He wasn’t.
The broken branches and the deep scuffmarks leading away from the car were lost on him. Clearly Twitch was more at home in darkened alleys and abandoned warehouses at midnight. The forest and the surrounding mountains were a foreign world to him.
To get his attention, Turner snapped a dry twig and allowed himself to be seen through a gap in the trees. Twitch did a double take and started toward him.
Turner let him draw closer but kept several tall trees between them so Twitch wouldn’t have a direct shot. Then Turner began leading him deeper into the forest, ducking behind trees before reappearing briefly and darting through bushes but allowing Twitch to catch glimpses of him at regular intervals.
Turner also left signs for his own benefit so he would be able to find his way back to the cabin. But they meant nothing to Twitch, who continued to bulldog his way forward in angry pursuit.
The forest became a maze of trees and shrubs as he led Twitch farther from the cabin. The moss growing on the north side of the trees allowed Turner to keep his bearings as he continued east, pushing deeper into the dense growth. There were no landmarks visible now, no mountain peaks or foothills to provide bearings. Twitch would never be able to find his way back to the cabin in this lifetime.
The Survival Rules of Three says that a person can survive three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water, three weeks without food, and three months without hope. Turner wasn’t worried about the three months without hope rule. By the end of three days without water, Twitch would be totally devoid of hope.
At one point Twitch stopped his pursuit. Turner watched through a gap in the shrubs as the man stood indecisively, looking around in an attempt to get his bearings. Turner could tell by his pursuer’s expression that Twitch knew he was lost.
Turner stepped into the open briefly and then darted behind a tree as Twitch fired in his direction. The bullet passed through some overhanging pine boughs and thudded into a nearby tree trunk. Bark chips scattered, and Turner caught the scent of fresh pine gum.
He heard footsteps rustling toward him and knew the chase was back on.
Quickly, he ducked into the undergrowth and gained some distance between them. Then he burrowed into a pile of dead-fall and lay absolutely still, taking long, slow breaths. He heard Twitch race by. When he was certain his pursuer was ahead of him, Turner emerged from his camouflage, brushed off his hair, and followed in pursuit.
If he appeared behind Twitch, it would further confuse the man. By doing this several times, appearing from a different angle on each occasion, Twitch would become totally disoriented.
As Turner crept forward, he noticed his quarry up ahead, peering into a fallen log. Perhaps Twitch thought Turner was tired and had decided to seek shelter. A squirrel suddenly darted out of the log, startling Twitch so badly that he fired several shots, missing it completely.
Turner decided to lead Twitch even further into the forest so the gunshots wouldn’t be heard back at the cabin. He didn’t want the two men to be able to get their bearings on one another by firing shots into the air. “Nice shooting,” he called sarcastically, leaping behind a tree just before a bullet tore into the bark.
He slipped away and circled around Twitch, climbing a tree and hiding in the thick foliage. He peered through a small opening so he could determine his pursuer’s whereabouts.
Twitch entered the clearing a short time later and wildly scanned the perimeter. “Where are you?” he cried, uttering a string of dark promises while he reloaded his gun.
Turner waited for him to pass and then climbed down, circling farther to his left. “Here!” he called, jumping behind a boulder perched at the top of a ravine. Twitch turned and fired in the direction of the sound. Turner cried out as though he had been hit and quickly climbed down into the ravine. He took cover behind a tree and groaned loudly to lure the armed man onward.
Twitch appeared on the crest of the ravine and paused to study the terrain. When it looked as though he might remain on the rim to maintain the visual advantage, Turner cried out in pretended pain and watched as Twitch made his way down the slope in search of his wounded quarry.
Turner picked up a piece of rotted wood and tossed it into some nearby bushes. Twitch fired a round into them and moved in that direction. Turner threw another piece of wood into a farther stand of bushes and, once again, Twitch fired. In this way Turner led his adversary deeper into the ravine, which splintered off in several directions in a series of twists and turns, filled with dense foliage.
When he had led Twitch far enough, Turner cut a wide berth around him and doubled back. Taking his bearings, he scrambled out of the ravine and paused at the top to listen. In the distance he could hear Twitch crashing through the foliage and occasionally calling out taunts.
After peeling off the jacket, Turner turned it inside out and used it like a rag to remove the venomous hairs from his clothing. Then he tossed the jacket aside—an unfortunate but necessary loss—and headed for the cabin, following the signs that he’d left for himself. Signs Twitch would never see.
CHAPTER 29
CASSANDRA WRAPPED JUSTIN in her arms and snuggled against the chill of the cave. That it had come to this was impossible to have predicted. A week ago they had been living in a stylish home in Las Vegas, with a décor and furnishings she had personally selected. Now they were hiding in a small cavern—uncomfortable, cold, and hungry.
She entertained Justin to help pass the time and to keep her mind off the throbbing in her ankle. He loved stories, so she told ones usually reserved for his bedtime, and then retold them several times, adding slight variations to amuse him. When he became restless, she let him wander around the interior of the cave, but he soon became too cold and hungry to do anything but huddle in her arms and whimper.
She rested her chin against his head and sang softly to him, running through his favorite songs: “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” “Old MacDonald Had a Farm,” and the theme songs to several cartoon shows. She sang several hymns to buoy her own spirits too. But after a while she fell silent and simply cuddled Justin and prayed for Turner’s arrival.
Without a wristwatch it was impossible to track time. She had no idea if Turner had been gone for one hour or five. But it seemed an eternity, and she fought her growing anxiety. In a situation like this it was easy to imagine the worst that could possibly happen and dwell repeatedly on the morbid details. Turner could be injured or captured or both. The possibilities were endless and frightening.
She remembered telling him that she was like the two people in the survey who wanted to know their futures in advance if they could. Now she wondered about it. If she could have known that she and Justin would end up shivering in a mountain cave, would she have left in the first place? Yes, she decided, because she still believed it was for the best. Despite everything she had lost, she had gained much too. And although it came at a high price, it was worth it.
The other night in Turner’s apartment, she had awakened from a dream in which Brad was calling to her from afar, begging her to come home. She had lain there in the darkness and considered calling it quits, returning the envelope to him, and accepting the consequences. But she had already passed the point of no return, and it was impossible to go back now, not with everything that had transpired. The stakes had been raised immeasurably, and only a consequence of equal proportions would satisfy Brad. She had humiliated him by taking Justin, along with the envelope from the wall safe, and leaving. And adding to that humiliation was the fact that she had involved other people—good people—who now knew Brad for what he was. The skeletons had been released from his closet, and his ego would never be able to settle for anything less than her complete and utter humiliation. And perhaps she could endure such a fate, if she had a guarantee that Justin would be safe from Brad’s future outbursts. But she didn’t need to see the future to know how that would turn out.
“When’s Turner coming back, Mo
mmy?” Justin asked, calling her back to the moment.
“He should be here soon, sweetie.” She stroked his head as her anxieties returned. “Should we pray for him?”
“Okay.”
Cassandra closed her eyes and said, “Dear God, I know Turner has had a hard time believing in You and finding a need for You in his life. But he’s a good man and has done so much for Justin and me. Please protect him and guide him safely back to us. Amen.”
“Safely back to us. Amen,” Justin echoed.
Clutching him against her, Cassandra stared at the forest beyond the cave opening. Turner was out there somewhere, putting his life on the line for Justin and her. Strong emotions swelled within her, and she closed her eyes in prayer once more, offering a silent and more personal petition on his behalf. And theirs.
CHAPTER 30
TURNER APPROACHED THE Buick from the dense foliage on the north side of the vehicle. The bushes glistened with water droplets, and he got soaked as he worked his way through them. But though he felt cold and tired, he basked in a sense of triumph over how things had turned out with Twitch. Dealing with him in this environment had been almost too easy.
In this moment of self-congratulations, he let his guard down and was taken by surprise when Slick emerged from the bushes and pointed his gun at him. “Where’s Alec?” he demanded.
Turner flinched and then shrugged innocently.
“Alec, you out here?” Slick called, maintaining eye contact with Turner. When there was no answer, he narrowed his gaze.
“I don’t know what’s become of him, but you’re dealing with me now, my friend.”
He solemnly motioned Turner to move away from the car, cautioning him to keep his hands visible. Turner complied, looking at him as calmly as a person can when staring certain death in the face.
“Brad had some important documents and financial records in his possession,” Slick said. “But his wife took them from their safe.” He clicked his teeth grimly. “There are some concerned people who would like to have them back.”
Turner remembered the conversation in Harvey’s office and how worried Brad had been about the documents Cassandra had taken. “I don’t know where they are,” he said truthfully.
“That may be true. But you know where she is.”
Now Turner understood why he wasn’t lying on the forest floor with a bullet in each kneecap.
“So it’s rather simple,” Slick continued. “You take me to her, she hands things over, and everybody leaves happy.”
Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Turner knew that once he handed over the documents and financial records, Cassandra and he were dead. Slick would leave their carcasses in the forest for the cougars and mountain lions to fight over. And Justin would be returned to his father’s loving care and protection.
“So what’s it going be?” Slick inquired coolly.
As Turner desperately attempted to assess his options, an idea suddenly occurred to him. “She and the boy are in an abandoned cabin at the base of the lookout tower,” he said, remembering the tower Cassandra had pointed out the day they went canoeing. “We went hiking yesterday, and she sprained her ankle. We stayed overnight at the cabin, and I came back today to get some medical supplies. It’s a bit of a hike from here, so we need to leave right now. She needs help.”
Slick studied him for a moment and then nodded.
Turner grabbed his backpack and dumped the contents into the trunk. Rifling through Cassandra’s suitcase, he picked out some clothes for her and Justin. He stuffed them into the backpack, along with the plastic bag he’d already filled with the painkillers and the food items.
Then he shrugged into his backpack and turned to face Slick. “I’m ready,” he said.
“Good. Lead the way. I’m right behind you.”
His gun was right behind Turner too. And Turner realized that once they reached their destination and Slick figured out it was a wild goose chase, the oily haired man would be making the return trip alone, one or two bullets lighter.
Turner thought of Cassandra and Justin, huddled in the cave, awaiting his arrival. He had to come up with something fast because he only had the distance from the cabin to the tower in which to turn the tables on Slick. The span was a fixed distance, a giant ruler that gauged the length of the path leading to doomsday. And unless he formulated a plan and succeeded in implementing it, every inch they traversed meant one less inch of life remaining for him.
He adjusted the backpack and walked toward the trail that led to the lookout tower. Slick followed, holding the gun at Turner’s back as a reminder not to try any “funny stuff,” as he put it. Normally the warning would not have gone unheeded. But the battle of wits had begun, and unless Turner did try some funny stuff soon, he was a dead man. And that prospect was not funny at all.
Although the sun had emerged from behind the thinning clouds, a casual brush against the overhanging pine boughs doused them with water droplets as they walked. Slick’s rumpled suit was already water-stained, and the hem of his pants became mud-rimmed within minutes. But he didn’t seem to care. With bulldog determination he urged Turner forward, oblivious to the unpleasant conditions.
Slick’s oily hair retained its style. The moisture from the branches ran off his head like water off a fisherman's rain hat, and he didn’t look nearly as miserable as Turner was beginning to feel. Once Slick found out that this was a ruse, things were going to turn nasty. And Turner knew he would feel even more miserable . . . when Slick shot him.
The trail became steeper, making the footing more difficult. Slick lost his footing several times and almost went down because his patent leather shoes were not meant for walking in these conditions. And each time he lost his balance, he held the gun out as a warning for Turner to keep his distance. But Turner kept as close as possible, because if he was going to catch Slick off guard at some point, the tricky footing would give him the best opportunity.
“How much farther?” Slick asked, surveying the trail ahead.
“You’ll see the lookout tower through the trees in a while.
The cabin is right beside it.”
Slick grunted under his breath and motioned for him to keep walking.
With difficulty they ascended a steep section to where a series of switchbacks weaved a stitch-work pattern across the mountain slope. Turner looked for an opportunity to catch his captor by surprise, but Slick seemed to anticipate his intentions and kept a wary eye on him.
Turner had hoped that Slick’s flabby gut would slow the man down, or at least tire him out. But Slick matched him step for step, his jaw set determinedly. And every time Turner turned to look at him, Slick waved his gun impatiently.
According to Turner’s estimation, they had covered a quarter of the distance to the lookout tower, and he still hadn’t been able to make his move. The edge of the path was too steep to risk bolting into the thick foliage, and he couldn’t turn and race back down the trail because Slick would shoot him before he took three steps.
Turner tried to think of a way to disarm him, but Slick maintained a sufficient distance between them. Turner couldn’t get his hands on the gun without getting a face full of lead. And it was obvious he couldn’t out-muscle him because Slick was half bulldog and half gorilla. His arms were thicker than Turner’s legs, and he had at least sixty pounds on him. Turner was dead meat if he tried any funny stuff and dead meat if he didn’t. It was a chilling dilemma to be sure.
But if he was going to go down, Turner decided to go down swinging. He just had to pick the right time and the right place. But each step he took reduced the opportunity, and the pressure began to mount.
He shifted the backpack to one shoulder so he could shed his load quickly. It would be easier to launch a counterattack without the bulky backpack hampering his efforts. It was now a matter of survival of the fittest. And with Cassandra and Justin counting on him, Turner had to ensure that he was the fittest.
The wind picked up slightly as they proceed
ed up the slope to the next switchback. Turner quickened the pace, hoping to increase distance between them, but Slick kept up.
On the next rise they came to a place where the trail had been washed out. Descending into the scar that had once been the pathway, Turner carefully picked his way across the exposed rocks and tree roots.
Slick waited until Turner was on the other side and then motioned him to stop. Then he began working his way across, keeping the gun trained on Turner, who watched and waited for an opportunity to strike.
When Slick looked down to check his footing, Turner decided to make his move. As he began to shrug out of the backpack, intending to pick up a rock and hurl it at him, Slick snapped his head back up, aware that he had momentarily let down his guard. Turner froze, his jaw set and his muscles tensed.
Slick shook his head in warning and made his way up to the other side. “For a moment there I thought you were going to try some funny stuff.”
“Let’s just hurry,” Turner replied, shifting the backpack to his other shoulder. “Cassandra’s waiting.”
A heavy feeling settled over him as he realized that perhaps his last window of opportunity had just slammed shut. He knew Slick would not let his guard down again. Staring sullenly ahead, Turner continued leading the way.
At a particularly steep section of the trail, Slick began to breathe heavily. Turner tried to push the pace discreetly, hoping he didn’t wear himself out first. Carrying Cassandra to the cave had been extremely taxing, and his anxiousness over her and Justin was emotionally draining. The strain was beginning to take its toll.
They had arrived at a bend in the trail where the path flattened out momentarily before continuing its ascent. A small stream flowed down the rocky slope and pooled along the edge of the trail. At the lowest point in the path the water actually overflowed the trail, submerging it in several inches of runoff.
As Turner turned to face Slick, he noticed that the ground was spongy beneath his feet.
The Return of Cassandra Todd Page 17