Ransom River

by Meg Gardiner

  Petra hesitated.

  “It’s our only chance,” she said. “Get out of here, get help. Get to the sheriff’s station. Go.”

  Petra paused only a second longer before climbing into the cab of Seth’s pickup, slamming it into gear, and taking off downriver along the frontage road.

  Please, Rory thought. Please get the sheriffs here.

  In the river, a branch sliced past. In such a swift current, Seth was already a hundred yards gone down the dark throat of the storm drain. She could barely see because her vision was throbbing so hard.

  Boone marched toward her. The suit flanked him. Rory reached into her back pocket and raised Boone’s phone. They couldn’t tell it was wet and ruined.

  She shouted to be heard above the rush of the water. “Cops are on the way. They’ve heard everything.”

  Beneath his rage, uncertainty crossed Boone’s face. Then he raised the shotgun.

  Rory held his gaze. She spread her arms and fell backward into the churning water. It carried her into the darkness.

  51

  The water swarmed over Rory’s head. The world dimmed brown, and sound muffled to a bubbling throb. The river pulled her, racing, through the concrete drain.

  She surfaced, grabbed a breath, and looked back. The orb of light at the tunnel entrance bobbed and shrank. Boone was running toward it, looking as small as a dart.

  She tried to stand. The water came up to her waist. She was going faster than she could run. Holy Jesus.

  On the roof of the culvert a shadow passed, and she heard a splash. She glanced back. Boone was outside the ever-shrinking tunnel entrance, but she didn’t see the suit. She had the strange visceral sense that an alligator had entered the water.

  She swam. “Seth,” she called.

  He had fallen faceup. Head above water; that was his only chance. If he’d rolled…Fear, sharp and black, opened like jaws in front of her.

  The light zeroed to nothing. She bobbed up, tried to breathe without swallowing the cold dirty water. The current surged and tossed her against the wall of the tunnel. “God—”

  She’d never seen the other end of the culvert. The exit could be barred by grids of rebar. She could get swept against it and have no way to get out. The urge to fight back upstream was almost overpowering. Lizard brain screaming: Air. Light. Idiot. The darkness felt smothering.

  She still had Boone’s phone in her hand. Her fingers were shaking from the frigid water. She mashed the keypad.

  The display lit up, weak blue light. The walls of the tunnel jumped into freakish relief. The tunnel ran straight, on and on.

  The display shorted out and the tunnel went dark. Behind her came splashing. Like something hunting, beneath the surface. The suit.

  She started swimming hard.

  When the storm drain spit her into daylight, she gulped air as though she was starved of it. The river smoothed and rolled, a heavy brown snake. High above its concrete banks, the sun seemed to bleach the world to a white sheen.

  She saw no sign of Seth.

  Spinning around, she took a step back to the culvert. Could she have missed him inside? No.

  She looked downriver. Scanned the banks. It was a dry day. If he’d climbed out, she should be able to see a trail of wet footsteps.

  From behind, a heavy object hit her. It felt like sodden meat. She hollered and spun. Saw a hand. A man’s hand. It trailed away.

  As it sank she saw a navy blue jacket. Cuff links.

  The suit rolled. His skin was fish pale. His mouth gaped, full of water. His eyes were blank. He kept rolling. Facedown, he swept away from her.

  “God. Oh Jesus.”

  Shaking, she pawed through the water to the concrete bank. Her legs felt like they might at any second snap like reeds and drop her flat.

  She climbed onto the bank and stumbled along, scanning both slopes. She swiped an elbow across her face. She tried to inhale and couldn’t. She was alone.

  She ran along the sloping bank for three hundred yards, until the water roared into yet another storm drain. Branches and trash had snagged near the entrance. The water frothed away inside. The suit surfaced and hit the logjam and bounced off and was sucked into the culvert. She turned away.

  Seth was gone.

  She held there for a long minute, trying to convince herself she was wrong, that there had to be a way to find him, that if she only wished hard enough she could turn around and he would be standing behind her, smiling, saying, Gotcha.

  The wind kicked up. She began to shiver.

  Addie.

  Shakily she grabbed the fence and climbed. She felt as small and wobbly as she had at twelve. She swung over the top and dropped to the gravel on the outside. She ran.

  Though she was cold her second wind came quickly. She’d run only a couple of miles. She was wet, and her jeans were chafing, her shoes splashing water, but she could run. She had to.

  Boone had to be on his way to Amber’s house. As did Mirkovic.

  But she knew something that she hoped Boone had not considered. On the far side of the hill, her parents had their acreage and work shed. The El Camino was parked under a tarp. The Elco that her dad fired up every month, and kept tuned, and which had a spare key in a magnetic case stuck inside a rear wheel well.

  She picked up her pace, fast on the downhill. She reached the shed winded and unlocked the combination padlock. She scraped the door open. Inside, the car waited in dusty sunlight. She pulled off the tarp.

  She knelt by the rear wheel and found the magnetic key case. The driver’s door creaked when she opened it. Inside, the cab was close and hot. She turned the ignition. The starter made a grinding noise.

  “Come on.”

  Through the windshield the hood looked long and sleek and as red as a fire alarm. She feathered the gas pedal.

  The engine guttered to life. Yes. She gave it more gas. The exhaust coughed and the power of the V-8 rattled through the steering column.

  She eased the car from the shed. A minute later she was roaring down the dirt road, spewing a tornado of dust behind her.

  52

  Rory bombed up the hill in the El Camino. Past the crest, Amber’s house sat dispirited in the sunshine, as though poised for a long downhill slide. A Big Wheel lay upended on the lawn. The bare patches of dirt looked like mange. The road and driveway were empty. No SUVs, no wrecker. She half swerved to the curb, jumped out, and ran to the door.

  She opened it without knocking. “Aunt Amber?”

  The television was droning. She rushed past the kitchen. “Amber.”

  At the end of the hall, Amber stepped from her bedroom. “Rory?”

  “You need to get out. Now. How many kids are here?”

  Amber looked uncertain. “You’re sopping. What on earth?”

  “How many kids?”

  Amber tucked her unruly hair behind an ear and cocked her head. “Just Adalyn. Only one boy comes on Friday, and he stayed home today with a cold.”

  Relief washed through Rory.

  Slowly, vaguely, Amber said, “What is going on? The sheriffs phoned a while back and asked if I was okay. Said, stay inside with the door locked, and they’d send a cruiser to keep an eye on the place.”

  “Great.” Except that Amber hadn’t locked the door. How much OxyContin had she taken? “Where’s Addie?”

  Amber pointed to the living room. “Why you asking about Addie?”

  “Because I know, Amber.”

  She let the words sink in. Amber’s eyes sharpened, turned bright. Rory hurried to the living room.

  Near the burbling television Addie crouched over a clutch of trolls and ponies. Her brown curls framed her face. Rory knelt and put a gentle hand on her back.

  “Hey. We’re going for a ride. You and me and your grandma.”

  Addie looked up, curious but accepting. She stood and let Rory hoist her into her arms.

  Amber shuffled toward her, eyes watery, fiddling with a bead necklace. “If the sheriff’s send
ing a car, how come we need to split?”

  “Because the sheriff’s not the only one coming.”

  Amber stood in the hallway, pale. “Who?”

  “Mirkovic and his men.” For starters.

  In the backyard, trees bent to the wind. Shirts flapped on the clothesline.

  Amber pressed a hand to her chest. “Lord God Almighty.”

  Rory walked past her. “Where’s Addie’s car seat?”

  Addie said, “Ride in Amber’s car?”

  “My car, honey,” Rory said.

  Amber looked at the little girl. “She’s legally mine. I adopted her.”

  “Riss doesn’t care about the law. Let’s go.”

  “Riss surrendered her parental rights. She’s mine.” Amber put a hand on Rory’s arm to stop her. It was cold and trembling. “Mirkovic wants her?”

  “Riss told you he’s the father?”

  “It was a onetime thing. Not planned. That club Riss works at, Butterfly Bombshell, Mirkovic owns it.” Amber looked at Addie. “Riss…”

  “Riss told Mirkovic he’s the father?”

  Amber nodded and looked at the floor. “He’s coming because…”

  “He heard your son say something that convinced him he’s not the father.”

  Amber shuddered and her lips quivered. She apparently believed Mirkovic had fathered Addie. Or she’d been trying to believe it, though part of her suspected otherwise. And she didn’t want to know the truth.

  “We need to go.” Holding Addie tight, Rory ran to the kitchen.

  “Don’t judge us,” Amber said.

  Rory’s skin was prickling. She picked up the phone. “The sheriff’s phoned here? That was the last call?”

  “Why do you need to know if they was the last people to call?” Amber saw Rory’s face and took a step back. “Yes.”

  Rory pressed Callback.

  Amber said, “If Mirkovic thinks Riss lied to him about the baby…”

  Amber’s tone said the rest: He’d seek revenge for her duplicity. Rory hugged Addie against her hip.

  On the phone a woman answered, “Sheriff’s Department.”

  “A man’s been shot at the top of the Ransom River storm drain.”

  She tried to explain it clearly. Even to herself she sounded garbled and uncertain. “He was swept into the drain. Get rescuers out there.”

  She tried to flatten her voice, but an image filled her mind: Seth, going down, hard. The flat crack of the gunshot reached her like a second blow.

  “Your name, ma’am?”

  She gave it to her. “And you’re sending a cruiser to my aunt’s house. Send it fast. It’s an emergency. I’m getting her and her granddaughter out of here. We’re going to drive to the minimart on the farm road.”

  She peered out the window. Heard nothing. Saw nothing but blowing dust. “I’m driving a red El Camino.”

  “Ma’am, do not leave the residence. Lock the doors and windows and sit tight.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  A blunt cool ring of metal pressed against the back of her head. A voice said, “Shh.”

  She stilled. A man’s hand reached around from behind and took the phone.

  Pressing the barrel of the shotgun to her head, Boone stepped into view.

  53

  Boone’s face was flat. “Not a word.”

  Rory didn’t move. Boone hung up the phone. Then ripped the jack from the wall.

  Amber looked waxen. “Son, what are you doing?”

  “Get the baby, Ma.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  From the corner of her eye Rory saw him point at her. “She did this to me. Get the goddamned kid.”

  Rory held Addie tight against her hip. “We’re getting out of here, Boone.”

  “You could say that. But not with her. She’s mine.”

  Confusion seemed to pop from Amber’s eyes. She stood as though paralyzed, her face slack, the color draining from her skin. “No. Boone, not…”

  And Rory realized she was seeing raw, inchoate fear.

  “Mirkovic’s coming,” Amber said. “If he finds you with Addie, what’ll he do?”

  Rory’s nerves began to crackle. The barrel of the shotgun nudged against the side of her head. She smelled gun oil and cordite.

  Boone pried Addie from her arms. The little girl stiffened. She didn’t cry, but she knew something was wrong. Amber continued to stand like a piece of melting plastic.

  Rory said, “The sheriff’s department heard. They know. They’re on their way.”

  “They’re quick,” Boone said, “but not this quick.” He snicked the gun into Rory’s hair again. She flinched.

  He laughed.

  He stepped back, propped Addie on one hip, and aimed the shotgun at Rory’s chest. Addie held out her hands to Rory, fingers opening and closing.

  Boone spun her away. “Forget her,” he said. “Who’s my girl? Give me a kiss.”

  He began to tickle her. Awkwardly he dug his fingers into her ribs. She squirmed and flinched.

  “Laugh, baby,” he said.

  Addie twisted and squealed unhappily. “No, Uncle Boone, stop.”

  “Come on, it’s funny.” His smile was half-cocked, fading.

  Rory heard the back door open. In the hall behind Boone, a shadow moved. Riss slid into view.

  Engrossed in trying to make Addie adore him, Boone couldn’t see her. The hairs on Rory’s arms and scalp stood to cold attention. Riss inched silently into half light. She watched Boone with the child. And as Boone’s laughter scathed the room, her face darkened.

  She glided forward, eyes unblinking. “What are you doing?”

  He turned, startled. “Where you been?”

  She walked up and took Addie from him. The little girl whimpered and looked at Amber.

  “Nana.”

  Amber held on to the counter like it was the rail of a sinking ship.

  Riss said, “What’s Rory doing here? And looking like a drowned dog.” She glanced at Boone. Got a full view of his face. “What the hell—”

  “She burned me. The bitch burned me.” Boone hitched the gun in his arms. “And she tried to get away.”

  Amber put a shaking hand to her lips. “Riss, Boone…what have you done?”

  “Shut up,” Riss said. “Where’s Mirkovic? Where are his men?”

  Rory found her voice. “They’re coming. And they aren’t bringing brownies and punch.”

  Riss eyed her with calculation.

  “Mirkovic’s coming for Addie, and he’s furious that you lied to him,” Rory said. “We need to get the hell out. All of us, right now.”

  Riss looked at her, now more incredulous than suspicious. “You don’t get a say.” She cocked her head at Boone. “Get something to restrain her with. We got to give her to Grigor.”

  Boone’s lips parted. “She burned me. She tried to kill me. I’m not giving her back to him.”

  Riss’s eyes flared. “Afterward, Boone. After the money gets located.” She shook her head. “Did you get her on video?”

  “We will,” he said.

  Amber said, “Riss, you told Mirkovic Addie’s his child. But…”

  “For fuck sake, it was a lie,” Riss said.

  Rory said, “We need to leave. Right now. Mirkovic’s men won’t trust Boone anymore, because he let me get away the first time. They’ll take me. And because they don’t trust him they’ll also take Addie.”

  Riss scoffed.

  Rory said, “And maybe you, Riss.”

  “Hell no.”

  “Lee’s your dad,” Rory said. “A Mackenzie through and through, right? Who’s going to make the biggest emotional impression on him?”

  Riss went quiet.

  Christ on a flying monkey, would these people not understand what she was telling them?

  “Riss, the sheriffs are coming,” Rory said. “They’ll arrest you.”

  And Riss smiled. A slow, I’ve got you smile. Rory’s stomach dropped.


  Riss turned to Amber. “Thanks for phoning to tell me the sheriffs were so concerned about you. I called them back. They were relieved to know we’re on the way to your brother-in-law’s house and won’t need them to stop by.”

  Amber said, “Riss. No.”

  Addie twisted in Riss’s arms and stretched a hand toward Rory. Riss roughly pushed it down.

  One play. That’s all Rory could think of. One more play. Now.

  “I’ll take you to the money,” she said.

  Riss turned. Boone turned.

  Rory said, “It’s yours, every dollar.”

  Boone’s eyes brightened. Riss seemed to calm to the smoothness of agate.

  “You know where it is?”

  “I found out.”

  “How?” Riss said.

  “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Boone said, “I knew it, you liar.” He pointed at her. “She knew all along. Your dad took her with him when he hid it.”

  “No,” Rory said.

  Riss raised a hand. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me how you know.”

  Boone said, “Let’s move. She can prove it real quick. She takes us or she doesn’t. Proof.”

  But Riss didn’t move. She held Rory in her sights, as Addie fussed and reached for Amber. She held the little girl like she was a slimy object.

  She shook her head. “How did you know this was about the money?”

  “The courthouse siege,” Rory said. “The gunmen mentioned it.”

  “No way,” Riss said.

  “They were amateur hostage takers, not top-notch mercenaries.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’d talk about the money.”

  “Their plan went balls up five minutes in. They started talking about everything,” Rory said. “Mirkovic had promised them huge rewards to get them to take the risk. They wouldn’t do it for a flat fee. They refused to attack the trial unless they got a percentage of what Mirkovic was aiming to recover. He told them it was a mammoth stash of cash.”

  “That prick,” Riss said.

  Rory remembered what Seth had told her about convincing people a false identity was the real deal in undercover work: Mix some truth into your lies.