Most of the homes were tastefully lit with a Christmas tree placed in an open window and outside strings of white or pale lights draped across porch and roof lines. A few homes had mangers or decorated yard trees that glowed from a single white spotlight. Driving through the elegant neighborhood felt like slipping into a fairyland. Could anything really bad happen here?
Oh, hell yes. Sammy recalled the human trafficking ring they’d uncovered a year ago. A wealthy Atlanta couple had used one of these mansions as a holding pen for kidnapped young women. While there, the victims were physically and emotionally broken down and eventually sold as sex slaves. His partner, Charlotte, had been the one to crack that case.
He turned the corner to Beth’s street and gave a brief, involuntary smile at the corner house, which sported over a dozen inflatable holiday cartoon characters, including a twenty-foot-tall Grinch. The home was lit with a mismatch of bright colors on every available surface. Some might unkindly call it “tacky,” but he secretly loved it.
Sammy’s amusement was short-lived as he pulled into Beth’s driveway. His knot of anxiety wouldn’t unravel until he saw she was unharmed. Leaving his truck running, he ran to the front porch and stopped, his heart sinking.
The front door wasn’t completely shut; it gaped open an ominous inch. Sammy withdrew the revolver on his belt clip and stepped to the side of the door before pushing it open all the way with his foot.
There was no sound or movement from beyond. Slowly, he eased into Beth’s home, gun drawn. He stole past the unlit dining room, down a hallway and into the den where a lamp burned near the sofa. At first glance, all appeared in order. Sammy peered closer at the sofa where Beth might have recently sat. Semidry droplets of a dark liquid spotted the floor and couch cushions. Had Beth had an accident of some sort? Or had something worse befallen her? His own blood ran cold at the thought.
Sammy raced upstairs to check out the bedrooms. All were empty and there were no signs of a struggle. Beth’s bed was unmade, as though she’d been in it for a time before being awakened. Where had she gone in the middle of the night? He hurried back downstairs and opened the garage door. Her rental car was parked inside. Sammy strode over to it and placed his hand on the hood. It was cold and unused. He opened the door and took a look. Nothing unusual there.
Sammy returned inside, his concern mounting. He called Beth’s phone number again and heard it ring nearby. He found it plugged into a charger on the kitchen counter, next to her purse. His shoes squeaked, grinding against some small object. His eyes followed the trail to several large fragments of broken glass. Behind the kitchen island were larger pieces of broken glass, perhaps a vase.
He called her name, then Aiden’s. Nothing. Just the sound of his own voice in the empty home.
Beth had not left her home willingly. Not without her purse and phone. He called Charlotte on speed dial. She answered almost at once, although her voice was drowsy with sleep. Sammy found himself suddenly unable to speak past the massive pressure weighing on his chest.
“Sammy? What’s up?” Charlotte’s voice sharpened. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Beth,” he said roughly. “She’s missing. Foul play suspected.”
A muttered curse and then “Where are you? I’m coming over.”
He gave her the address. “Call Harlan, too,” he added. “We need a manhunt with all available officers.”
“Should I put out an APB on Dorsey Lambert?”
“Yes. And also on Aiden Wynngate.”
“The man in the videotape. Beth’s stepbrother, right?” Charlotte asked.
“Right. I’ll explain everything later.”
He hung up the phone and swiped a hand through his hair. Who had taken Beth—Lambert or her stepbrother? Were they working in tandem? It would make sense. Aiden’s firm represented persons charged with a crime. As the tape had shown, Aiden had plenty of opportunity to make connections with the criminal underworld.
Think. Where would Aiden or Lambert have taken Beth? Trouble was, there were dozens of remote roads in these mountains. All suitable for murder and burying the victim in a shallow grave that might or might not be discovered by hunters one day. His heart pinched, imagining Beth at this moment, scared out of her mind, believing she was about to die.
Or she might already be dead.
Sammy drew a long breath and shook his head. He couldn’t go there, couldn’t entertain the thought of Beth not being in this world. They’d find her. There had to be a clue here somewhere. He scanned the kitchen and his eyes rested on a stack of papers on the table. That was as good a place as any to start his search. He glanced at the typewritten words and blinked.
Last will and testament of Elizabeth Jane Wynngate.
Frost flowed through his veins and his heart froze. Abruptly, he rifled through the papers and found what he was looking for. Aiden Wynngate was listed as the primary beneficiary, with his mother, Cynthia, also inheriting a significant percentage. If Aiden had an accomplice, it was Cynthia, not Dorsey Lambert. But why would Cynthia have called him if she was in on it? Maybe she wanted to make sure the finger pointed at her son and not at her?
Unless this was an elaborate red herring planted by Lambert. Sammy immediately struck that idea as not being credible. Everything pointed to Aiden. His strange behavior, association with criminals and one terrific financial need. Greed was always a slam-bang murder motive.
Where would Aiden take her? He knew all these backroads. Even with a full-blown manhunt it would take hours to check every narrow dirt road that crisscrossed the mountains. His cell phone rang, interrupting his racing thoughts. He glanced down at the screen before answering. It was Charlotte.
“We’ve got a tip,” she said without preamble. “An anonymous caller at the station claimed a woman had been abducted and taken to the old Lavender Mountain quarry.”
The old abandoned pit. Of course. He should have thought of that straightaway. “On my way,” he said tersely, tucking his phone in his back pocket, then fishing the Jeep keys from his pocket as he ran to the door.
He could be there in ten minutes, twice as fast as any officer in town. But would that be quick enough? It had to be.
Sammy sped out of Falling Rock and raced on the snowy rocks with reckless abandon. I’m coming, Beth. Hold on, sweetheart.
He hadn’t been to the quarry in years and he almost missed the turnoff. Sammy slammed on his brakes and took the turn like a NASCAR driver on the final lap of a race. The Jeep swerved to the far left, almost plunging into a ditch before he jerked the steering wheel to the right and returned to the road’s center. Headlights illuminated recent tire tracks in the snow.
Almost there, Beth.
The truck bounced and rattled on the rough road. All at once, he came upon an unmoving sedan and had to slam his brakes to keep from plowing into its rear fender. Sammy swerved to avoid the collision and the car beams spotlighted two persons standing near the edge of the deep pit—Aiden, eyes wide with shock and bleeding from a cut at his temple, and Beth, looking equally as shocked, her brown hair whipping in the wind.
Sammy retrieved his gun and flung open his truck door, using it as a shield. From the side of the door, he pointed his gun at Aiden. “Hands up, Wynngate.”
Aiden pulled a gun from his jacket and fired a round. Pain exploded in Sammy’s left shin and his leg gave out beneath him.
“Run, Beth!” he screamed, rolling under the Jeep bed for protection. But he wasn’t fast enough. Another bullet slammed into the front of his left shoulder, dangerously close to his heart. He lay on the ground, exposed and vulnerable. The next shot would take him out for good. Had Beth run? Was she safe? A black film seemed to form over his vision, and the world grew fuzzy and unfocused.
A shrill scream pierced through the ringing in his ears. Beth. He opened his mouth to urge her again to run, but the words would not come. He struggl
ed to his feet. If it was the last thing he did, he had to shoot his old friend. Had to protect Beth at any cost. Her life was all that mattered. Tamping down the pain, he picked up his gun in his right hand and focused.
Aiden had walked closer to him and only stood a few feet from where he lay, gun raised for the lethal shot. Beth lunged at Aiden’s back and he fell. A shot exploded, and Sammy felt a bullet whizzing by his ear, narrowly missing his face. Beth was still in danger. Why wouldn’t she run while she had the chance? Aiden’s gun lay on the snow-covered ground between them. Sammy began crawling toward it. Aiden also crept forward to retrieve his weapon. Beth lay sprawled on the ground, stunned from the impact of hurling her body at Aiden.
He was going to die. They both were.
From his right, a figure sprang from the dilapidated quarry headquarters. Was he hallucinating? Just as Aiden’s fingers grasped the weapon’s handle, the man kicked the gun away. Beth scrambled to pick it up.
“Sammy! How bad are you hurt?” she cried.
Dorsey Lambert’s eyes locked with his. What the hell was the man doing here? Were the two in league after all? No, that made no sense. Lambert had saved his life.
In the confusion, Aiden jumped to his feet and began running. Dorsey took off his jacket and pressed it against Sammy’s wound. The pain was excruciating but necessary. He could feel the warm blood soaking his shirt and jacket.
“Backup on the way?” Dorsey asked. “I called the cops earlier.”
“Yes.”
Beth dropped to her knees beside him. “Sammy!”
“He’s going to be okay,” Dorsey said. “That bastard was trying to frame me for murder. I knew I had to keep an eye on him.”
Sammy hoped Lambert was right in his pronouncement that this shot wasn’t fatal. Even now, sirens wailed in the distance. But his head swam, and strength oozed from his body with every drop of blood lost. And still Beth wasn’t out of danger. “Aiden might return,” he warned them. “We...” His words began to slur. “Not safe yet. Still in danger.”
Chapter Eighteen
Still in danger.
Beth cast a quick glance over her shoulder in time to see Aiden hightailing it to the woods. She knew what she had to do. She’d already witnessed her stepbrother’s persistence. He’d come back to finish them off if he had the chance.
“I’ll stay with him until the ambulance arrives,” Dorsey said with a nod at Sammy. “You go on. Know how to use that gun?”
“Yes.” But she hesitated, staring down at Dorsey’s hands pressed over Sammy’s wound. Blood had soaked through Sammy’s jacket and covered Lambert’s fingers. Sammy’s eyes were closed shut and his face was pale as the snow. Fear clinched her gut. She didn’t want to lose him. Not when her heart had begun to love.
“Go!” Lambert shouted, thrusting a flashlight into her free hand. “There’s nothing you can do here.”
Beth rose to her feet and ran, gripping the gun’s handle in her right hand. She knew how to use it but hoped she didn’t have to. All she needed was to keep Aiden in sight and make him quit running. The cops could arrest him then and take care of the rest.
She shone the flashlight on Aiden’s footprints in the snow. He couldn’t escape. Not after all the hell he’d put her and Sammy through. She’d brought this trouble into Sammy’s life. Aiden was her stepbrother and he’d been after her money. Only fair that she be the one to bring him down in the end.
She entered the woods, and the thick tree canopies blocked most of the full moon’s light. If Dorsey hadn’t had the good sense to bring a flashlight, she wouldn’t have had a chance at tracking Aiden. Surprisingly, a narrow trail ran through the terrain. Probably forged by deer hunters, she surmised. Aiden had somehow found the trail. Had he scouted this area ahead of her abduction? Had he devised contingencies in the event he was forced to flee? What if he’d deliberately drawn her into the cover of the woods?
Beth flicked off the flashlight. What she’d imagined an advantage might prove her undoing, since the elliptical beam spotlighted her every move. Her heartbeat went into overdrive and she felt the roaring of blood in her temples. Despite the cold, a sweat broke out all over her body. She strained her ears, listening for the slightest whisper of Aiden’s breathing, of an unexplained twig snapping.
But there was only the persistent, haunting howl of the wind rattling through the treetops. An owl hooted, and she bit back a scream. Seemed she’d gone from hunter to hunted. I’m the one armed with a gun. Aiden’s the one who should be frightened, not me. Yet her mind didn’t buy the argument. He was close, she could feel it. She had to know where he was. Waiting in the darkness for him to pounce was the worst torture. Beth snapped on the flashlight and circled around.
No Aiden in sight.
Her legs went weak with relief and she leaned against the rough bark of a pine tree. Chasing Aiden was a fool’s errand. She’d go back to Sammy and wait for the cops to mount a search. They were the experts. She straightened and turned for retreat.
Straight ahead, the flashlight illuminated a large obstacle that hadn’t been there seconds before. Aiden. The light trembled in her hands and she almost dropped it. He’d been so quiet in his approach. So lethal.
He grinned. “Hello, Beth.”
How could he be so calm—so confident? He’d greeted her as though he’d just stepped into her home for a chat, as though they weren’t standing in the woods after he’d attempted to kill both her and Sammy. The grip on the gun at her side tightened. Did he have a weapon, as well? One he’d hidden here earlier?
He stepped forward and she took a step back, raising the gun. “Stay where you are.”
A smile ghosted across his lips. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
He didn’t take another step, but he didn’t retreat, either. “Why, Aiden?” she said gruffly, past the lump in her throat. “Have you hated me all these years?”
“Not always. At first, you were merely an inconvenience. But once your father died, you were in my way.”
His words were more chilling than the December night. In the way. An inconvenience. How could she never have seen past his easygoing facade? She wanted to believe there was some good left in him. A modicum of decency.
Aiden stretched out a hand. “Give me back my gun.”
She shook her head, trying to wake up from the surrealistic nightmare of the last hour. “Why should I? So you can shoot me?”
“I won’t hurt you. I just want to escape. I can’t go to prison. It would kill me.”
The sirens sounded louder, and he uneasily glanced behind his shoulder. But would they get here in time? She had to keep Aiden focused on her, not the approaching cops.
“Did Cynthia murder my dad?” she asked, hoping the question disarmed him and returned his focus to her.
He faced her again and chuckled. “Good ole Mom. She’s inventive, you’ve got to give her that. Put her LPN training to good use.”
“What did she do to Dad?” Beth fought back her tears, her horror. “How did she kill him?”
“Kill’s a strong word. Come on. Your dad was old and had a weak heart. He’d have died soon anyway. Mom only helped him along a little.”
“How did she do it?” she insisted, her voice tight and hard. “I never heard even a whisper of suspicion on the cause of death.”
“After his heart attack, Mom finished him off with an air embolism. Killed by thin air.” Again he chuckled. “All it takes is a well-administered syringe of oxygen.” He held up a hand and pointed his thumb and index finger like a pistol. “Poke that tiny needle in an inconspicuous place and voilà—an easy solution.” He jabbed his index finger above his kneecap and made a tiny, swishing sound. Whoosh. “Like I said, she picked up a thing or two at her old job.”
The callous description of her father’s murder almost shattered the little bi
t of her composure that remained. Her knees jellied, and the gun wobbled in her hand. Beth struggled to understand why this had happened to her family. “But why? He loved you. Both of you. He took you in and shared everything he had.”
Aiden shrugged. “Stop making him out to be a damn saint. He was a dirty judge, remember? You always were in your own little world, painting and drawing. But to answer your question, he got suspicious of Mom having a boyfriend. She denied it, of course, but Mom was afraid that since he was onto her, he’d hire a private detective and find the truth.”
Aiden took a step forward, but this time Beth didn’t step away. Anger steadied her hand and gave her strength. The sirens kicked up a notch, their ghastly wail drawing closer. The longer honk of a fire engine blasted, as well as the high-low pitch of an ambulance alarm. Please let them get here in time for Sammy. He’d have been so much better off if he’d never gotten involved with her. But on the heels of that disturbing realization, Beth realized she could never regret a moment of their time together. The memory of every second—every kiss and every touch—seemed incredibly precious.
“One last question.”
He quirked a brow and stilled.
“Does Cynthia know about...about your plans tonight? Are you two working together?”
Aiden flashed a grin, his teeth gleaming as white as the snow in the darkness. “Are you kidding me? Her methods are more subtle. More untraceable. Mom doesn’t have the stomach for the nitty-gritty work.”
If she couldn’t appeal to Aiden’s humanity, perhaps she could reason with his avarice. “You know she gets a large hunk of my money when I die, right? You don’t get it all.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” His mouth tightened, and his chin lifted an inch. “I’m an attorney, for Christ’s sake. I can read a damn legal document. I know exactly how much she’d receive. But she won’t live to enjoy it.”
Matricide. Cynthia was a lot of things, but she adored her son. Aiden was her golden child that she protected and defended. Maybe that was the problem. She’d raised him to believe that he deserved anything he wanted and to claim it at any cost.
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