“God, Brooke, I thought you were . . .”
“Dead?” A sound escaped Brooke—half laugh, half sob. Kelly’s heart sank. “Not yet.”
There was something wrong with the rhythm of her sister’s breath. She could feel it. It was too shallow, too frantic.
“Are you okay?” she asked, knowing it was a stupid question.
Of course Brooke wasn’t okay. Neither of them was. They were trapped God knew where by some crazy fuck. She couldn’t see shit, and Brooke . . .
“Need . . . insulin,” Brooke croaked.
Tears clogged Kelly’s throat and she swallowed them back. Insulin.
“Where is it? Where’s your insulin?”
Maybe she could find it. If she could give Brooke a shot, then maybe, between the two of them, they could find a way out of here. Wherever here was.
“I’m out.”
Kelly didn’t know the medical term for what would happen to a diabetic without insulin, but she knew it was bad.
It seemed hopeless. What little hope survived in this evil place was weighted down by her overwhelming fear that they would die here. Then she thought about Brooke. Her sister needed her. A spark of anger ignited in her chest, fear evaporating in its bright glow, giving her purpose.
There was no way she was going to let her sister die. She wouldn’t let that happen. Kelly raised her head.
“Who is he?”
“You . . . don’t . . . remember?”
Remember? Why would I remember? Why . . .
She closed her eyes and recalled his face. Dark hair, dark eyes, high cheekbones. There was something familiar about it. Something. But what?
“Bowman.”
Kelly gasped. The boy’s face came rushing back in a flash. The last time she’d seen him had been the night her mother left Rick.
“Andy?” It made no sense. She waited for Brooke to correct her, but when she didn’t, she knew she was right. “Why? Why would he do this to you?”
“Not the only . . . girl . . .”
Kelly’s stomach heaved. She understood what Brooke was saying. She knew the police had found another missing blonde girl chopped into pieces.
“Kim Covey.”
“Dead,” Brooke said.
The finality of the word struck Kelly like a slap across the face. She staggered to her feet and struggled against the ropes chewing at her skin until she felt warm blood trickle down her wrists.
“We have to get out of here, Brooke, before the crazy fuck comes back.”
“Can’t.”
Kelly’s gaze ricocheted uselessly around the cabin. She couldn’t see a damn thing in here.
“Tell me everything you know about this place, Brooke.”
“Cabin . . . river . . . can’t scream . . .” Brooke swallowed. “No one . . . hears.”
The fierce wind buffeted the cabin, like a frantic, wild thing clawing to get inside. Kelly’s heart jumped.
“There has to be something. Think.”
Kelly sounded frantic. Desperate.
“Can’t.”
She heard Brooke’s labored breath. Suddenly she regretted any mean thought she’d ever had about her sister and the special treatment granted Brooke because of her diabetes.
“Sorry . . . he found . . . you. Would die . . .”
Kelly swallowed the knot in her throat. She knew what Brooke was trying to say, and every fiber of her being rejected the thought.
“Enough talk about dying. We need to get out of here.”
She closed her eyes and listened to the rain. There was a tapping. Like rain on glass. A window.
“Is there a window?”
“End of the cabin. Up . . . seven feet . . . more . . . too high . . .”
Maybe for Brooke, Kelly thought. But she was taller. She could jump. Maybe, if her hands were free, she could climb. Logan had taken her rock climbing two summers ago. She’d liked it. What’s more, she’d been good at it. All she needed were a few footholds, a few handholds, and she could make it.
First she needed to get out of these ropes. She paused. Thinking. The knife. She’d carried the knife with her since the day she was attacked at the school. It made her feel safe. But it wasn’t there now. Had he taken it? Or had it fallen out?
“I had a knife with me. It must have fallen out of my pocket. Are your hands free?”
Another breath.
“Yes.”
“If I can find it, you can cut the ropes.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? I’m not going to let you die here.”
Kelly pivoted in the dark, trying to figure out where she’d woken up. She closed her eyes. Tried to retrace the steps in her head.
“Kel . . .”
She heard the denial in Brooke’s voice, and anger flared hot inside Kelly.
“Maybe you’re ready to give up, Brooke, but I’m not. I’m going to find that knife. We’re going to get out of here.”
“Can’t.” Brooke’s voice caught. “Can’t . . . feel . . . my legs.”
Chapter 59
Black water pooled on the main road leading into the small town of Carnation. The wind rippled across the oily surface. There was no telling how deep it was—a few inches or a few feet. Or worse. It could be a sinkhole. There was no driving around it. Drew frowned.
Fucking great. The farmland stretched across the valley floor was no stranger to floods, but if the rain kept up at this rate, the road would close. Marissa would be unable to pass, and that would ruin everything.
Time was running out. After his stunt at the mental hospital, every cop north of Tacoma would be searching for Andrew Bowman. Maybe Alistair believed the text he’d sent from Alicia’s phone, and maybe he didn’t. Sometime soon her father would try to contact her again, and when he couldn’t find her, everyone, everyone would come looking for Drew.
All he needed was a few more hours. Enough time to finish what he’d come here to do—eliminate the last of Andrew Bowman’s pathetic family ties. Then he could just leave. He had a fake ID and enough money to start over again somewhere else.
But how could he ever feel safe? How could he live without looking over his shoulder, without thinking that another chance encounter like the one at the Chapel could bring his whole life crashing down around him?
That was no life. All the loose threads tying him to his former self had to be severed. Liam had tugged on one of those threads and his secret life had unraveled faster than a cheating wife’s lie.
Gritting his teeth, Drew punched down on the gas, and the Jeep plunged into the rising tide. Water hissed over his wheels. The exhaust system coughed. Drew held his breath, foot pressed down harder on the gas. The Jeep chugged and sputtered but kept moving. Finally he emerged from the water onto the bridge deck, and Drew drove into town.
Neon beer lights burned brightly in the windows of Sliders Café. He parked half a block down on the other side of the street, a safe distance away. Pulling a Seahawks cap down low on his brow, Drew stepped out into a cold shower of rain and stuffed the gun into the waistband of his jeans.
Wet wind blew down the empty street. Sweat soaked through his T-shirt. In an hour it would all be finished and he’d be free to disappear again. Start over.
He glanced at the café. There were no cars out front. He didn’t expect a crowd. With a storm blowing in and the road flooding out, anybody with half a brain would stay the fuck home. With any luck he’d be in, out, and on his way.
The café smelled like fried food and meatballs. The locals loved this place. Live music. Good food. From where Drew was standing, though, it sure looked like a shithole to him.
Over in the corner of the dining room, a teenage girl wiped down tabletops with a grimy rag.
Drew set the metal gas tank down at his feet. It clanged on the tile floor. The girl looked up. For a split second his heart jolted and he thought he saw Alicia’s face. He blinked and the moment passed. It wasn’t Alicia. It was just some stupid girl, dressed in a short skirt and c
ombat boots. She sauntered in slow motion toward the cash register, taking her sweet-ass fucking time.
That’s right, bitch. Slow down, we’ve got all night.
“The restaurant is closing down for the night. I can’t seat you, but if you wanted something for takeout . . .” Red lipstick. White teeth. She flashed a flirty smile.
He knew her type. She thought she was every teenage boy’s wet dream, right down to the God-awful perfume wafting off her—Red Bull and cum.
“Just some gas,” he said, antsy to be on his way before anyone else came along.
Lights flashed in the plate glass window. Seconds later the door chimed. Drew groaned. Frustration bloomed like a mushroom cloud inside his chest. The grin faded from the girl’s face.
A skinny kid in ripped jeans and a black motorcycle jacket walked in. Light glinted off the barbell stud stabbed through the kid’s thick eyebrow. He swaggered up to the counter. Ignoring Drew, he stared straight at the girl.
“What time you off?” he asked.
She tossed her ponytail, staring down her nose at the kid like he was white trash.
“My shift ends in an hour. I don’t need a ride home.”
“Tell Cecil to close down early. The cops are blocking off the road. No way you’re going to make it through in that piece of shit you drive.”
The girl batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated, damsel-in-distress sort of way.
“And you’re here to, what, save me? How sweet.”
Drew didn’t have time for teenage drama right now. The road had barely been passable when he’d driven through ten minutes ago, and if the cops closed it, he was screwed. He just needed some gas. For a split second he thought about the gun, and then he changed his mind.
It wasn’t time yet.
Drew let out a low whistle.
“Listen, Romeo, let me clue you in to a few things about your little Juliet here. Any girl who dresses like that only wants one thing—you tied up in knots and desperate to get into her pants. She has no intention letting you anywhere near her. Have you asked her out?”
The kid didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to the floor and Drew grinned.
“She shot you down, didn’t she?”
The kid’s head bobbed in a grudging nod.
“So you stopped in to offer her a ride home and what does she do? She shits all over you. You can keep up the good-guy routine, fully transform into the doormat she thinks you are, and hope she’ll change her mind. It’s your choice. I don’t want to tell you how to live or anything, but if I were in your shoes, I’d let her drown. She’s not worth the trouble.”
The kid looked at the girl as if seeing her for the first time for the manipulative bitch she was. He spun and left the café without another word. Drew smiled.
“Give me ten on pump two,” he said, slapping a bill down on the countertop.
She took it with a smile.
“Wow, you sure got rid of him in a hurry.”
He hated everything about this girl. He’d be doing the world a favor by shooting her right now, but he still didn’t have the one thing he’d come here for.
“I really don’t give a shit about your love life, sweetheart. I just need some gas. Now, can you do that, or do I need to call Cecil out of the back to do it for you?”
The smile dissolved from her face. Well, hallelujah. She finally got it.
“You’re set on pump two.”
Drew grunted and picked up the gas can. He marched out the door into the rainy night and filled the gas can first. Placing the cap on the can, he dropped the nozzle to the ground. The slack hose dangled beside the pump like the empty sleeve of an amputee’s jacket.
Part one of his plan complete, he jogged back to the Jeep and stowed the gas can safely in the cargo hold. Then Drew marched back to the gas pumps.
The door chime rang and he saw the girl framed in the doorway. He stopped beside the pumps and snatched the nozzle off the ground. Squeezing it tight in his fist, he pumped the last few dollars’ worth of gasoline onto the concrete pad.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled, stepping out of the café and into the wet night.
Dropping the nozzle, Drew yanked the gun from his waistband. Her eyes swelled in their sockets. A slow, dawning horror replaced the confusion on her face. Drew raised the barrel.
One eye closed, he took aim at the girl.
“This isn’t about you,” he said.
Her mouth yawned open, and he pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into her shoulder. She reeled back. A wide swath of blood smeared down the glass door as she slid to the ground.
Drew pulled his father’s Zippo from his pocket, along with a book of matches. Shielding the Zippo’s flame from the wind, he lit the matches and flung them into the pool of gasoline.
Gasoline fumes ignited in a whoosh. Drew sprinted toward the Jeep. A wave of heat slammed against his back. He jumped inside the cab and pulled the door shut.
Orange flames soared into the night sky. By the time Drew heard the sirens, he’d reached the outskirts of town. Still vibrating from the rush, he picked up the phone. Marissa answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” Drew asked.
“Coming up on Ames Lake Road.”
“The next turn is Tolt Hill. Take it.”
“Brooke and Kelly, are they okay? Have you hurt them?”
The exquisite note of fear in her voice aroused him. He laughed.
“Ticktock, Mama Bear. Your girls are waiting.”
Drew tossed the phone out the window on his way to the bridge. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Flames soared above the roofs of the surrounding houses. Between the fire and the girl, the first responders in all these shit-assed little towns would be too busy to take a leak, let alone come looking for him.
Satisfied with his handiwork, Drew blew past the town limits. Police lights flashed on the road leading south. Drew pulled his Jeep to a stop. The kid had been right. White barricades blocked the road and cops diverted traffic away from the bridge.
Drew slammed his fist into the dash.
A uniformed cop started toward him. Drew waved him off, throwing the Jeep into reverse and backing away. His clothes smelled like gasoline. He had a full gas tank in his truck. He didn’t need another cop on his ass.
He’d have to find another way to the cabin.
Chapter 60
Seth raced along Route 202, following the same path Marissa had taken. He was an hour behind her, and without a phone, he had no way of knowing where to go next. He was driving blind, like the days before cell phones and GPS.
Dark-gray clouds spit torrents of rain onto the highway. The black foothills of the Cascade Range hulked like giants in the distance. Miles below lay the small towns of Fall City, Carnation, and Duvall. Off the main routes, back roads splintered off into a web of forestry roads and dead ends.
He saw the turnoff for Tolt Hill Road. Desperate, he took it. Searching the foothills for Bowman without some guidance would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Considering his options, he had no choice but to stop in Carnation. He needed to call Marissa and Cahill.
Flashing lights throbbed in the darkness, and his chest tightened. Trouble up ahead.
Was he too late?
Traffic slowed to a stop. Seth eased down the hill toward the bridge spanning the river. Two squad cars blocked the road. Uniformed officers in rain gear turned cars around at the base of the bridge, and Seth groaned. What the hell was going on? Why were they stopped?
Angling out of his lane onto the shoulder, he saw the problem. The road was flooded out. Shit. Shit. Shit. There were no connector roads, no easy way to bypass the flooding and head into Carnation. Turning around would cost him half an hour, maybe longer, and he still didn’t know where Marissa was, if she was safe, if she was . . .
The car in front of him pulled ahead. The driver executed a sloppy three-point turn and headed west, back up Tolt Hill Road. Seth stared out the window, gaze st
retched out beyond the yellow beam of the police officer’s flashlight. He was next.
“Hey . . . ,” he heard the officer yell through the closed window.
Ignoring the call, he plunged headlong into the water. All around him the river gushed. The car gurgled and chugged, slowly wading through. The water level steadily climbed past the wheels, halfway up the doors.
Breathing shallowly through a mouth as dry as cotton, Seth steered toward the other side, two hundred yards away. Maybe less. He reached the halfway point.
The floodwaters roiled up over the hood like a living, breathing thing intent on swallowing him whole. His headlights flickered. Water seeped in through the bottom of the door. He was going to make it. He was going to . . .
The engine coughed. Died.
Seth’s fingers scrabbled for the controls. He lowered the window while the car still had power. The smell of pine trees and the muddy river blew through the open window. The car stalled.
Icy water filled his shoes and flowed over his ankles. The fast-moving current surrounded the car, shifting it sideways, and Seth unlatched his seat belt. Water gushed through the open window. He shifted in his seat, getting ready to climb out.
Blinding lights filled his rearview mirror. He squinted, lifted a hand. A truck engine roared behind him. Glancing back, he saw the enormous wheels of a monster truck cut through the water. The bumper nudged against the trunk of his car and shifted him forward. Another bump. Seth’s car moved a foot. Two. The frigid water inched up Seth’s legs, but he ignored it. At least he was moving in the right direction. He’d reach the other side soon.
He heard a crunch through the open window. The car trunk collapsed. It was pinned under the weight of the monster truck’s bumper, and all forward movement ceased. Now he was really screwed.
With his bumper pinned underneath the truck, there was no way to push him out of the river. He was stuck. And with the water level rising higher with each passing second, his choices had just gotten harder.
Seth stuck his head out the window and looked behind him. The truck driver waved an arm, beckoning him back.
Short on options, Seth figured he could either swim for it or climb back to the truck. In these conditions there were no good options.
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