets (Lord knew what Isla had done with my gloves) as I assessed my surroundings.

  Tall reeds and river slapped against the boat. There was a tiny r
ubber dingy shoved partway beneath the thick, snow-padded bush that crowded the shoreline.

  The river itself was a narrow, wispy ribbon that bent out of sight before giving me much of a view in either direction. I was pretty sure we weren’t on the broad, meandering Loyalsock Creek anymore. A subsidiary? That would explain what was taking Nate so long.

  I did a slow march around the deck, inspecting over the sides, searching for a way off the boat. A mechanically operated board-plank would have been nice. Yeah, if I had that kind of luck, I wouldn’t need it. I ended up at the slipway with fiberglass steps at the rear.

  The water was too murky, or too deep, to see the bottom. The boat was pulled up right into the reeds and there was just under two meters of water between me and solid ground.

  If I were a better athlete (or any athlete at all), maybe I could have jumped it. But I wasn’t, and when I inevitably fell short, face first, the whole of me would get drenched. Since I had no idea how far I’d have to walk before I came across a town or any form of civilization, that didn’t seem like a smart risk.

  Crap.

  I didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. The little courage I had wouldn’t last long. I quickly stripped my boots, socks, jeans, gathered them with the ends of my coat to hold up high above my waist.

  My cheeks stung, my toes prickled with what might well be an early onset of frostbite, and I was going skinny dipping (from the waist down) in a river that had sheets of ice floating on the surface.

  This was either incredibly smart or extremely stupid.

  I moved to the last fiberglass step above the water line and scrunched down on my knees, then my nearly-bare bottom, and slid my legs in. My toes numbed almost instantly, but I was reasonably sure they’d touched a slimy bottom.

  Paranoid that every second was a second closer to hypothermia, I pushed off the step and sunk into the freezing water.

  Mid-thigh.

  Could be worse.

  How?

  I waded through the water awkwardly, my legs turned to wooden stumps and no longer quite part of my body. My teeth chattered uncontrollably, my bones quivered, my mind alternated between counting steps and screaming silent curses that would have burnt my ears if I’d had any heat to spare.

  Five wading steps later, I slipped and slid to dry ground. Lungs turned to blocks of ice, I battled breaths as I tangled my way between the crush of bushes. To my horror, I tumbled out onto a tree-lined road.

  I immediately ducked behind a tall fir for modesty. Talk about misguided optimism. I didn’t hear a single car drive by while I fumbled with numb fingers and rattling bones to pat myself dry and dress. The clothes didn’t do all that much to warm me. I was iced, inside and out. It felt like the blood flowing through my veins had turned blue—from cold, not an upgrade in pedigree.

  When I rescued Jenna from Isla’s evil clutches, she’d owe me big time. That, and the thought of Isla rotting in a damp prison cell, propelled me into a speed walk along the side of the road.

  I hadn’t gone far when I heard the engine from behind. I did an abrupt about turn, waving madly to flag down the approaching mustard yellow Ford.

  Every hitchhiker movie I’d ever seen flashed before my eyes, but seriously, what were the chances that I’d run across both Isla and a pervert on the same stretch of country? Not even my luck could be that pathetic.

  The Ford slowed to a stop, the engine idling as a youngish woman rolled the window down a notch.

  “I can’t give you a ride.” She glanced around nervously before looking me in the eye. “I’m sorry, but…” She jabbed a thumb toward the back seat, where two toddlers blinked at me with curious delight.

  “That’s okay,” I told her, totally understanding. Actually, I had to restrain myself from yelling at her to drive straight home and lock the doors, there was a mad woman on the loose. “Could I just use your phone?”

  She pressed the gas, revving the engine as she set a very undecided look on me.

  “Please, just one phone call,” I begged. “I’m in real trouble.”

  The revving stopped and a moment later she slipped a sleek black phone through the slither of a crack at the top of the window. “It’s unlocked.”

  “Thank you.” I took the phone and…and I didn’t know Nate’s number. I didn’t know any numbers. Well, except for the landline at home, but that would just ring and ring since Mom and Dad were out of town.

  “Is everything alright?” the woman asked. “I could stop at the police station in Willowbrooke and send someone out here, if you like?”

  That reminded me, there was at least one other number Mom had made me memorize before I learnt to speak.

  “No, that’s okay,” I said, and tapped the number out.

  “Silver Firs Sheriff Office,” Suzie-Sue answered in her squeaky voice. “How may I help?”

  “Suzie-Sue, it’s me, Maddox,” I said. “Is Sheriff Matthews there?”

  “Maddie, about time. Sheriff’s been looking for you, no one seems to know anything and Mr Burns and Mr Hollow aren’t talking.”

  I shook my head loose from the babble. “Just put me through to Sheriff Matthews, okay?”

  “No can do.” There was a popping sound. Gum? “He’s out by the Adam’s house. Oh my God, you do know Jenna Adams is missing, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” I snapped, impatient to get the information I was looking for. Nate’s cell phone number. “What about Jack? Is he there?”

  “I haven’t seen him all morning,” Suzie-Sue said prissily, clearly not appreciating my snappishness.

  “Could you forward this call to his cell?”

  “I’m not a telephone operator, Maddie.”

  Actually, that’s exactly what she was. Receptionist and telephone-answerer person. But seeing as I wanted something from her, I went with, “It’s really important, Suzie-Sue.”

  “Fine, but don’t make a habit of this,” she huffed. “I’m very busy over here.”

  I bit my tongue on a sarcastic retort. “Thank you.”

  A few beeps later, the call went through.

  “Jack, it’s me,” I said as soon as I heard his voice.

  “Maddie? Where on earth are—”

  He cut off abruptly, then the timber of the voice switched to a rumbling baritone. “Maddox?”

  “Nate? Are you back in Silver Firs with Jack?”

  “No, Spinner came down with Sam last night,” Nate said. “Are you okay? What the hell happened to you?”

  “Isla,” I said. “She still has Jenna, but I think I know where she’s taken her.” I looked at the woman in the car. “What road are we on?”

  She gave an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know the name of the road, but it follows the river straight to Willowbrooke…” she pointed ahead “…less than half a mile thataway.”

  “Is the river a subsidiary of Loyalsock Creek?” I asked.

  The woman nodded. “Yes, it flows from the Loyalsock.”

  I relayed the details to Nate.

  “I’m alongside Loyalsock Creek right now,” Nate said. “We’ve been on the river all morning, searching for you. I can be there in…” A short pause, then, “We’re only about ten minutes away. Do not move.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  When I handed the phone back to the woman, she rolled the window all the way down. “Sorry about before, I have to be careful with the girls.”

  “Not a problem,” I assured her.

  “Do you want to wait in the car with me until your friends get here?”

  “Thanks, but that’s okay.” I didn’t want her or her babies involved in any way. “You should go. I really appreciate your help.”

  “Anytime.” She gave me a tentative smile, then drove off.

  It was way, way less than ten minutes when Nate’s truck came speeding into view. I reached the rear passenger door before he’d fully stopped and jumped in.

  Jack was in the back with me, a hundred questions written all over his strong, stri
king face. But all he said was, “You okay?”

  I put my hand over his, squeezed and nodded. “I was with Jenna last night. She’s fine.” Or, at least, she was fine. “Isla hasn’t hurt her.”

  His jaw firmed. “Thanks.”

  Nate turned to look at me. His beard was scruffy, hair a worse mess than ever, dark shadows in his eyes.

  “I’m okay,” I murmured, my throat suddenly constricted by the sheer extent of his worry.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice gravelly soft, edged in steel.

  I fell back against the seat. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Sam swiveled her gorgeous head to stare me down. “You look like shit.”

  “I went wading in a river.”

  “And you nearly got yourself dead.”

  Nate slashed a hand through our bickering and set a grim look on me. “You went wading in a river?”

  “Isla had us on a boat.” I swirled a hand back in that direction. “But she drugged me last night and when I woke, she’d taken Jenna and left.”

  “We need to take a look around that boat,” Sam said to Nate.

  “No,” I said at once. “Isla mentioned a micro brewery outside Wellington. That’s where she’s taken Jenna. That’s where we need to start looking.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam threw over her shoulder, then to Nate, “She might have got careless, left a clue lying about.”

  “I’ve already given you the biggest clue,” I said. “Wellington.”

  Sam arched a brow at me. “We are not rushing about the countryside without a solid lead, or God forbid, maybe just a second or two to think it through.”

  “We don’t have time to think,” I ground out.

  “And look where that’s got you.”

  “That’s enough, Sam,” Nate said softly.

  “I haven’t even started,” she shot back. “But you’re right, Maddox wouldn’t know better.”

  “Hey!”

  She brushed my indignant protest aside with a flick of her hand. “You, Nate, you should know better. What in blazes were you thinking, stalking a killer with a carload of civilians?”

  “That was a mistake.”