Cold Heart Creek: A nail-biting and gripping mystery suspense thriller (Detective Josie Quinn Book 7)

by Lisa Regan

  Charlotte backed away, packing up her first aid kit. Josie felt a small satisfaction that she’d won the staring contest, but she had a feeling she was no closer to being free. She slammed her injured hand down hard against her thigh and hollered, “Let me go!” Ignoring her, Charlotte got to her feet and stood beside Jack. They watched as Josie’s left fingers worked at the bindings, trying to free herself, struggling with the ropes until blood seeped through her new bandage. Finally, she stopped, panting and exhausted, sweat pouring down her face, stinging her eyes.

  Charlotte said, “Jack, wait here. I’m going to get Detective Quinn something to eat.”

  Josie worked more slowly at her bindings while Jack stood over her. She freed her right hand and began to work on her left leg. He did nothing to stop her. A voice in the back of her head shouted panicked warnings at her. Why would they let her free herself? This made no sense. Why wasn’t he trying to stop her? What would he do when she got completely free? Just let her walk out? Strangle her into unconsciousness again? Tie her back up? What the hell kind of game were they playing?

  Her legs were still bound when Charlotte returned with two tray tables. She opened them up and set one in front of Josie. “Jack,” she said. “Be a dear and get the rest from the kitchen, would you?”

  He left and returned with another chair for Charlotte, and then returned again with two trays of food. Charlotte sat down across from Josie. “Please,” she said. “You must be starving.”

  “Let me go,” Josie said, leaning down and trying to squeeze her upper body between the tray table and the chair so she could continue trying to free her legs. With no success, she pulled her head back up to see that Charlotte was already eating. There was a bowl of noodle soup with vegetables in it, some bread, an apple, and a large glass of water.

  Calmly swallowing a mouthful, Charlotte said, “Either you’re going to cooperate with me and give me a chance to show you the benefits of what we do at the Sanctuary, or you’re going to escape. No matter which option you choose, you’ll need your strength. At the very least, you’ll need to stay hydrated. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Josie said nothing.

  Charlotte reached over and pushed the glass of water closer to Josie’s face. “This means nothing, Detective. You’re not yielding. Just surviving. Everyone has to eat and drink.”

  It was a trap, Josie thought. It had to be. There was something in the food, in the water. Hemlock, or something else. Something that would render her unconscious while they decided what to do with her.

  Charlotte sighed. “We’re not poisoning you.”

  She stood and beckoned Jack. He picked up Josie’s tray and Charlotte picked up her own. They switched them so that now Josie had Charlotte’s and vice versa. Charlotte sat back down. She took a drink of Josie’s water and then began to eat Josie’s soup. Josie waited several minutes before reluctantly picking up Charlotte’s water and gulping it down. Next she ate the apple. Then the bread. She didn’t want to eat the soup in case there was something in it, but then she realized that Charlotte had been eating it before they switched the trays. Charlotte was fine. Josie, too, felt fine. Slowly she began to eat the soup, astounded at her own hunger. Jack left the room and returned with a pitcher of water which he used to fill both their cups. They each took a drink.

  Josie said, “You’re just going to let me go? You’re not going to try to stop me?”

  Charlotte frowned. She looked pointedly at Jack. “No, we’re not going to try to stop you. But you’ll have a long journey ahead. You’re quite far from civilization. It would be better if you stayed with us for a spell. If you gave me a few days to help you.”

  “The only help I need is to get out of here.”

  “I know that’s what you think, but you’re wrong. You’re fighting an important inner battle right now. One that could possibly set the tone for the rest of your life. I’d like to help you.”

  Josie replied, “Maybe under other circumstances, but I need to find Emilia Gresham.” She looked at Jack. “As you know, she is missing. I believe she could be in danger. I don’t have time for this. I need to leave now.” She pushed her tray table away and reached down, fingers back working at the bindings on her legs.

  Charlotte said, “What if I told you Emilia is safe?”

  Josie’s head shot up. “How can I believe you?”

  Charlotte said, “Jack.”

  Jack stepped forward. “My wife is safe,” he said.

  Josie looked at Charlotte. “After what he did to me, you expect me to believe you? I need to see her.”

  “You can’t see her, Detective,” Charlotte said. “You’ll have to live with my assurances. Not Jack’s. I understand that he has betrayed your trust. I hope you’ll believe me. I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

  “You’ve lied about a lot of things,” Josie pointed out.

  “But I’m telling you the truth about Emilia.”

  “Is she here?” Josie asked.

  Charlotte smiled. “You only need to know that she is safe and unharmed.”

  “Did she come here willingly?”

  The answer was a little slower in coming. “She came to be with Jack. Now please, would you give me some time to help you?”

  Josie looked at Jack. “What about Maya Bestler? Do you know her?”

  There was a brief flicker in his eyes. Not anger or distrust. Hurt, perhaps? Regret?

  “You knew her, didn’t you?” Josie went on. “You met her at a charity benefit at Lantz’s and you fixated on her.”

  His mouth hung open. Charlotte looked back at him, but Josie couldn’t see the look that passed between them.

  “Was it you?” Josie asked. “Were you the one who took her? Did she lie about the hermit? Why did she lie? She’s afraid of you, isn’t she?”

  Charlotte told Jack, “That’s enough for now, Jack. You can go.”

  Josie opened her mouth to ask more questions, but she was struck by a sudden wave of dizziness and fatigue. No, she thought. Not again. She tried to hold on, to hold fast to her consciousness, to the light, but she couldn’t. It fell away and blackness enveloped her.

  Fifty

  She woke in yet another room, now on a mattress that sat in a black metal bedframe. Her wrists were bound with rope and tied to the bedframe. Her feet were tied together. An ache spread through her shoulders as she began to move, to test her bindings. She couldn’t help but think of Renee Kelly; this rope looked the same as the kind Josie had found in the cabin at the Sanctuary. What had Jack been doing to her? Would Josie be next? Charlotte seemed to have some control over him, but he had brought Josie here against Charlotte’s commands. That’s what they’d been arguing about when Josie heard them outside the door of the other room.

  She pushed the jumble of thoughts aside and concentrated on her present situation. This room was almost identical to the last one, with its ugly wood paneling and rust-colored rug. Rattling the bedframe did nothing to loosen her ties. She tried to cry out, but her voice was squeaky and weak. Her mouth felt dry as paper, but at least she hadn’t had nightmares. Whatever they were doping her with was strong. So strong that it was dragging her back under as the exertion rushed the blood round her body. Still fighting against the ropes that held her, Josie fell back into a deep sleep.

  When she woke again, Charlotte was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, wiping Josie’s face with a wet washcloth. Josie didn’t want to admit it, but it felt wonderful. She helped Josie sit up and offered her a glass of water. Nothing had ever looked so inviting, but Josie couldn’t drink it. She couldn’t risk being drugged again.

  “You said I was safe here,” Josie said in her scratchy voice. “Is this your idea of safe? Keeping me tied up?”

  “I’m sorry, Detective, but we needed a little more time with you. Please, you must drink.”

  “No,” Josie said.

  Jack came in and untied her feet. Josie tried to leap up, but her legs were so wobbly she fell to the ground, h
anging awkwardly from the bed. “Not so fast,” Charlotte told her as they untied her from the bed but left her wrists bound together. Charlotte took her into a bathroom next door and waited while she relieved herself. Josie’s mind was muddled, but still racing to find a way out of this. They clearly didn’t want to hurt her. Although she didn’t appreciate being drugged, it was preferable to being beaten into submission. She had the feeling that given some time alone with her, Jack would have different ideas about how to treat her. Somehow, she needed to convince Charlotte to let her go. She knew her team would be working hard to find her, but she was losing hope that they’d be able to.

  Back in the room, Josie refused food and drink. Charlotte promised to return later to try again. The hours passed with Charlotte and Jack hovering over her, offering her food and drink, and Josie refusing. She lay tied to the bed, her feet bound together, trying not to drift back to sleep, trying to keep her wits about her. Her whole body ached with the inactivity.

  The daylight coming into the bedroom window receded and night crawled in. Josie had been listening intently for any noise outside all day, but there was only the wind in the trees, birds chirping, and Charlotte moving in and out of the room. Josie rarely heard Jack. As big as he was, he moved noiselessly through the house. It was not a reassuring thought.

  She had no way to keep track of the hours. No way to know what time it was when she finally fell back to sleep. The drugs Charlotte and Jack were giving her must have finally left her system enough for her nightmares to return. She was a child again, trapped in the closet. From outside the door she heard Lila talking with one of her “special friends”—men who came to deal her drugs or to do them with her. Sometimes Lila didn’t have enough money, so she did other things with them. Sometimes she didn’t feel like doing those other things and would offer Josie up as payment for whatever she owed them.

  “Mommy!” Josie’s dream-self cried out as the dark space closed in on her. She banged on the closet door until her hands hurt. “Please, Mommy, let me out!”

  “Shut up, girl,” came Lila’s reply.

  “Come on,” a man’s voice said. “She’s just a kid.”

  “Help!” she shrieked. Backing up, she lifted a leg and kicked at the door. After three tries, it burst open, and Josie tumbled out. But she wasn’t in her mother’s trailer. She was back in the forest, and it was just as dark as it had been in the closet. Something heavy and foul-smelling crawled on top of her. Its hot breath and wet mouth hung just over her head. Her small body was paralyzed, the sound of her heartbeat like a bass drum, rattling her chest.

  “Jo!” The voice came from the direction of where she’d toppled out of the closet. Familiar and grounding but also surprising. The creature on top of her vanished. She scrambled to a sitting position. A single bulb hung from an invisible ceiling above. Below it was her late husband, Ray. He was grown up, dressed in his police uniform. He was clean-shaven, his blond hair neatly combed. Josie opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a finger and pressed it to his lips.

  Shhhhh.

  The sound hadn’t come from him, but Josie kept her gaze glued to him. He held up two fingers—index and middle finger—and then slowly pointed them toward his own eyes. Look, he was trying to tell her. Or watch. She wasn’t sure.

  Shhhhh.

  The noise was coming from next to her. A breeze caressed the nape of her neck. That feeling of being watched came again. Except she was no longer in the dream.

  Josie opened her eyes to see a tall shadow looming over her, just a dark shape against the muted gray moonlight that flooded through the gauzy curtains on the window.

  Jack.

  She didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. She was bound and helpless. Just one of his large hands could cut off her screams before Charlotte heard them. Still, she would be damned if she showed him her fear. Her voice came out far steadier than she felt.

  “If you touch me again, I will break every one of your fingers.”

  He didn’t respond. She couldn’t make out his expression well, but for a second she saw the white of his teeth. Was he smiling?

  She lurched away when he leaned over, but he simply placed something next to her on the bed, turned and left, all without making a sound.

  Josie blinked until she was able to make out the small, quarter-sized object he had left on the mattress beside her. When she finally did, her body let out an involuntary cry which the conscious part of her brain immediately strangled in her throat.

  He had left her half of a black walnut.

  Fifty-One

  Resisting sleep became a fight for survival. She could not risk falling into slumber again and leaving herself vulnerable. In her fright, she had knocked the walnut to the floor. Hopefully, she’d be able to point it out to Charlotte in the morning, tell her what Jack had done, and then—

  What?

  Charlotte would make him leave? Free Josie and turn him in to the police? The idea was absurd. Charlotte had to have known all the terrible things he had done and still, she protected him. She had been protecting him all along, even after Renee’s murder. They were keeping Emilia against her will. Charlotte was in charge, not just complicit with the things Jack did. She gave the orders. She believed she could control Jack to some extent, but that didn’t mean she could stop him from torturing and killing Josie.

  Josie’s limbs strained against her restraints, the rope digging into her wrists and ankles. He had killed his friends—Tyler and Valerie. He had taken Emilia. Then he had killed Renee. He’d lived at the Sanctuary. What had Charlotte said? He and Renee had had “an agreement”? She didn’t know what that meant, but she knew that whatever he’d done to the girl had caused the scarring on her wrists and the terror in her eyes before her death. Josie was certain from Charlotte’s initial reaction to the news of Renee’s death that she had never intended for Jack to kill the girl. But he had and she continued to protect him.

  After having been drugged twice, eating and drinking hardly anything, and resisting sleep, she felt dizzy and disoriented. When Charlotte appeared at dawn, untied her and offered her an apple, she accepted. What could they do to an apple? Then she accepted bread. Charlotte urged her to drink water, but the only way she would do it was directly from the faucet in the bathroom, cupping the water with her hands and splashing it up into her mouth.

  Charlotte returned her to the bedroom, binding her again. At some point after that she fell asleep, jerking awake in a panic, unsure how long she’d been out. It was still daytime. The room was empty. She pulled at her restraints. The skin on her wrists had blistered and burned every time she moved. She focused on the pain to help keep her awake, but hunger and sleep deprivation dulled her. When she tried to think—about how to get away, about Noah and the team, about her family—her mind went blank. Her world had narrowed to a single focus: not ending up strangled to death with a black walnut necklace pushed down her throat.

  When Charlotte returned and untied her, she couldn’t even muster relief to be free of her bindings. Her body was weak, her mind still dim. Charlotte led her downstairs and outside. Sunlight stabbed her eyes. She used a hand to shield them as her vision adjusted. They were on a small porch. Beyond it was a stretch of grass and then trees in every direction. She looked back from where they had come and saw Jack’s shadow through the doorway. He was always there. Lurking. Josie felt a twinge of panic, but she pushed it down.

  “Come, sit,” Charlotte told her.

  Josie hadn’t even noticed the small outdoor table and chairs or the food and drink waiting there. She didn’t protest when Charlotte offered one of the chairs in front of a meal of vegetable soup and more bread. Josie ate slowly, on alert for signs that she’d been drugged again. She had to eat something to maintain some sort of strength or she’d never be able to escape. Charlotte waited several minutes before she said, “When I met you, there was something you were struggling with—that you’re still struggling with—and I believe it is time-sensitive. This is where
I believe I can help you. Are you ready to talk about it?”

  Josie didn’t want to talk about Lila Jensen. Didn’t want to think of her ever again, but she didn’t have the mental energy to keep up a lie. “There’s a woman,” Josie said. “In my childhood she did terrible, terrible things to me. She’s dying and she wants to see me.”

  “You don’t want to see her?” Charlotte asked.

  Josie shook her head. “No.”

  “Why is that, dear? Do you think if you go and see her, she’ll still have the upper hand? Even in death?”

  Josie looked around at the swaying trees. She listened to the birds chirp. In spite of herself, she thought how peaceful it was here. It felt cooler. Either the August heat wave had finally broken, or they were high up in the mountains.

  “No,” she told Charlotte. “I don’t want to see her because she doesn’t deserve to see me. She doesn’t deserve to have anything she wants after the things she’s done, after all the lives she’s destroyed.”

  “You want to keep this one thing from her,” Charlotte said.

  Josie held up a hand. “Don’t talk to me about forgiveness. It’s not going to happen.”

  Charlotte laughed, this time a full-throated, genuine bray. “You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t believe in forgiveness.”

  Josie said, “Don’t you need to show forgiveness to ‘fully become’?”

  “That’s nonsense,” Charlotte said. Josie had an inkling then as to how people could get sucked into this woman’s world. She rarely said what Josie expected. She tried to remind herself that Charlotte was a consummate liar, but she was too intent on staying focused on the conversation to think of much else.

  Charlotte leaned forward, pushing her fingers through her gray hair, feeling along her scalp until she found what she was looking for. She kept her right hand in place and used her left hand to part the hair and reveal an old lump of scar tissue. Josie felt nausea swirl in her stomach, remembering the photos she had seen of Charlotte in the decades-old domestic violence case. “Do you think I could forgive this?” Charlotte asked. She stood and lifted her dress, pointing out the scars on her crepe-paper skin from her ankles to her ribs. “Do you think I could forgive these? My husband—my loving husband—did this to me. And these are just the ones on the outside. I didn’t forgive him when he was alive, and I felt no such impulse after he died.”