He dug something from his pocket and knelt in front of Logan, then removed his shoes almost tenderly. Logan’s whimpers turned to screaming as Jonah pulled off his socks. Ignoring the screams, Logan manipulated his toes into the object he was holding—a pink foam pedicure toe separator.
“I’d think you’d be more appreciative,” Jonah said, standing and wiping his hands on his pants. “You should have seen the look on the clerk’s face at the drugstore when I bought these. Not to mention the latex gloves I bought for updating your bedroom décor. That clerk acted like I was some sort of freak or something.”
“You were the one who broke in and threw the paint on our walls.” Fury threatened to overtake Gin’s terror. “Were you the one who locked me in at the plant, too?”
Jonah bowed mockingly. “One of my finer accomplishments, though you made it difficult. I’d been keeping an eye on my little buried treasure in the cemetery, but I just about shit myself when I saw you and the cops roll in. I’m just lucky I happened to stop by that day.”
“But how did you know I’d be visiting Cindy Ewing?”
“I didn’t. I followed you all day—do you know how hard it was to keep up with you on your run without you seeing me? I almost grabbed you when you came out of your house, but some old guy came out of his across the street and acted like he was going to call the cops or something, just because I took a short cut through his backyard. And then after you went and talked to Logan’s mom, I figured I’d better do something.”
“And you just happened to have inhalational anaesthetic in your possession…?”
Logan shrugged. “Sometimes having a doctor for a father pays off. I like to keep it handy.”
“Were you planning to leave me there to die?”
“Well, it would have been nice. You’ve turned out to be a real pain in the ass. But no, I just wanted to scare you enough to back off.”
Logan kicked helplessly as Jonah went to the table and picked up a small garden lopper, its curving blades glinting.
“Logan, no—” Gin cried, but Jonah moved so quickly that he’d jammed the blade between the littlest toes on Logan’s left foot before she could complete her sentence.
And then he jerked the handles together.
Logan’s screams became frantic as blood spurted from his foot. The little toe fell to the floor and rolled several inches, as Jonah inspected the blade.
“You don’t have to do this,” Gin pleaded, her vision clouding with fear and revulsion.
There was a sound outside—a footfall on the old porch. There was no time to react before the door burst open, slamming into the wall. Tuck followed, gun in hand.
“On the floor! Right now, get on that floor with your arms up or I swear I’ll put one through your heart!”
“Yes, Mister Big Shot Cop,” Jonah said, a curious smile twisting his lips. Very carefully, he held his hands out to the sides, letting the plastic figurine fall to the floor, but he didn’t drop the wrench.
“Now!” Tuck roared.
Jonah began to lower himself to the ground—and then he leaped up, arm high overhead, ready to bring the heavy wrench crashing down on Logan’s head.
There was a single shot, and Jonah crumpled. The wrench glanced off Logan’s scalp, the force significantly diminished, but his head fell forward anyway, and he went still.
The only sound in the cabin were the wheezing grunts coming from the floor. From Gin’s vantage point, not four feet away, she watched the crazy light leave Jonah’s eyes, and he was transformed into a boy again—a frightened, dying boy. His hands clutched weakly at his chest, from which blood was seeping, and his eyes rolled up into his head. “Hehhh,” he said, a final, gentle breath.
And then he was gone.
Tuck raced forward and put two fingers to Logan’s neck. “Come on, come on,” he said.
“Is he alive?” Gin croaked.
“Yes. I think he’s just knocked out, but his pulse is irregular.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. While he talked to the dispatcher and sent the location coordinates, his voice was clipped and emotionless, but as soon as he hung up, his neutral expression fell away.
“They’ll be here soon,” he said, kneeling and checking Jonah’s pulse. He was motionless for several seconds, then he shook his head. “Gone,” he muttered. “And I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry.”
He pulled out his own knife and carefully cut away the ropes and netting that bound Gin. Only when he pulled the fabric off her and the blood began to return to her limbs did she realize how tightly she’d been bound. She rubbed her arms and attempted to stand, but it took two attempts because she’d lost feeling in her lower legs.
Tuck helped her to her feet and gathered her into his arms. “Are you all right?”
Gin pressed her face against his chest, feeling the first waves of shock that would hold her in its grip for quite some time. She concentrated on her breathing, inhaling the comforting scent of him.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. “Thank you for coming for me.”
Tuck stroked her back and pressed his face into her hair. For a while he said nothing, holding her against him, letting her cry. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.
“I’ve been coming for you for a long time, Gin. And this time, I’m not letting you go.”
EPILOGUE
Six weeks later, Madeleine Sullivan threw a party.
“Gin, honey, could you please get some more ice?”
Madeleine handed Gin the silver ice bucket that she’d received as a wedding gift almost thirty-five years ago, polished just this morning to a shine. The matching tongs sat precisely between the cocktail napkins and a uniform row of delicate faceted cups, next to the crystal bowl brimming with the champagne punch that had been a mainstay of Sullivan parties for generations.
“Sure, Mom,” Gin said with an indulgent smile. As barbecues went, the ones Madeleine threw could be a little over the top—but everyone seemed to be enjoying the brisket Richard had been smoking since before dawn, as well as the platters of salads and side dishes the caterers had prepared.
Gin watched the two dozen guests chatting and enjoying the pleasant evening in the backyard. The garden had never looked prettier, abloom with flowers of every color. Gin’s contribution were the strings of fairy lights strung from the trees that she had spent the morning hanging.
The party was the first since Captain Wheeler held a press conference naming Jonah Krischer in three murders as well as tampering with Douglas Gluck’s grave. Jonah’s father had finally broken down and confessed that he’d suspected his son of psychotic acts of cruelty and violence for years; in addition to a jar containing the severed hands of Douglas Gluck in formaldehyde, investigators found animal skeletons and human and animal teeth on a shelf in Jonah’s closet, and—in the back of the freezer wrapped in a bread bag, a human heart that was being tested for a match with Brian Dumbauld.
Logan had been released from the hospital after being treated for a concussion, the severed toe, and a laceration requiring thirty stitches on his scalp. Social services had been called in to ensure he had the support he needed to recover from his trauma, and his mother was also receiving therapeutic support and job training and placement assistance.
Madeleine had invited some of her staff as well as friends from the county offices, including Maureen Wheeler, who had taken a break from stump speeches and was enjoying being simply a civilian tonight in bright red Bermuda shorts and a sailor striped top. She was talking to Paula Burkett, whose pregnancy bump was on display in her knit tank dress, while Paula’s partner Angie brought plates piled high with brisket and salad, since she finally had her appetite back. Several of Madeleine’s support staff were sampling the tamales Rosa’s mother had prepared, while Rosa and Doyle filled their plates along with Brandon and Diane.
All of the important people in Gin’s life were here … except for one. Jake had been invited, but he had begun a new project in downtown Clairton seve
ral weeks ago in early July, the complete renovation of a round midcentury hotel with spectacular views of the river, and couldn’t get away. They’d spoken several times in recent weeks, though the conversations had been formal and slightly stilted. Gin was still processing the end of their relationship in her own way, but as Madeleine had advised, perhaps the passing of a little time would allow them to be good friends.
Gin walked through the house to the garage, where Richard had stowed the extra bags of ice in the freezer. She gave an involuntary yelp of surprise when someone stepped out from behind Richard’s Audi.
“Easy, girl, it’s only me.” Tuck Baxter had a bit of a sunburn and a fresh haircut, and a faded Nittany Lions T-shirt that couldn’t have possibly fit him any better back when he was an undergrad at Penn State. “Any idea where your dad keeps the croquet set? He wants to set it up for the kids.”
Richard had gone up in the attic earlier in the day and brought down the old horseshoes set for Olive, Austen, and Cherie. He was enjoying their company so much that he’d made a pointed comment to Gin in passing, about his ‘future grandchildren’ and how she shouldn’t wait too long to have them.
She certainly wasn’t going to mention that now.
“Um, I think it’s on the bottom shelf of his workbench,” she said, squeezing past Tuck, hoping he couldn’t see her blushing. After bringing her home from the hospital, he’d visited half a dozen times, bringing flowers, a bag of peaches, a set of dominoes that they’d all played at the kitchen table while drinking beer. On his last visit, he’d asked if she was sufficiently healed to be granted shore leave. “Not that I don’t enjoy your parents’ company,” he’d said, “but I was thinking one of these days we should do something, you know, just the two of us.”
Naturally, that was the moment her mother decided she needed Tuck to reach something from a high shelf, so Gin hadn’t had a chance to respond to his invitation.
As she bent down to pull out the croquet set, Tuck whistled.
“I’m sorry to be a jerk, but that’s a hell of a view,” he said.
Gin stood up and tugged at the hem of her white shorts. She tried to look stern, but the comical leer Tuck was giving her made her laugh.
Then he turned serious. “Gin…”
He took a step toward her, and took the box from her, setting it on the workbench.
“I’ve been trying to get a moment alone with you for weeks,” he said, taking her hands in his. “I haven’t worked this hard to get a girl’s attention since Janie Baker in third grade. Walked her home for half the school year.”
“How did that work out?” Gin said, her playful tone covering the pounding of her heart.
“She threw me over for a fourth grader. And she’s an attorney in Philadelphia now, so … definitely out of my league.”
“And I’m not?” Gin said, though it was getting harder by the second to keep up the playful patter, especially because he was so close … and his hands were stroking her forearms in the most distracting way.
“Oh, for damn sure you are, Gin Sullivan. But for some reason, you seem to be falling for my dubious charms anyway.”
Then he kissed her. It was only a gentle brush of the lips, over much too quickly.
“Is this all right?” he asked, all humor gone from his voice now. “Because I’m losing my mind here. If you turn me down, I’m going to throw myself in the river.”
“Can’t have that,” Gin murmured back. “Because I’d have to jump in after you.”
This time, the kiss lasted considerably longer.
When they finally broke away, Gin’s back was pressed against the workbench and her arms were tight around his neck. “Dad’s going to come looking for you if we don’t get back to the party,” she whispered.
“Too true. Think I need to tell him I intend to sweep you off your feet?”
“I’m a grown woman, Tuck Baxter.”
“That you are.” Tuck tucked her hand in his and hefted the croquet set in his other arm. “But I’m not going to give up until you’re my woman.”
Gin allowed him to lead her back toward the house. At the door, she remembered the ice. “Go on ahead,” she said. “I have to get ice for Mom. Plus … it might look a little funny for us both to come out of here at the same time. I’m not quite ready to scandalize the whole town.”
Tuck gave her one last sizzling, lingering look and went into the house.
Gin opened the freezer and, for a moment, let the cold air wash over her overheated skin. She had no idea what she was doing with Tuck, or where their relationship was headed. But maybe it was time to simply trust fate to lead the way.
Gin had spent her entire life trying to keep her life under strict control, never able to forget the devastating loss of her sister, the grief that had followed her to Chicago and taken up residence there. Since coming back to Trumbull, she’d worried that she might always be aimless, tossed and turned on the currents of the passing days.
But she’d been wrong. Giving up control didn’t mean losing her chance of a future after all. Once she’d loosened her grip, things had started to fall into place as though they’d been meant to be all along.
Gin dug into the freezer and hefted the bag of ice, and headed back to the party. There was punch to serve, toasts to make, life to celebrate. And she didn’t want to miss a minute.
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Anna Carlisle lives in Northern California, where she teaches writing.
ALSO AVAILABLE BY ANNA CARLISLE
All the Secret Places
Dark Road Home
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-731-9
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-732-6
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-733-3
Cover design by Lori Palmer
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
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First Edition: September 2018
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