by R. C. Ryan
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ben stood beside his desk, watching as the money, freshly retrieved from his father’s bank account, was stacked in five-thousand-dollar bundles by one of the state police officers.
Curtis was huddled in a chair across the room, looking lost and afraid, while the others bustled about, checking phone lines and tracking equipment.
When the phone rang and the caller was identified, the room went deadly silent.
Out on the interstate, the Monroe ranch trucks once again pulled off to the side of the road to listen in silence. On cue Curtis answered, and Emory Pittman’s voice set out the rules.
“Twenty thousand in a canvas bank bag and deposited in the toll booth at the old fairgrounds outside of town. You drive alone. No cops. No guns. No cameras. When my associate assures me my demands were met, I’ll phone you with the location of that treasure you want. Anything changes, anything goes wrong, you’ll never hear from me again. And you know what that means. You got all that?”
Curtis swallowed hard. “Yes.”
The line went dead.
The police led Curtis to an unmarked truck parked at the curb. After going over their instructions one last time, the authorities stepped back. Curtis set the bank bag on the seat beside him and drove away.
On his brief drive to the fairgrounds Curtis knew that every person he passed, from the driver of the mail truck to the couple racing their snowmobiles along the deserted race track at the edge of the fairgrounds, was an undercover officer trained as a sharpshooter. It gave him no comfort. He felt, as he had so often since falling into the never-ending lure of high-stakes gambling, as though he’d lost control of his own life. The man calling all the shots was a pit bull. He’d been given the nickname for a very good reason. Like a dog with a bone, Pittman wouldn’t stop until he had what he wanted. At any price. Even the life of an innocent like Penny. His sister, who had never harmed anyone in her life, meant nothing more to Emory Pittman than the means of collecting a debt.
How could a man like Pittman understand just how special Penny was? When he’d been that scared little boy grieving the loss of his father, it had been his teenaged sister who had held him in her arms and promised him that she would never let anything bad happen to him. And she’d kept her promise. Though she’d had almost no life of her own, she’d seen to it that he and his brothers had everything they needed.
And how had he thanked her for all her sacrifices? By falling into the lure of easy money by gambling and drinking with the wrong crowd. The shame of it had kept him from having any contact with Penny.
And now, because of his carelessness, she was in grave danger. And like that little boy he’d once been, he was terrified and grieving the fact that he felt helpless to do anything about it.
Curtis pulled up to the little toll booth and stepped out of the car. Though he was tempted to look around, he’d been given strict orders to set the bank bag inside the little building and drive away.
He was trembling by the time he stepped back into the truck. Trembling and sweating.
A short time later he returned to the sheriff’s office, looking pale and haggard.
A state police detective patted his arm. “Good job. Now we wait.”
Curtis headed to the back room and stepped into the small bathroom. Dropping to his knees, he hung his head over the bowl and gave in to the sickness gagging him.
After hearing Pittman’s demands, Sam put his truck in gear and continued his drive into the hills.
When his cell phone rang, he snatched it up. Seeing the caller identification, he said, “Yeah, Dad. I heard.”
“I have Finn and Ben on the line, too. Where are you, Sam?”
“On the old cattle trail that leads to the hills.”
“Have you seen anything?”
He sighed tiredly. “Nothing. But I have a feeling. Where else can this guy go without being seen? Half the state troopers are looking for him. He has to be someplace out of the way.”
Mac shared a look with Otis and Roscoe, who both nodded.
“It sounds logical. Okay, son. We’re heading that way.”
Finn’s voice came on. “Sounds about right to me, too. I’m going to turn around.”
Ben, who’d been pacing the length of his office and back, wishing he could be with his father and brothers, listened to their conversation before saying, “I think your instincts are good, Sam.”
“All right. Let your buddies know what I’m doing.”
“I will.”
Ben looked around his office at the beehive of activity and wished with all his heart that he could be with his family instead of here, watching and waiting.
His gut feeling was that Sam was right. Pittman would avoid civilization and head to the hills.
He touched a hand to the badge pinned to his shirt before calling for attention. A dozen heads came up, and he cleared his throat before filling them in.
When he’d finished, Curtis stepped out of the back room. “I agree with you, Sheriff. But if you’re planning on heading up there, I’d like to go along.”
Ben was already shaking his head when Curtis added, “My sister’s life is on the line because of me. I have to be there. Don’t you understand?”
Ben looked at the state police detective who was heading this task force.
The detective was frowning. “I’m not about to send an entire force on a wild goose chase. Give us a few more minutes and we may be able to pinpoint the exact location of the two cell phones we’re tracking.”
Ben cleared his throat. “I agree we shouldn’t send an entire team without better information. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to go.”
Curtis crossed the room. “Take me along. Please.”
Ben looked at the detective, who gave a slight nod of his head.
“Grab a parka. It’ll be cold in the hills.”
Ben realized he was talking to air. Curtis was already pulling on a jacket and walking to the door.
When Sam tucked his cell phone into his shirt pocket, he paused a moment, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel. What if he was all wrong? What if Pittman was already halfway across the state? What if Penny was already lying somewhere…?
He couldn’t go there. He pressed a fist to his chest. Wouldn’t he know in his heart if she’d been harmed, or worse, dead? Wouldn’t his own heart stop beating if hers did?
He was going crazy thinking of all the possible outcomes.
He put the truck in gear and began moving along a trail that snaked high into the hills. He had to find her. Had to. If he didn’t, his own life would be meaningless.
He couldn’t imagine living in a world without his sweet Penny.
Supremely pleased with himself, Pittman tucked his cell phone away and lifted the lid on the box before turning to Penny, who sat slumped in the dirt in the corner where he’d deposited her.
“Get up, woman.”
When she remained where she was, he walked over and pistol-whipped her before yanking her to her feet by her bound wrists, causing her to wince in pain.
That had him smiling. He enjoyed her pain.
He nodded toward the box. “Get in.”
She dug in her heels. “I won’t.”
“Suit yourself. You can climb in and have plenty of time to think about how stupid your brother is, or I’ll shoot you right here and dump your lifeless body in there.” He gave a chilling laugh. “Your choice, big sis. A quick death? Or a long, slow one?”
Penny stared into the box. Not a box, she mentally corrected. A coffin. Hadn’t he admitted as much? He had no intention of letting her live. He was about to seal her in her own coffin. The truth had her shivering violently.
He slammed his pistol against her temple hard enough to have her crying out as she staggered toward the box.
“Just a little reminder. I call the shots around here. And you have nothing to say about it. Now climb in.”
On shaky legs she walked closer and paused be
side the box.
“Get in.”
“I can’t. Not with my hands bound. I’ll fall on my face.”
“As if I care.” His knife sliced neatly through the plastic and he gave her a shove, sending her toppling over the edge. “You’re going to die anyway.”
As she fell headlong into the box, he added, “If that loser brother of yours tries to rat me out to the authorities, I’ll tell them I never even heard of you, and they have to believe me. Without a body, it’s his word against mine. And they’re never going to find your body out here.”
While she struggled to untangle herself, he gave a chilling laugh before lifting the wooden lid and slamming it over the top.
Instantly Penny was engulfed in darkness.
She could hear him grunting as he slowly pushed the box to the edge of the hole. Moments later the box was sliding, and then, as it landed, she could hear the scrape of a shovel, and the sound of dirt cascading over the top of the box.
Dear heaven. He was burying her alive. By the time he was finished, there would be no trace of the grave, or of her. She would disappear from the face of the earth, and nobody would ever know what had really happened up here.
This time she couldn’t stop the tears. They fell harder and faster as she raged against her small, dark, hellish prison.
She lay in pitch blackness, alone and terrified, feeling completely helpless and abandoned by the world. She wept bitter tears until there were none left.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maybe it was the horror of dirt falling on the lid of the box. Maybe it was the realization that she was about to be left all alone yet again. Whatever the reason, Penny’s tears stopped, and she felt a rising sense of outrage. An overwhelming anger gripped her.
Being left alone was nothing new to her. She’d been a scared little kid the first time she faced the heart-wrenching loss of her mother. And then again as a teenager when her father died of a broken heart.
She’d gone through a range of emotions in those early years. A feeling of betrayal, as though she and her brothers weren’t enough to keep her father fighting to live. And then, when she’d come to terms with the fact that he’d had no choice, she had to deal with other emotions. There had been the fear that their family would be broken up, her brothers taken from her and placed in foster care. Then there had been her own feelings of inadequacy. But despite her misgivings, she’d stepped up to care for an aging great-aunt and three small brothers.
And she’d survived, hadn’t she?
As the sound of the dirt continued, she fought an overwhelming desire to curl up in a ball and give in to the rising hysteria bubbling up. But anger inside her was already taking over all her other emotions.
How dare this stranger use her as a pawn in his deadly, ugly game? How dare he think a gambling debt was worth more than her life? Did he have any idea how hard she’d fought to pick herself up from all the tough things life had thrown at her? Did he think he had the right to decide if she would live or die?
She’d won over incredible odds before. She wasn’t about to give up without a fight this time.
And then she thought about Sam. He’d once told her about a particularly terrible punishment, and she’d wondered at the time how one little boy could have survived such cruelty. He’d been locked away in a cold, dark shed and forced to spend the night surrounded by rats.
He said he’d felt around in the darkness until he’d located a pitchfork, and he’d used it to scare away the vermin that had crept up in the darkness. Just having that one tool in his hand gave him courage. He knew he wasn’t helpless.
How could she do less than that scared little boy?
She lifted her hands to her face to wipe away the trace of tears and realized she’d already won a tiny victory. Her hands and ankles were unbound. Maybe it was only a baby step, but even baby steps could win the race.
When the stranger finished covering up her grave, he intended to simply drive away and leave behind no trace of his vile deed. Unless she survived, he would win.
Not this time, she thought, gritting her teeth. There had to be something she could do to save herself.
As she twisted this way and that, she felt the scrape of something in her back pocket. Her father’s old Swiss army knife.
There was barely enough room to maneuver from one side to the other, but she managed to dig her fingers into her back pocket and retrieve it. Though it was pitch black in this place, she knew this little tool by touch alone. How many times through the years had she blessed the clever minds that had designed such a thing?
She tugged on the various sides of the tool until she uncovered the knife blade. Lifting it above her head she began chipping away at the wooden lid of her coffin.
Baby steps, she reminded herself as fear began to creep back into her thoughts.
Baby steps.
Sam’s truck ate up the miles on the upward, circuitous route. Seeing no sign of life, he was cursing himself for his lack of judgment while rounding a bend. As he came to the first line of snow, he was debating the wisdom of turning around. He’d wasted precious time trying to think like a criminal. He should have waited for the police to pinpoint exactly where Pittman’s phone call had been made.
He decided he would turn around as soon as he found a level space.
Just then he spotted a line of tire tracks.
Fresh tire tracks in the snow.
Heart pounding, he dialed his dad’s number.
When Mac answered, Sam’s voice was suddenly alive with energy. “I’m almost at Devil’s Pass. Fresh snow up here. And fresh tire tracks. I’m heading up.”
Mac reached Finn on the first ring and passed along Sam’s news.
Finn’s voice went from weary to excited. “I’m on my way.”
Ben plucked his cell phone and listened, then turned around and headed his SUV toward the hills.
Curtis looked over. “Have you heard something?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s the first hopeful sign, and I’m not about to ignore it. Hold on. I’m about to set a new speed record.”
Sam drove through a stand of evergreens heavy with snow. As he did, he caught a flash of light reflecting up ahead. Could it be sunlight on a windshield?
He sped up and nearly collided with a dirty truck heading in the opposite direction, right toward him. Seeing him, the driver swerved and floored the vehicle, avoiding a collision.
Sam caught only a glimpse of the driver, but it was enough to convince him it had to be Emory Pittman. The driver was wearing a black knit cap over long, stringy hair.
He turned the wheel sharply and tailed the truck until he got close enough to ram the bumper. Caught by surprise, the truck went into a tailspin and spun around until it ended up in a snowbank. The driver’s door opened, and Sam saw the man crouch low using his truck as a shield as he fired off several shots.
Hearing the bullets hitting his truck, Sam snagged his rifle before crawling out the passenger side.
He took a moment to study his surroundings. The wall of evergreens offered the perfect cover to attempt to get closer and, hopefully, surprise the gunman. Moving quickly, he darted from tree to tree until he had circled the area and was behind Pittman. While he watched, the gunman got to his feet and took careful aim at Sam’s gas tank.
“Drop the gun.”
At Sam’s terse command, the man turned. Seeing Sam’s rifle aimed at his chest, he did as he was told, letting his pistol drop into the snow.
“Where is Penny?”
“Penny?” The man gave a chilling smirk. “Sorry. I don’t know anyone named Penny.”
Sam walked closer, keeping his rifle aimed at the man. “The woman you kidnapped. Where is she?”
Pittman gave a negligent shrug. “Kidnapped? You’re talking about a federal offense. I’m too smart for something like that. But I did spot a hitchhiker. A pretty little thing. I passed her back in some hick town. You might know of it. Haller Creek. Maybe that’s your mi
ssing woman.”
“You lyin’ sonofa…” Sam lunged toward him.
Anticipating him this time, Pittman gave a quick karate chop, dislodging Sam’s rifle from his hands. As it flew into the snow, Sam grabbed him by the throat.
Pittman brought up his booted foot and kicked Sam in the groin hard enough to have him doubling up in pain. That was all the distraction Pittman needed to drop to one knee in the snow and retrieve his pistol.
In a rage Sam reared up and heard the gunfire before he realized he’d been shot. A bullet grazed his head, slamming him backward. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he kept on coming, and Pittman fired again. This time the bullet hit Sam’s leg with such force it tore through his flesh and exited the other side, causing a river of blood. Sam felt himself dropping to the ground. In an instant Pittman was on him, eager to take advantage of his weakness.
Fists flying, curses muttered through clenched teeth, the two men fought savagely. They barely looked up at the sound of vehicles approaching.
As Sam’s family raced toward the two men, they could see that Sam was wounded. His parka was smeared with his blood, with more blood spilling from the gaping wound to his leg.
Finn leapt into the fight, pulling Pittman off his brother and landing a punishing blow to his chin before yanking the pistol from his hand and taking aim.
Pittman went down to his knees, shaking his head in an effort to clear it.
Mac hurried over to help Sam to his feet. “You’ve been hit, son.”
“I’m fine.” Sam pulled away and raised a fist to Pittman’s face. “Now you’re going to tell me the truth. Where is Penny?”
Penny had managed to chip away at the lid, carving a splintered chunk barely big enough to force her hand through. A hand that was torn and bloody from the effort.
Dirt spilled down through the chink in the lid, stinging her eyes, and she blinked furiously and wriggled around until she could almost kneel. The effort had her struggling for breath, but she continued pressing her head, arms, and shoulders against the wooden lid, determined to lift it far enough to dislodge the dense layer of earth that acted as a seal.
