Maelstrom

by Susanna Strom

  Thought for sure the deacon would bail after our fruitless search, but he declared his intention to make camp with us and start again the next morning. Gave the man the stink eye when he took pieces of fried chicken out of an insulated bag, then serenely chowed down, while the rest of us ate candy and nuts for the second night in a row. We were running low on the crap, too, adding insult to injury. The selfish prick confirmed my piss-poor opinion of Pastor Bill’s top lieutenants.

  “What’s your name, anyway?” I asked.

  “I’m Deacon Gary,” he said, wiping greasy fingers on his jeans. When he extended his hand for a shake, I just raised my brows. Now he’s got manners, after he polished off the chicken?

  “What did you do before the flu, Gary?”

  He frowned. The deacons didn’t like it when I left off their titles. “I was a civil engineer, working for the state of Oregon. What did you do—” He glanced pointedly at the name patch on my cut, “Ripper?”

  Oh, I’d enjoy messing with this fucker. Rolling my neck, I stretched and popped my back. Then I yawned. “Hit man.”

  Kyle knew me well enough to cough into his hand, covering a snigger, but Sahdev’s brows shot up and he froze in place, both hands held out to our small campfire. Gary’s wide eyes were fixed on me, like he couldn’t believe I came right out and said it, confirming all his suspicions about what kind of a man joined an MC. Over Gary’s shoulder, I saw Kyle poke Sahdev and shake his head, letting the doctor in on the joke. Well, not quite a joke. Depending on how you finessed the facts, there might or might not have been an element of truth to the statement. I have killed men, but never for money.

  Gary’s mouth formed a thin, unhappy line, then he stomped off into the woods, probably to take a leak.

  “Hit man?” Kyle whispered. “You think it’s smart to tell one of Pastor Bill’s high muckety-mucks that you’re a hired killer?”

  I snorted. “Soon as Mac’s better and we catch the bomber, we’ll be outta here, and it won’t matter what they think. Besides, I kinda like freaking the dickhead out.”

  Gary returned, sat down, and warmed his hands at the campfire, conspicuously ignoring the rest of us.

  “I’d like to take the first watch,” Sahdev offered, patting his leg to summon Hector, who was nosing around in a bush after finishing his bowl of chow. Hector trotted over and laid his head on Sahdev’s lap. Dog was a good judge of character.

  “I’ll take second,” Kyle said.

  I turned to the deacon. “How about you, Gar? You gonna take a turn?”

  His back went ramrod straight, as if both the question and nickname offended him. “I’m older than the rest of you and lack your youthful stamina. It makes sense for a man of my age to sleep all night, so I won’t slow us down tomorrow.”

  What was he? Fifty?

  “Uh-huh.” I picked up a small branch and twirled it between my fingers before snapping it in two. “Whatever you say, Gar.” I turned to Kyle. “Wake me for third watch.”

  The deacon swallowed. “I’ll bid you all good night, then.” He busied himself laying out his bed, a ground tarp, a self-inflating pad, and finally his sleeping bag.

  Since Sahdev was taking first watch, I decided to catch some sleep. I spread my bag on the ground next to Gary’s and rolled over to face him. After a minute, he opened his eyes to find me staring. His eyes snapped shut, and he held still. Reminded me of a kid, hoping that the boogeyman under the bed wouldn’t figure out he was awake and make his move.

  Yeah. Sleep tight, asshole.

  I woke hours later, spied Gary drooling onto his pillow—he’d finally managed to fall asleep cozied up next to the big bad hit man—and got up to take a piss. Decided to take over from Kyle early. At dawn, I nudged the other men awake. Kyle, Sahdev, and I polished off our sorry provisions, while Gary munched on two hard-boiled eggs, a hunk of summer sausage, and a thick slice of home-baked bread. Even Hector looked offended by the jackwad’s selfishness.

  We broke camp and set out again to track down the bomber. By early afternoon, it was obvious that we were getting nowhere. The man was a ghost, leaving behind not a single footprint, broken branch, or crushed foliage. Only thing I could figure was that he’d abandoned the area days before we arrived. Since we were out of food—at least Kyle, Sahdev, and I were—I decided that we’d head back to Nicole’s cabin to check on Mac and make a new plan to find the bomber.

  Gary wasn’t kidding about being out of shape. He lagged so far behind us on the trail back to the road that we lost sight of him. By some unspoken consensus, the closer we got to the jeep, the faster we all walked. I’d kept my mind on my mission for the past day and a half, but as we drew near the road, my thoughts turned to Mac. Her proximity brought a sense of urgency that we all seemed to share. We threw our gear into the jeep and tore out of there, without discussing whether we should wait for Gary.

  When we pulled up in front of the cabin, Pastor Bill opened the door and stepped onto the porch, almost as if he’d been waiting for us. Deacon Morris followed him outside. I looked past them for Nicole, but she was nowhere in sight.

  “I have bad news, son,” Pastor Bill said as I approached the porch. “You must prepare yourself.”

  I halted midstep. Kyle and Sahdev closed ranks on either side of me.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I demanded.

  He sighed and pressed his palms together as if he was praying. “The Lord has seen fit—”

  I bolted up the steps, pushing past him and rushing to Mac’s room. Her bed was empty, stripped bare of all the sheets and blankets. No sign of Mac’s presence, as if she’d been erased.

  The pastor followed me into the room. When I whirled around to confront him, he wrung his hands together, an exaggerated look of sympathy on his face. I sprang, knocking him against the wall, my fingers wrapped around his neck. “Where’s Mac?”

  Choking, he tugged at my hand. The barrel of Deacon Morris’s gun pressed against the side of my head. Didn’t care.

  “Where the fuck is Mac?” Eased my grip so the pastor could answer me. He clutched at his throat and signaled for the deacon to lower his weapon.

  “I’m trying to tell you, son,” he gasped, drawing in air. “Mackenzie came to soon after you left. We thought she was out of the woods, then she spiked a fever. The flu took her within hours. It’s a mercy she passed so quickly; I’ve seen people suffer for days, but she was gone by nightfall. I’m so very sorry for your loss. If you like, we can pray together, ask God to grant her soul eternal peace.”

  I stared at him, his words echoing through my mind as my brain scrambled to make sense of his message.

  “Mackenzie is dead,” he said slowly, emphasizing each word, like he was speaking to an idiot.

  Shook my head, rejecting the notion. Nope. Didn’t believe it. Wouldn’t I have sensed something if she was gone? The bastard was trying to pull a fast one.

  “If she’s dead, where’s her body?” Kyle asked.

  “Yeah.” I shoved the pastor’s chest. “Where’s her body?”

  “We buried her last night, next to Chimney and Nicole’s boys.”

  I got in his face. “Exactly where?”

  “Close to the tree line, past the dock,” Deacon Morris spoke up. “I can show you.”

  Brushed past him, heading outside.

  “Mackenzie left you a farewell letter,” Pastor Bill called, stopping me dead in my tracks. I turned. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and held it out to me. “I promised the dear child that I would give it to you personally.”

  My hands shook as I snatched it from him. My hands never shake. The Ripper was an ice man, cold to the bone, imperturbable. So why were my fucking hands trembling as I opened the letter?

  “RIPPER” was written in capital letters across the top of the page. “First things first. I love you. I wish I’d had the guts to tell you that before now, but I think I was afraid that the man who never lies to me would break my heart by saying that he didn’t love me bac
k. And I was too chicken to risk that. Now that I have the flu, and my time is running out, I wish I’d been braver. I wish for a lot of things, but mostly for more time with you. I love you. See! The words come easily now that I’m staring down death. Maybe it’s not fair to tell you now. Maybe I’m being selfish to put the words out there when you can never respond, never tell me how you feel. If so, I’m sorry, but I need to speak my truth. Listen, even if you don’t love me back, it’s okay. Don’t feel bad. I’m grateful for our time together, for your kindness to me and Miles. For everything you taught me. For everything you did to keep me safe. For the best sex ever!!! Please try to be happy and make a good life. Stay connected to good people like Kyle and Sahdev. Crap, my head hurts and I have to stop writing. I love you. I couldn’t resist saying it one last time. I hope to see you on the other side. Take care of yourself and give Hector a pat from me. Yours, Mac.”

  I hunched over, feeling like somebody had punched me in the gut. The words sounded like Mac, but maybe...maybe...I looked at Kyle, who’d known Mac longer than me. He’d stood at my side reading the letter, too. Kyle shook his head, his face tight, his eyes full of pain.

  “I’m sorry, man. That’s Kenzie’s handwriting. She wrote that. She’s really dead.”

  NINETEEN

  Ripper

  “After such a shocking loss, I’m sure you won’t want to linger in a place filled with so many painful memories,” Pastor Bill said. “The deacons will take over the hunt for the bomber. We’ll avenge Vince and poor Tyler.”

  He dug in his pocket and held out a key dangling from a leather Harley-Davidson bar-and-shield keychain. I fixed my eyes on the leather fob, staring at the swaying key, only dimly aware of the pastor’s words.

  Mac’s dead?

  “Nicole asked me to give you this,” he continued. “She has no use for her late husband’s motorcycle, and since yours was damaged in the accident, you’re welcome to take Chimney’s.” He glanced at the sky. “There are still several hours of daylight left. You could leave now. Or perhaps spend the night here and rest up for the next stage of your journey, then depart in the morning. In any case, it’s time for your people and mine to part ways.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder, a phony gesture of sympathy from a man I despised. Ordinarily, I’d shrug off any contact from such a man—or deck him—but the touch registered only in some remote part of my brain. He offered some platitudes to Kyle and Sahdev, then he and his deacon stepped off the porch.

  “Excuse me, Pastor Bill?” Sahdev said.

  “Yes?”

  “Where’s Nicole? Why isn’t she here?”

  “Oh, yes, Nicole. She’s helping my wife Rebecca with some chores. I imagine she’ll be staying with us for a few days. You know how women are.” He laughed. “Give them a chance to gossip and compare notes about cooking and housekeeping, and it would take the proverbial team of horses to tear them apart. I’m sure Nicole will be sad that she wasn’t able to say goodbye to you all, but I’ll give her your best wishes.”

  “Please do so,” Sahdev said.

  Their conversation was like a buzzing in my ears. I heard it. I understood the words, but they carried no weight. Instead, they floated around me like those soap bubbles kids like to blow. Insubstantial. Meaningless.

  Mac was dead?

  Couldn’t wrap my head around the idea. Death and I were old acquaintances. I’d lost many friends, many brothers, over the years. Their loss had cut deep, but no matter how much I’d raged against their fate, I’d never questioned whether or not they were really gone.

  Why’d my mind balk at the notion that Mac was dead?

  Tires crunched on the gravel. The sound of the car’s engine faded as Pastor Bill and Deacon Morris drove away.

  “Did you hear what Pastor Bill said?” Sahdev asked.

  Kyle had dropped down onto a step and buried his face in his arms. He lifted his head and looked at the doctor, a shell-shocked expression on his face.

  “What?” Kyle asked.

  “Did you hear what Pastor Bill said?” Sahdev repeated.

  I swung my gaze toward him, then shrugged.

  “When he told us that they’d take over the hunt for the bomber, he said that they’d avenge Vince and poor Tyler.”

  “So?” Kyle mumbled.

  “Tyler died yesterday. The only people who knew of his death were the three of us, and Deacon Gary. Think about it. The pastor was waiting here to talk to us. Gary hasn’t returned yet. So how did Pastor Bill know about Tyler’s death?”

  I frowned while Sahdev’s words sunk in. Yeah. How the fuck did Pastor Bill know about Tyler’s death? Unless…

  “Gary carried a two-way radio—one of those powerful ones that hunters use—and was reporting in to the pastor. When he wandered off to take a piss, or when he lagged behind us on the trail, he was talking to Bill. Probably gave him a heads-up that we were on our way back. That’s why the pastor was here waiting for us.”

  “What does that mean?” Kyle asked.

  “For one thing, it means that when Pastor Bill sent us on this mission his men were reporting back to him, and we had no idea,” Sahdev said. “Why would they keep their communication a secret?”

  “Dunno.” A small seed of hope took root. “They don’t like us much, but it could be more than that. We know they reported on what we were doing and gave the pastor a warning when we were coming back. We show up. Bill and Morris are here. My old friend Nicole is absent. And Bill tells us that Mac is dead. Damned convenient if you ask me.”

  Kyle shook his head. “You’re forgetting Kenzie’s goodbye letter. Her handwriting. Pastor Bill didn’t make that up.”

  “No, if the letter is in Kenzie’s hand, he didn’t make it up,” Sahdev agreed. “But that’s not to say he didn’t manipulate events. Think about it. When we left, Kenzie was unconscious. If she started to regain consciousness, how would she feel?”

  Began to see where the doc was going with this line of argument. “Sore. Beat up after the accident. The way her head smacked the road, she probably had a killer headache and stiff neck when she came to.” I paused. “Just like somebody would who’s coming down with the flu.” Hope flared, then dimmed. “But she’d know that the pain—the headache—was caused by the accident.”

  “Not necessarily.” Sahdev shook his head. “Accident victims often have no memory of the event that caused their injuries. It’s a form of post-traumatic amnesia. The brain protects itself from a distressing memory. It’s entirely possible that Kenzie awoke in pain with no memory of the accident. She might logically conclude that she had the flu.”

  “And Bill took advantage of that. Let her believe that she was dying.” My blood heated and my hands twitched. Sounds like something the bastard would do. “Encouraged her to write a goodbye letter. What’s in it for him?” Soon as I spoke the words, I knew the answer. “The horny fuck wants her for himself,” I said slowly. Wanted my Mac, and allowed a scared woman to believe she was going to die so he could hoodwink her.

  He’s a dead man.

  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Kyle said. “This is all guesswork. I hope to God you’re right, but I don’t want to get my hopes up on a bunch of maybes.”

  “Yeah. Only one way to be sure.” I climbed down the steps, heading to the back of the cabin to dig up Mac’s grave.

  “Wait, please.” Sahdev laid a hand on my arm. “Kenzie is my friend, but she’s more than that to the two of you. If our conjectures are wrong, if she’s really in the ground, I would spare you both the sight. I’ll exhume the grave.”

  Opened my mouth to argue with the doc, then shut it.

  If hope was playing me dirty, I didn’t want the image of Mac’s disinterred body branded into my memory. I’d seen the face of death countless times, looked it straight in the eye, refusing to blink. Not sure I’d recover from looking at Mac’s bloated body, her frozen features bleached of all normal color, two days dead.

  “Yeah. All right.”

&n
bsp; “I won’t be long.” He strode toward the back of the cabin, heading to the spot near the tree line, just past the dock.

  I dropped down on the step next to Kyle. If anybody understood the convoluted stew of emotions roiling in my gut, it was Mac’s ex.

  Without a word, he reached out and squeezed my shoulder, then folded his hands and lowered his head, his lips silently moving. He was praying. Huh. Whaddaya know. Kyle was a believer. I left him in peace to plead our case to God.

  Hector paced restlessly back and forth on the porch, sensing that something was wrong.

  The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness. My gaze wandered over the landscape, skimming the trees and leafy undergrowth, then lingering for a moment on Nicole’s blue sedan, parked beside the small boathouse.

  She used to drive through Portland with the windows rolled down, music blaring, while she and the boys sang along to her favorite ’60s rock. That loud, fun-loving woman died with her family. Grief hollowed her out and left her an empty shell.

  Would grief do that to me if Sahdev came back and said he found Mac’s body? Didn’t know, but already the prospect of losing Mac and moving on without her had sapped my vitality, leaving me flat and apathetic, my intellect and emotions out of sync.

  Sahdev jogged around the corner of the cabin, his hands and face smudged with dirt. I leaped to my feet, like an accused man standing before a jury, holding my breath, waiting to hear whether I’d go free or receive a life sentence.

  “The grave is empty.”

  Kyle barked out a laugh, jumped to his feet, and hugged Sahdev.

  I sagged and leaned my hands on my knees, letting the words sink in. Mac might be alive. The tension in my chest loosened, and I filled my lungs with air.

  Straightening up, I swung my eyes toward Sahdev, then Kyle. “Wherever that fucker took her, we’re going to find Mac.”

  “Damned straight.” Kyle’s jaw was tight.