Revenge (A Travis Mays Novel)

by Mark Young

  Travis tightened his jaw. If Scarsbourgh knew the chopper was here he’d end Jessie’s life right now. Had Frank warned Steele?

  Maybe Steele spotted his truck parked along the highway. If he’d talked to Frank at all, Steele might have guessed.

  The detective knew Scarsbourgh was going to contact Travis based upon the note left behind in Jessie’s cabin. Placement of Travis’ vehicle upriver from his cabin gave Steele a grid to search. He grudgingly gave the detective credit; the lawman instinctively knew Scarsbourgh sent Travis upstream. If he’d been in Steele’s position, an aerial search seemed a logical choice.

  Travis just hoped it did not mean Jessie’s death sentence.

  He waited until the chopper moved further up the river. Once the aircraft was out of sight, Travis pushed the kayak back onto the river. He pushed off once more. From now on, he’d have to be on the alert if that chopper came back this way. If Scarsbourgh was watching — and the man had to be watching somewhere on this river — he’d see Travis trying to avoid detection.

  That should be worth some brownie points. Just enough to keep Jessie alive.

  As he floated downstream, Travis rubbed his chest and arms, trying to stimulate some warmth to his body. He glanced under his outer garments and saw his bare skin looked like a plucked goose, the color of blue ice except for large red splotches where the skin felt burned by the cold. His fingers and toes tingled with numbness.

  He hoped Scarsbourgh would show his face soon.

  Creasy lunged for his gun when he saw the police helicopter hovering above Travis. As he eyed the monitor, Creasy turned to face Jessie as he slowly took a bead on her forehead as she lay on the bed. Mouth taped. Eyes wide open in fear. A single tap to the head and he’d be on his way.

  Travis apparently cared more about saving his skin than freeing Jessie.

  He took one more look at the monitor before squeezing the trigger. He saw Travis scrambling out of sight and dragging his kayak into the trees. Creasy waited to see what happened. The helicopter continued on its search further upriver, away from Creasy’s operation. He saw Travis slip out from the trees, obviously trying to conceal his position.

  Good. He’d keep her alive a little longer. Until his prey arrived. Creasy released his pressure on the trigger and re-holstered the weapon.

  Okay. The professor seemed to be trying to play by the rules.

  If Frank and Travis disobeyed, Travis wouldn’t be trying to hide from the aircraft. Maybe the deputies saw Travis’ truck and started their search based upon its location. Made sense.

  He flicked to the next mini cam he’d set downstream, waiting for Travis to come into view. Travis emerged, paddling furiously.

  Creasy chuckled as he saw Travis beating himself trying to stay warm.

  He leaned back and relaxed. Let the cops keep looking. He’d be gone before they ever figured it out. Didn’t they know he wrote the book on cover and concealment, hiding and killing all his life. This is why he was created. To hunt. To kill. To disappear again.

  Bring it on.

  Frank started toward his car. He’d promised Travis he’d avoid Steele. Keep him in the dark. And he’d kept that promise.

  But this was the life of his daughter. He could not stand by and do nothing.

  He’d studied the map left by the killer. He knew this river better than most and knew where Travis started his trek. If he was in the killer’s shoes, he’d want to make sure Travis was not followed. That meant a slow trip down the river where any surveillance would stick out. Aircraft, suspicious vehicles along the highway, anything.

  And he had a hunch where Travis might end up. Killers, like people, are creatures of habit

  He glanced at his watch. Must work quickly. He picked up his cell phone and saw the battery died. Angrily, he realized he had forgotten to leave the charger in his car.

  He crossed the river, and began driving to Three Rivers. Minutes later he made it to the resort and asked one of the owners if he might use their telephone. Quickly, he started making calls, telling those he called exactly what he wanted. He called Nez Perce County dispatch and made sure that all his calls were forwarded immediately after borrowing a cell phone from a friend. As long as he was in range, he’d get those messages. If not, the others knew what to do.

  An hour later, a truck turned off Highway 12 onto the Three Rivers property pulling a horse trailer. Frank walked toward the truck as the driver emerged. He clasped the driver’s hand.

  “Thanks, Jim. If you’ll unload the horse and saddle him up, I’ll go grab my gear.” The driver’s long black hair tied back, his dark eyes, and chiseled features telegraphed his Nez Perce heritage. Jim turned toward the trailer and lowered the rear gate.

  Frank strode over to his car, pulled out a rifle and a box of ammunition. He returned in time to see the horse tied to the trailer and saddled. “Are you Superman? How’d you do that so fast?”

  Jim softly patted the horse’s neck. “Knew you’d want to move out quickly, Frank, so I had the horse ready to go before I took off. Good hunting.”

  Frank hoisted himself up into the saddle and grasped the reins. “Thanks. And keep us in your prayers.”

  “Godspeed, brother.” Jim waved as Frank wheeled the horse toward the roadway.

  Frank crossed the road and began to look for a shallow crossing where he might ford where the two rivers came together. The two merging rivers — broadened at this point — provided a shallower crossing than further downstream where they became the Middle Fork of the Clearwater. He edged the horse into the water and slowly crossed, allowing the animal to search for its own footing in the swift current.

  Time was running out. He needed to move fast before the killer appeared.

  Chapter 62

  Clearwater River, Idaho

  Long shadows stretched across the floor of the valley, a purple shroud darkening the river and the lower reaches of lands. Darkness came quicker in these mountains. Phillip Scarsbourgh glanced at his watch. He made one last check on the computer and saw his kayaker struggling.

  Just a few more miles, fool. Then you’re all mine.

  Travis paddled steady, but his thrusts seemed weaker. It was good that the river’s flow slowed down at this elevation. The pathetically-weak professor was just passing the Three Rivers Resort as dusk approached. He still had a ways to go.

  Keep paddling, fool. Don’t stop now. Not if you want to see your woman one more time.

  Love is such an incentive.

  Scarsbourgh stood and entered the bedroom. Jessie lay sprawled across the bed, her eyes closed. She opened them as he entered. He reached into a cabinet drawer and pulled out a syringe.

  “Time to go night-night.”

  He watched her struggle with the handcuffs, the metal cuffs firmly attached to the metal railing of the bed. “No use fighting it, Princess. Soon you can say hello to Travis. Won’t that be special.”

  He held down one arm with his knee and thrust the needle into her skin. He pushed the plunger and watched her face. Slowly, her eyes closed and she stopped resisting. He reached over and dragged a backpack toward him. He reached inside and withdrew a roll of duct tape. He tore off a piece and covered her mouth, making sure her nasal passages remained clear.

  “Don’t want you making a loud fuss until your boyfriend arrives. Once I’ve got my hands on Travis, you can scream all you want.” He knew she never heard a word.

  He turned his attention back toward the computer. On the screen, he watched Travis passing the last marker he’d set up. He picked up a hand-held portable.

  “My boy’s almost here. You set?”

  Two squelches over the air gave him the answer he sought.

  The trap is set.

  Travis hit himself repeatedly, trying to beat warmth and circulation into his veins. An hour ago, his legs started cramping and he began to lose feeling in his feet. He hoped when the time came he’d be able to stand.

  Crawling was not an option.

 
Darkness crept across the waters as dusk settled down the canyon. He recognized this part of the Clearwater. Home was not far ahead. Things started to make sense. He must prepare himself because he knew the killer would appear soon. He paddled to the bank for a quick break. It was too dark to see what he was doing now.

  He tried to step out of the craft onto the rocky shoreline, but his knees buckled. He kneeled on the ground and slowly pushed up until he half stood, half crouched, supported by extended arms in an ape-like stance. Slowly, painfully, he raised himself to a standing position.

  One step at a time, he tottered in a circle, watching the banks on both sides of the river. He knew this madman somehow managed to watch him most of the trip. Scarsbourgh might be watching even now, untroubled by the cops swarming the area and police aircraft patrolling the skies. He knew this guy could blend into the countryside like a leopard blending into vegetation.

  Somehow he must figure how to outsmart this guy. Everything depended upon it. A quick scan of the trees and mountain slopes revealed nothing. Darkness was both a friend and foe. Creasy could not see him, nor could he see the killer. He suddenly realized everything seemed unnaturally quiet. Even the birds and animals remained silent.

  Too quiet.

  Again he looked around one more time before climbing back into the kayak. He shoved off and began paddling. Glancing up the river bank, he began to recognize places just upstream from his cabin. He was close to home.

  He wondered how much longer Scarsbourgh might force him downstream. Surprising Travis by taking him to his own cabin made sense as long as Frank left. Where was Frank?

  No one would think to search Travis’ place. The cops would do drive-bys while searching the general area. They’d think the cabin would be the last place the kidnapper might bring her. After all, Travis and Frank were known to be staying there. Right?

  It made the perfect place to stash his victim. A place cops might never think of checking. So did he hide Jessie there?

  Just the thought of Jessie with that killer angered him. It was like fighting a phantom, always elusive, never right in front of you. Scarsbourgh, so far, always one step ahead. That was before they knew who he was — and knew the fury that drove him.

  He tried to get inside Scarsbourgh’s mind, sick as it was.

  Ultimately, he knew Scarsbourgh wanted him. Wanted to watch Travis die for what he’d done to Michelle. First, however, the killer wanted Travis to understand and suffer the same pain Michelle’s death caused him. He wanted Travis to be deeply hurt before dying.

  Jessie would be that tool, that sacrificial lamb placed upon Scarsbourgh’s altar of revenge.

  Travis’s only hope rested on one assumption — this killer kept Jessie alive long enough to draw Travis into his trap. Once caught in that trap, he must figure a way to beat Scarsbourgh at his own game.

  So far, this guy held all the cards.

  He heard a vehicle heading his direction along the road further up the canyon and moving fast. He estimated it would pass in a couple minutes. Not enough time to pull off the river out of sight. Nothing to hide behind here. He cradled the paddle in his arm, letting the current carry him as he waited.

  A Ford F250 pickup, a dusty green with a white cab over, loomed into view. He saw the driver peering down toward the river, but in this light he thought himself close to invisible. Twilight’s dusk shielded him from anyone getting a clear look at his face. The truck continued down the road.

  No cops in sight.

  Travis resumed his paddling downstream.

  “Frank, can you copy? This is Charlie.”

  Frank reined in his horse and pressed the send button. “Yeah, Charlie. I copy.”

  “Just passed that cabin you mentioned. No lights. No activity that I could see.”

  “Copy that, my friend. I’ll be in touch.” He sent Charlie past Travis’ cabin to spot any activity. Charlie, in his green pickup, would wait further down the Clearwater until he heard back from Frank.

  He started to put the radio back into its holder when he heard a squelch and Charlie’s voice on the air.

  “Frank, you still with me?”

  He punched the send button again. “Hear you loud and clear.”

  “Spotted that guy you mentioned on the river. Upstream less than a mile from the cabin. Barely see him in this light. Copy?”

  “Yeah, thanks again.” Frank nudged the horse forward.

  No lights at the cabin. Maybe he had been wrong. He shuddered to think he’d misread everything.

  If he was wrong — Jessie would be killed.

  Chapter 63

  Travis’s arms and back ached as fiery pricks of nerves fired through his tired muscles. Exhaustion sapped his strength, his thigh muscles twitched in agony as cramps returned. He must push on.

  Every moment counted.

  He heard the helicopter returning and scrambled for cover on the bank as the chopper’s blades beat closer. Through the tangle of branches, he watched as the copter flew overhead, its searchlight piercing darkness with enough candlelight to blind. Who were they searching for — the killer or him?

  He hoped Frank kept his word. If any cops stopped him now … he shuddered at the thought. The killer would simply end Jessie’s life with a bullet, slipping away into anonymity to return later to put Travis out of his misery.

  For the first time, he wondered if Scarsbourgh might be working with others. The man’s actions seemed so bizarre, it seemed reasonable to assume that no one in their right mind would work with him. But the man appeared sane enough to fool Travis. He’d actually done work for this wacko.

  The helicopter crew moved on in their search. He slipped from cover and began the journey once more.

  Travis found he could still navigate the river in darkness, the current calmer on this stretch of water. He knew he would not face any more whitewater challenges. The darkness was not completely black as his eyes adjusted to the night. A pale moonlight began to send its cold light across the sky, casting a ghostly pall.

  Ahead, he saw the span of cable across the river leading to his cabin. Home just ahead. He knew he could not stop, but he liked being on familiar turf. He knew this area well.

  A voice broke the silence. “Travis. That’s far enough.”

  Phillip Scarsbourgh.

  Scarsbourgh saw Travis paddling through the water. He scanned the river with his night scope, watching everything in the green light of the lens. Darkness evaporated into a green sheen as he saw the kayak loom nearer. Travis looked tired as he slumped forward.

  Good. He wanted his enemy dog-tired, unable to fight back. He wanted the man alive just enough to suffer for a while, then die at just the right time.

  As Travis drew closer, Scarsbourgh lowered his rifle and brought it to the ready, flicking off the safety. If the little coward tried to run, this piece of equipment would cut him down before he finished the next paddle stroke.

  Glasses in hand, Scarsbourgh ordered Travis toward the shore. Travis jerked at the sound of the command, then immediately obeyed. Scarsbourgh stepped back in the darkness of the brush and waited until the craft’s bow struck shore.

  “Now. Once you get out of there, raise your hands slowly. Any false move and you’re dead. Understand?”

  Travis nodded.

  “I said, do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand.” Travis slowly pushed himself out of the craft and stood on dry ground, tottering as if his legs might be cramped.

  “Now, lay on the ground, put your hands behind you. Face in the dirt. Do it now!”

  Travis obeyed.

  “Don’t move.” Phillip crept forward with a flex cuff and looped it around Travis’ wrists. He savagely yanked on the cuffs, plastic cutting into the wrists.

  “Now. Get to your feet. I’m going to pat you down. When I’m sure you’re clean, walk toward the cabin. You know the way.”

  He saw Travis looking around. “Looking for Sam? The mutt’s dead.”

  He saw
Travis clench his fists together. “Don’t worry, man. Soon it won’t matter anyway.” Chuckling, he patted Travis down and then shoved him forward with enough force to cause the man to stumble and fall. He waited until Travis struggled to his feet. “Now, let’s go see your girlfriend.”

  Jessie heard footsteps coming.

  She gave one tug at the metal handcuffs binding her wrist. With her free hand, she tried to loosen it to no avail. The killer cuffed her to an eye-bolt deeply embedded into the wall near the fireplace. Frustrated, she felt the cuff tighten even further. The more she struggled, the more metal bit into the skin.

  The floor creaked beneath as she shifted, eyeing the doorway. More footsteps. It sounded like several people coming up the path. She looked around, wondering where Sam might be hiding if he was still alive.

  Phillip fired one shot at the dog when they first arrived. Sam yelped and ran off into the forest. She feared the dog might be dead. That had been hours ago and the animal never returned.

  Creaking sounds came from the porch as she listened to at least one set of boots striking the ground. The door swung open. Travis stumbled inside. The moonlight caught his face on the threshold. She knew that he could not see her in the darkness.

  “Travis. I’m over here.”

  “Shut up unless I tell you to speak.” Scarsbourgh shoved Travis further into the cabin before entering himself. The killer propped both the wooden door and the screen door open. “Sit on the sofa. One more word and I’ll kill you both right now.”

  Jessie watched Travis slump down on the sofa, glancing around and looking for her. Darkness made his search useless.

  A match flared up and Scarsbourgh’s face loomed above a lit candle. “Isn’t this romantic?” He cackled as he blew out the match. Harsh laughter of a madman.