“Three,” he said. “Two that we know of, possibly three. You’re forgetting that Hal Turner, dirty cop and cop killer, could be out here too for all we know.”
Oh, no, she definitely had not forgotten about him.
“And I’m not trying to start a fight,” Jacob added.
Maybe not. But offence was one of the best defenses she had.
“What do you think my angle is here, Detective?” she asked. “Do you think I’m actually stupid enough to run out here to interview a killer or three, in the middle of nowhere, in a storm?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, please,” he said. He turned and kept walking. “That’s not what I’m saying, and I told you I’m not trying to start a fight. But if my sense of direction is right, we’re almost back to where you left your stuff and about ten minutes away from the cabin. And before I risk my life to go in to the cabin to sweep it for criminals, I want to make sure I know the person whose back I’m protecting. And for this whole walk, there’s been one thought I haven’t been able to get out of my head.”
She felt her chin rise. “Which is?”
“Which is,” he said, “there’s something you’re not telling me, Grace. Have no doubt, I will figure it out. And until I know what it is, I’m not going to trust you.”
* * *
He kept walking. He could hear her spluttering behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He’d been wanting to say that for a while, and he could tell by the trees and rocks around them that they’d already passed the place where Cutter had shot at him. They reached a low patch of ground by the water’s edge and he kept watch while she got her bag and checked the contents. Good news was nothing was missing. Bad news was her phone didn’t have a signal and the battery was close to dead. They pulled her canoe higher into the forest, away from the water and then tied both ends to trees to keep it grounded in case the river rose. Then they kept walking, using his compass and memory of the natural landscape to find the cabin.
The whole time they’d been trudging through the forest he’d sensed Grace behind him, almost like a physical itch he hadn’t been able to scratch or a musical note he hadn’t been able to tune out. No, more like a magnet. An invisible magnet that had always been there, which simultaneously pulled him in and pushed him back again, every single time he’d seen her face in a crowd or her name pop up on his phone or computer screen.
The trees cleared and then he could see the cabin. It was a more of a run-down shack really, made of brick, with one small window set high in the wall and a sloping roof that provided some shelter over a single step at the front door. The door swung open on its hinges, back and forth, creaking open, then slamming shut as it was pulled and pushed, opened and closed by the wind. He stopped and held up his good hand toward her, motioning her to stop. Silence fell as she stopped moving behind him. But he didn’t turn around. Instead, he sensed her there, as if Grace were some kind of phantom limb he hadn’t known he’d lost.
“Stay behind me,” he said. “If I raise my hand, stay back until I wave you forward. If anything goes haywire, get yourself to safety and stay hidden until I find you. Worst-case scenario, rescue helicopters have infrared cameras. Someone will find you.”
“Got it.” The strength and timbre in her voice made him turn. Courage filled the eyes that returned his gaze, the kind he’d only ever seen in the face of someone who knew fear all too well. Alongside it ran another emotion, one which almost shocked him, considering the argument they’d been having moments earlier: trust.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asked.
There was a depth to her worry that somehow disarmed him. It wasn’t pitying or arrogant; it was compassionate, and suddenly he could imagine how she really was the kind of woman who’d drop from a helicopter to save someone from drowning. Truth was, he wasn’t okay. Not even close. At least not in the deeper beneath-the-surface way that she was asking. For a moment, he was tempted to tell her just that. He was tempted to tell her about the relentless pain in his arm and that he had to concentrate to keep his limbs from shaking. He wanted to admit he was worried, because while he was still a pretty good shot with his left hand, it was nothing compared to what he could do with his right. He wanted to tell her that the idea of having to protect her, against escaped convicts and a deadly storm, almost scared him, because for some reason something about the idea of letting her down shook him to the core. Then maybe, after saying all that, he wanted to confess how much he hated the fact that he didn’t trust her. Because he wanted to trust her. He wanted to rely on her. He wanted them to have each other’s backs and know they were in this together. But he didn’t, he couldn’t, because he was the cop and she was the civilian. She was his responsibility, not his friend, let alone his partner. This was a rescue mission, nothing more.
“Please don’t worry about me,” he said. “Just stay close and follow my lead. Okay?”
She nodded. “Got it.”
He allowed himself one long, lingering look at her face, even though he was barely able to make out her features between the darkness and the rain, wondering why, out of all of the faces he’d seen in his life, this one was so hard to look away from. Then he turned around, whispered a prayer and started across the clearing, feeling the rain batter his skin and watching the door swing open and shut ahead of him. He reached the cabin, his knee caught the door and he froze as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The cabin’s main room was plain and rectangular, with thick log walls and wooden plank floors. A simple wooden table and two chairs sat by the far wall, while the near wall had a counter and sink with a bucket underneath where the plumbing would’ve gone. A single window sat high in the wall above his head, and two doors lay to his right. He glanced back and saw Grace standing exactly where he’d left her. He waved her forward, and she crossed the clearing quickly and smoothly. They crowded together under the doorway, out of the rain in the small dry patch caused from the overhanging roof. He leaned in toward her and the scent of her filled his senses, reminding him of warmth, wildflowers and home.
“So far, so good,” he said. “I’m going to go check out the bedrooms.”
She nodded and reached for her bag. “You want my flashlight?”
“No, you hold onto it.” He said. “I have a small light I can clip on my shoulder.” If he’d had both hands available, he’d have held a big flashlight in one and his service weapon in the other. But he wasn’t about to put a civilian’s life at risk by getting her to walk beside him with a flashlight. “Just stay here, right inside the door and out of sight.”
She exhaled, just sharp enough for him to wonder if she’d meant anything by it, but all she said was, “Okay, got it.”
“Back in a second.” He crossed the empty room, keeping his weapon at the ready. Boards creaked underneath his feet. The smell of cobwebs and dust filled the air. His boots left small puddles on the floor. He pushed the closest door open and paused. It was a bedroom, as thin and narrow as a cupboard, with a bare and single cot suspended by two chains from the wall.
The wind howled outside, high-pitched and angry, followed by a crash of thunder. He steeled a breath. Like Noah’s ark, this tiny cabin had survived countless storms in the eightysome years since it’d been built. It would get them safely through tonight. He turned and stepped backward into the main room and glanced back at where Grace stood, her body a dark silhouette by the door. “All clear. Just one more room to go.”
He stepped into the second bedroom. This room was barely any wider, with a tiny skylight in the slanted ceiling and two thin cots on opposite walls, and oddly the very small bedroom he’d shared with his brother Trent back at the Henry family farmhouse filled his mind. He stepped inside. Something was suspended from the skylight, tossing and spinning on a thin chain, seemingly caught in a gust of wind, whipping in through a crack in the window frame. Something left by a camper long ago? He stepped deeper into the room.
/>
“Hey, Jacob?” Grace called. “Can we close the front door now? The wind and rain are really picking up.”
“Just give me a second.” He walked toward the skylight, his eyes struggling to make out the shape as it spun and danced in front of him. A thin layer of dust covered every other surface in the cabin, but the item was so shiny it could’ve just been polished. The floor creaked beneath him. He holstered his weapon, reached up and grabbed the pendant, hearing the tack that had been suspending it fall off and clatter to the ground. Cool metal brushed against his fingertips. It was a heart-shaped locket, about an inch high and an inch wide, and so achingly familiar it suddenly hurt to breathe.
He’d seen a locket exactly like this before. He’d saved up, he’d bought it, he’d had his family’s name engraved on it and then he’d given it to Faith for Christmas. Then just a few months later, she’d been wearing it the day she was strangled at the side of the road.
Police hadn’t found it with the body.
He ran his fingers over the locket, feeling the rough engraving of a word beneath his thumb. His heart beat like an invisible hand had reached into his chest and grabbed hold of it, and it was struggling to escape.
No, it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.
“Hey, Jacob?” Grace called.
He held it up toward his flashlight. Bright light shone on the small gold locket in his hand, illuminating a single word that seared like fire through his mind.
Henry.
No, no, it couldn’t be his sister’s locket. He was exhausted, he’d lost a lot of blood, his mind must be playing tricks on him.
Something moved behind him in the darkness, rising like a coiled snake from the corner of the room. He spun back. There was a man behind him, a featureless shadow in dark clothes and a ski mask. Jacob reached for his weapon. But before his hand had even brushed the butt, the man grabbed him by the arm, clamping his hand over Jacob’s bullet wound. Blinding pain filled Jacob’s mind so suddenly he nearly blacked out. The man pushed him backward. Jacob’s body hit the floor. The locket fell from his hand.
Then he heard Grace scream his name.
SIX
Grace’s own screams echoed in her ears as the figure barreled across the cabin toward her, leaving her no time to think, no time to process, no time to do anything but act. Her brain spun to grasp onto the details of what she was seeing. He was large and swamped in dark shapeless clothes with just the whites of his eyes showing through a full-face ski mask. His hand shot out as he ran toward her.
Her fingers tightened their grip on the long and hard metal shaft of her camping flashlight. She swung it around like a cudgel and hit nothing but empty air, as he barreled into her, shoving her so hard against the wall her head slammed into the wood. One hand grabbed her throat. The other pressed her shoulder back against the wall. The flashlight began to slip from her grasp. A gun loomed before her eyes as if he was struggling to remove the safety.
If he killed her, she’d die fighting. Help me, God! A prayer crossed her heart as she swung her hand up and hit him hard on the side of the head with the flashlight.
Her attacker stumbled back. Then gunfire sounded beside her, splitting the air as the wood behind her exploded into splinters. She dropped to the floor and rolled. Had he misfired? Had he been trying to kill her? Either way, he wasn’t going to get off another shot. She kicked him hard, collapsing his knee and sending him falling to the ground. The flashlight slipped from her hand and hit the ground, sending light spinning in circles as it slid across the floor.
“Grace!” Jacob’s voice sounded from the other room. “Hold on! I’m coming!”
A second gunshot echoed in the darkness. Plaster rained down from the ceiling above her. A light flickered.
“Police!” Jacob shouted. She looked up toward the beam of light on Jacob’s shoulder as he stumbled through the doorway. “Get down! Drop your weapon! Or I’ll shoot!”
The figure bolted through the door and ran out into the night. In a moment, she’d lost sight of his form to the forest and the rain. She kicked the door closed and leaped to her feet to lock it.
“Don’t!” Jacob shouted. “I’m going after him!”
“No, you’re not!” Grace stepped in front of the door. “You’re injured, and he’s armed! Do you really think you’ll be able to track him in this storm?”
But he didn’t even look at her, as he reached past her for the door. “Out of the way. Now! I can’t let him escape.”
He pushed past her and ran out of the cabin.
“Jacob!” she yelled. “Stop! Come back!”
He kept going and, in a moment, she lost sight of even his flashlight in the storm. She grabbed onto the door frame. The rain fell in sheets smacking like a cascade of rocks hitting the ground.
“Jacob!” she yelled again. But heard nothing except the wind howling back in response. He was gone. He’d left her. She found herself remembering again what it had been like to be fourteen and left alone as her father bolted from the coffee shop. She picked the flashlight up off the floor.
She ran back to the door and for one long moment shone her flashlight beam out into the darkness like a beacon, praying for Jacob’s form to appear. Then she gave up and slammed the door closed again. She felt for a lock and found two of them, one on the doorknob and a heavy-duty deadbolt on the door above. She locked both.
Then she swung her flashlight around the room.
“Okay, God, so as You know, there’s a major storm and at least two killers outside,” she prayed. Her voice was quivering but seemed to be growing stronger as she went. “Should I stay here and wait for Jacob, Lord? If I stay here, I’m a sitting duck. If I go out into the storm, I could get hit by lightning, or a falling tree, or drown if I stumble too close to a river. And if I stay here, Jacob can find me.”
Was praying helping? She wasn’t sure. But while her heart still pounded as hard as ever, she could also feel the steady calm of her journalistic instincts filling her mind. Logic and facts had always been her allies. She swung the flashlight around the cabin and focused on the details. There was a crater in the ceiling and another in the wall from where the masked man’s bullets had struck, but neither one was completely through. Good to know both the walls and ceiling were reasonably thick. The room had only one window, but it was high up in the wall and had heavy-duty shutters. She leaped up onto the counter, thankful it supported her weight, reached for the shutters and bolted them closed. The room fell even darker. She climbed back down.
There. It would be fairly hard for someone to get through without a ladder, and the shutters would provide enough barrier against gunfire to give her time to get out of the line of fire. She started for the bedrooms. Each had a small skylight and while neither had shutters, both were locked from the inside and too small for a person to climb through.
She finished searching one bedroom and stepped into the other, shining the flashlight along the floor. Something golden glinted in its beam. She bent down and picked it up. It was a locket, gold and smooth, with a single word engraved on it: Henry.
Like Jacob Henry? Her fingers slid down the side. It popped open. Inside was a picture of a smiling family. Two parents, two boys and a girl crowded, hugging and smiling, into the frame. There was an infant in the mother’s arms. Who was this?
Banging came so hard on the door that she could hear the hinges rattle. Her hand rose to her heart as she looped the locket chain around her wrist.
“Grace! It’s me, Jacob. Let me in!”
Thank You, God!
“Coming!” She ran back through the main room of the cabin and yanked the locks back. Jacob tumbled through the doorway and collapsed onto the floor, soaking and exhausted like someone had sapped the remaining oxygen from his body. She closed the door and locked it behind him.
“Are you okay?” He gasped for breath. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.” She dropped to her knees beside him. “I’m fine.”
“I couldn’t find him!” He looked up at her and pain filled his eyes that was so acute it seemed to rip his usual professional mask in two and let her look through to the real, vulnerable and hurting man inside. “I tried but I lost him.”
“That’s okay,” she started. “At least you’re safe...”
But her words froze on her tongue as his eyes darted from her face to the locket in her hands. Then something hardened behind his eyes. “Give that to me.”
“I found it on the floor,” she said. “It’s a girl’s locket. It says Henry. There’s a family inside. Is it yours?”
“Yeah.” He holstered his weapon and stretched out his hand. “It was my sister’s.”
* * *
He felt the locket fall into his hand and closed his fingers around it. “I need you to promise me that everything I tell you right now, in this cabin, is forever and permanently off the record and you won’t repeat it to anyone ever. You are not about to interview me. Okay?”
“Of course! How can you ask me that? Jacob, you’re not a source to me and I definitely don’t feel like a reporter toward you...”
“Just promise me, please.” To his chagrin, he heard his voice threaten to break. “Please, Grace. Before I tell you about the locket, I need to hear you say those words.”
“This isn’t an interview!” she said. “Everything you tell me is off the record. I promise that I am never going to repeat anything you tell me, ever, unless we both agree it’s on the record. Trust me, I know how to keep secrets.” Sincerity pushed through her voice. Worry filled her eyes. Her now-empty hand reached into the darkened space between them. “Please, Jacob. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “Just give me a couple of minutes to first get my head around what I’m about to say. Because to be honest, I haven’t figured out where to start. In the meantime, how about you get out that first aid kit and take a look at my arm?”
Cold Case Secrets Page 6