by Brenda Novak
Phil covered a yawn. “How do you know who stole the van?”
“Well, it wasn’t Bishop. Bishop was still at Beacon Point when Evelyn was kidnapped.”
A sheepish look crossed Phil’s face. “Oh, right.”
“And Bishop thought the old lady was dead when he left here, so he also doesn’t know I know where he’s going. He has no reason to change his mind.”
Phil scratched his neck. “True. I’m so tired I’m getting punchy. I don’t know how you’re still functioning.”
Amarok thought of Evelyn and what she meant to him. He’d give anything for her and their unborn child, even his life. “When something happens to someone you love, you do what you have to do,” he said, and closed the door.
Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 1:45 a.m. AKDT
Evelyn felt the van come to a stop and tensed. Were they already in Fairbanks? It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since they’d pulled over before. But they had turned off the highway. She’d been able to tell because the tires had begun to make a different sound. They were rolling over dirt and rocks and not pavement.
Maybe Bishop had been picking up keys or something. She didn’t have much concept of time. It seemed as though it had been a while since he’d complained about how difficult it was to rent a house these days, though. The property management company he’d referenced must’ve come through.
At least the wait was over. As terrified as she was for what was about to occur, she was also anxious to have it over with, to finally reunite with Amarok—if possible.
The driver’s side door creaked as it had before and, once again, the cabin light came on. She was so frightened by what might lie ahead she was beginning to sweat and tremble. The memory of stabbing Emmett was returning to her even though she was trying hard not to think about it, sending her adrenaline skyrocketing too soon. She couldn’t even keep her eyes closed properly and feared Bishop would notice the effort she was putting into it.
Was he looking at her? It was taking him some time to get out of the front seat. She was dying to know why.
What was he doing? After hearing him rummage around in the passenger seat, she smelled cheap men’s cologne. He’d put on so much she almost gagged.
He was getting ready for something. But what? It was still dark outside. Certainly, he wasn’t meeting someone in the middle of the night.…
She curled her fingernails into her palms, waiting to see what would happen next.
He closed the driver’s side door, but softly, as though he feared slamming it might wake her, and just when she’d assumed he’d left her and was about to get to her knees so she could look through the windshield—thinking she might be able to get out of the van while he was gone and sneak away without having to confront him—she heard him unlock the back.
He was coming for her.
She hated that she was still wearing the gag. She could hardly breathe through it, was getting winded even before she had to act. But without that in her mouth, he’d know something was up as soon as he saw her.
Calm down. Unless you want him to stick an ice pick through your eye sockets and scramble your brain tonight, you have to play this just right.
She also needed a measure of luck and a whole lot of nerve. She had the screwdriver in her right hand, was hiding it behind her as though her wrists were still tied, and she’d managed to adjust her position a bit. She was now lying on her side horizontally across the back of the van as though the movement of the vehicle had shifted her around. Rising up from a prone position, and in her condition, wasn’t an easy thing to do, of course, but she’d done it before, with Emmett.
If only her aim could be as true …
At least she had a sturdier weapon.
But it was also duller and thicker. It would take all her strength to jam it into his body.
“Evelyn?” Bishop’s voice held no command. He wasn’t trying to wake her; he was testing her to see if she was asleep.
She didn’t react. She needed to draw him closer, get him to focus on hauling her out of the van all on his own. Only then would she have the chance to stab him, kick him out the back, crawl through to the front and take off, leaving him on the road.
He deserved to bleed out right there—deserved much worse, in fact, and she had no compunction about making it happen, not with her own life and her child’s life in jeopardy.
But he didn’t try to pull her out to take her inside of wherever they’d be staying next.
She heard his buckle jingle as he undid his pants.
Then he started to crawl inside with her.
27
Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:00 a.m.
Makita sat in the passenger seat, his eyes glued to the windshield as Amarok rocketed down the East Parks Highway toward Fairbanks. Amarok knew his dog could sense his focus, his anxiety, his own watchfulness, and was paying strict attention. In short, Makita understood they were working and he was eager to do his part.
“We aren’t looking for any hunters tonight,” Amarok told his dog. But he supposed that wasn’t entirely true. Bishop was a hunter, of sorts. It was just that he hunted women instead of animals.
Amarok glanced at the cell phone on the seat beside him. He’d called Fairbanks PD before leaving Anchorage, told them a known serial killer with a kidnap victim was headed for their city and asked them to set up a roadblock on AK-3. He had no way of telling how far Bishop was ahead of him. But there was only one highway connecting Anchorage and Fairbanks. If Bishop hadn’t already arrived, if he was still on the road, at least he couldn’t branch off. If they stopped every motorist until early morning, when Amarok arrived, they might be able to sandwich Bishop between them.
That had been a good call, one that gave Amarok a degree of confidence that this might soon be over. But was there anyone else he should contact? What more could he do? He was getting used to being able to call anyone at any time, but he was back in Alaska now. There’d be some long stretches without service as he passed through the wilderness areas of the interior.
He considered checking in with Ada to see if her mom was going to pull through—and to see if Edna had been able to offer any more information on Evelyn—but he guessed they didn’t know much yet. It took so long to be admitted to the hospital and for the doctors to do their thing.
Ada would’ve reached out to him if she had anything to report. They’d developed sort of a kinship during their brief encounter on the ranch. She’d just recovered her loved one, but she understood how desperately he was working to recover his.
“Makita, you’re on my phone,” he said once he started looking for it and couldn’t see it.
The hyperfocused dog didn’t budge, but Amarok managed to slide his hand underneath and come up with it.
He checked to make sure the ringer was back on—he’d silenced it when he went onto the ranch so it couldn’t give him away—and realized that he’d already missed a call. He hadn’t seen it when he spoke to Fairbanks PD, but there it was, and he recognized the caller.
Detective Lewis had tried to reach him.
So, the bastard had called him back, after all. Did Lewis have Emmett Virtanen’s phone records at last? Or was he enraged because he’d somehow learned that Amarok had snatched that rental receipt out of Emmett’s mail?
He pressed the voicemail icon and listened to Lewis’s message.
Amarok, the phone records are in. It’s pretty late here, so I’m heading home, but I wanted you to know I wasn’t holding out on you, as you’ve probably been thinking.
Amarok had been thinking he was being stonewalled, so having Lewis call him out on it made him feel as though he’d been too much of an ass himself.
I still don’t agree with what you did, Lewis continued. But … He sighed. I understand why you did it. Anyway, I’m e-mailing you a map of the area in Anchorage where Emmett’s phone was last used. I’m hoping you’ll find an obvious place inside the boundaries I hav
e marked where Evelyn might be—or at least be able to pinpoint the best places to look.
It sounded as if he was about to hang up, but then he came back on the line.
I’m afraid there’s one more thing. Emmett hasn’t used his phone since last Thursday. I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t bode well. If he’s destroyed it so we can’t track him, he could be pretty far from that location. Call me tomorrow so we can talk about this.
Emmett hadn’t used his phone because he couldn’t use his phone. Lyman had probably killed him the moment he arrived in Alaska. How he’d gotten the better of someone so much bigger and stronger Amarok couldn’t even begin to guess. Maybe he had a gun and trust, or overconfidence, had left Emmett vulnerable. Amarok hadn’t done enough with the body to determine how Emmett was killed. He hadn’t had the time, hadn’t wanted to destroy any evidence. Determining the cause of death was the medical examiner’s job, anyway.
Makita seemed to be getting sleepy. He yawned widely as Amarok returned Lewis’s call. Amarok wasn’t expecting the detective to pick up; he merely wanted to leave a message.
Before he could do that, however, he got a call himself.
Pulling the phone away from his ear to see who was trying to reach him, he cursed. This was a call he’d been dreading.
It was Brianne, Evelyn’s sister. Evelyn’s entire family was frantic. Evelyn had been missing for over a week. Her mother hadn’t even been functional since receiving the news.
And now he had to tell them that he wasn’t really much closer to finding her.
Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:05 a.m. AKDT
Evelyn tried not to hold her breath as Bishop brushed the hair off her face. He’d left the back doors open when he climbed into the van with her, so, thanks to the cabin light, she knew he could see her quite well despite the darkness of the woods around them.
She had to make it appear as though she were sleeping peacefully. He would find it strange if her chest weren’t rising and falling—or if her eyes were scrunched too tightly closed. But it was so difficult not to try to peek at what he was doing.
She longed to use the screwdriver she had hidden behind her back right away. She was in full fight-or-flight mode. But she could hear him and guessed he was positioned too close to the open doors. If she tried to stab him now, he’d just rear up in surprise and fall out, and then he’d be on her again before she could crawl into the front of the van and drive off.
No. She had to wait until he was fully committed to the rape he obviously had in mind. Only once he dropped his pants along with his defenses, was overcome with lust, would she have the opportunity to do enough damage to possibly save herself.
When she didn’t move, didn’t react to his touch or his voice, he said, “You are so elegant. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman. I think I’ve loved you from first sight.”
Love? The only person Bishop loved was himself, but he did crave attention, admiration and, of course, physical gratification.
Evelyn was so stiff she was afraid she’d give herself away before she could make a concerted effort to stab him.
“Let me touch you,” he whispered. “What are you saying? You want me, too? Really? I never knew.”
The fantasy he was playing out was so confusing for a rape. He was approaching her gently, kindly. Luckily for her, Bishop didn’t have a taste for violence unless he felt threatened or he was angry. She and her baby had that going for them. But she also knew he’d switch the second she offered any resistance. She’d seen him turn into Mr. Hyde with Edna. And she’d heard about his encounters with Beth.
Right now, he was enjoying pretending that this was consensual, as though they were lovers, which fit with the odd things he’d said about becoming the father of her baby.
When his hand covered her breast and squeezed, it was all she could do not to recoil. But she remained perfectly still. He was starting to get aroused; she could tell by the shallowness of his breathing. She needed that, needed the testosterone in his system to interfere with his thinking.
“You feel like a goddess,” he whispered. “And it’s been so long for me. All I did was dream about making love to you while I was away.”
At some point, he’d realize her legs weren’t tied. If he planned on mounting her, he’d expect to untie them first. She’d have to act as soon as his hands wandered low enough, but he wasn’t in any hurry to get down to business. He seemed to relish the anticipation, wanted to make a whole production of it.
She kept telling herself to ignore the way his fingers were caressing her nipple, the overpowering scent of his cologne and the breathless quality of his voice, all of which acted on her nerves like nails going down a chalkboard. But she couldn’t manage to lie still when he removed the gag and his wet, soft lips closed over hers, licking and sucking.
The second he slid his tongue into her mouth, she bit down as hard as she could, until she tasted blood, and brought the screwdriver around to stab him.
She wanted to feel the metal slide into his abdomen all the way to the hilt. Only then could she be somewhat assured that she’d hurt him as badly as she needed to. But she couldn’t get it to go any deeper than an inch or so.
She must’ve hit a rib!
She drew back to thrust again; she had to act fast.
He slugged her in the jaw before she could. It was a knee-jerk reaction to the pain of her bite and her first thrust, both of which had happened at the same time, and not a particularly powerful blow. She didn’t feel his full response until a second later, when the initial shock wore off and he realized she wasn’t only awake but free of the ropes and fighting to achieve her freedom.
Using the leverage of his body, he rolled her onto her back and pinned her right hand to the floor, squeezing so tightly she had to release her weapon. Then he seemed to fumble for something he couldn’t find—A weapon of his own? Maybe a knife or a gun?—buying her a few precious seconds before his hands closed around her throat.
He cursed at her as he began to squeeze, just like he had with Edna.
Unable to pry his hands away, Evelyn began to buck, knocking him off center just enough that he had to let go of her neck to stop himself from being thrown to one side.
She screamed for help the second she was capable, as loudly as possible, and she kept screaming and thrashing around, trying to reach the screwdriver again, or the hammer.
Even if she couldn’t find a weapon, if she could just get around him and get out she could disappear into the thick stand of trees she’d glimpsed outside.
“Shut up, you bitch!” he cried, and slapped her so hard her ears rang.
The fight wasn’t going well. She was losing, and she knew it. It was only a matter of time before he subdued her again. And then what would she do? She’d already sprung her surprise, knew she would never have another chance, not now that he understood how determined she was to get away.
“I’ve got a gun! Do you want me to kill your baby?” he yelled. “Kill you? Here I am offering to love you, to pleasure you. And this is what I get. Haven’t I been good to you?” he railed, and, shaking her like a rag doll, started to choke her again.
Stars danced before Evelyn’s eyes. He’d mentioned a gun. That had to be what he’d been searching for before. If only she could find it.
In order to do that, however, she had to get him off her.
Although she clawed at his hands, his arms and his face, it was no good. She was growing weaker, could feel herself losing consciousness.
And then, suddenly, the pressure eased. He grabbed something from the floor not far away—she was pretty sure it was indeed the gun he’d mentioned—and jumped off her.
She gasped for breath, filling her lungs with air. Her eyes were watering, and her limbs felt like rubber.
Why hadn’t he shot her? Where had he gone?
It took several moments before she could think straight, which turned out to be a tragedy. Had she been able to gather her wits sooner, s
he might’ve had another chance to escape. But it wasn’t until Bishop slammed the back doors, jumped into the driver’s seat and revved the engine that she realized he’d been interrupted.
Someone else had come upon them. In her short-term memory, she could recall hearing voices: Hey, what are you doing out here? What’s going on?
She screamed and banged on the walls of the van, but she was afraid whoever it was—Hunters? The police? A nearby home or cabin owner?—couldn’t hear her.
And then the chance was gone.
She fell back, rolling into the opposite wall as Bishop put the transmission in gear, backed up so fast it caused the van to sway from side to side and took off, the tires bouncing over boulders and ruts as he drove relentlessly away.
Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:20 a.m. AKDT
Bishop could feel something wet soaking his shirt and knew it was blood. The bitch had stabbed him! He didn’t know what she’d used. He’d been too frantic to pay attention to it in those rage-filled seconds immediately after. But he was hurting, and it was her fault. He’d also injured his lame leg in the mad scramble to reach the driver’s seat and get out of the forest before those hunters, who were out spotlighting, no doubt—as if what they were doing was any more legal than what he was doing—could figure out he had a high-profile kidnap victim in his van.
Part of him worried he’d pop a tire driving out of the forest so recklessly. The van jounced and swayed, throwing him back and forth and making him gasp in pain, as he navigated the narrow dirt road to the highway, but it didn’t take long to reach the pavement.
As soon as he did, he made sure he had the gun he’d grabbed as he got out of the back of the van and pressed the gas pedal down.
Evelyn, who’d been knocked about in the back, was still trying to right herself, so he checked his rearview mirror for headlights.
There was a pair coming up on him. They had their brights on, which suddenly dimmed.
He didn’t think it was the hunters. They couldn’t have been close enough to their vehicle when they came upon him to be able to jump in it and give chase so quickly.
