by Linda Ladd
Rico took one last glance up and down the gravel road and didn’t see anything. Nothing. No lights. No cars. Just pitch black and gently blowing snow and a soft pale glow where the snow was covering the ground. It felt as if he were the only person on earth. But his toes and his nose felt like they were already frozen solid. What he had to do was find a warm place, so there wasn’t anything else he could do but climb up to where the bad guys were. Still, he hesitated, pretty sure that wasn’t a good idea. He did not want them to catch him again.
But after a few more minutes of cold contemplation and worry, he finally turned and started walking up to that light. Each footstep crunched through a thin layer of ice on the road where the ruts weren’t worn down. Halfway up, snow turned into sleet again and blew straight at him, so he hurried faster. He was so cold now―he just wanted to find a warm place. Anywhere at all where he could get inside some shelter. A shed, maybe, or a garage, or even a doghouse. He had to find a phone up there, too, without the bad guys seeing him, and then he had to hurry up and call Black and Claire. They’d come get him. He knew they would. So he just kept on walking up the long rise and trying not to shiver too hard.
When the house with the light post finally came into sight, he stepped off to the side of the road and walked in the snow so he wouldn’t make that crackling sound, just the quiet little squeaks of his boots. The light was situated at the corner of the front yard. There was a log house attached to what looked like a big mill. He’d seen pictures of mills in his history books, the ones that had big turning wheels to grind up wheat and other kinds of stuff. This wheel was huge and rolled down into a swift stream, and it was moving slowly. He couldn’t see very well because of the gusting sleet peppering his face, but he could hear that old wheel making lots of creaking and thumping noises.
Nobody was around anywhere, but the panel van that he’d jumped out of was parked right out in front of the log house. There were lights on inside, and that probably meant the heat was on in there, too. Man, he sure would like to be inside, but he couldn’t just go and knock on the door, because those two bad guys were sitting around in there. He could see their footprints on the snowy front steps. And there might even be more than two bad guys inside―maybe they had a whole gang in there. Like the outlaw gangs he’d read about. Rico swallowed hard. He sure couldn’t let them find out that he was out there in the front yard snooping around, but he had to find a way to stay warm until Black came and got him.
Rico just stood there in the shadows and tried to figure out what he should do. Back on the island, he knew how to sneak around and evade capture. He knew who the bad people were and where they were, and there had been secret tunnels under his house that he could creep through quietly without being seen. But right now, the deep snow on the ground was up to his knees, and it crunched when he walked through it, but he probably wouldn’t be heard because the night was loud with wind and the racket of that wheel. Still, it was pretty eerie and dark, and he was afraid of what those guys would do to him if they caught him. Still, he knew he had to do something.
He jumped down off the road and headed at an angle around the house. Maybe there was a garden shed or a barn that he could hide in for a while. So he trudged on, stopping often to listen. About the time he got to the back part of the house, he saw the dogs. It looked like three or four big ones, and they were inside a chicken wire pen. He swallowed hard, because they looked like German shepherds and rottweilers. He loved dogs, especially Claire’s little poodle Jules Verne, but these dogs looked like they could tear a kid like him to pieces.
Moving more cautiously and trying not to disturb the dogs, he headed for a structure behind the house that looked a whole lot like a small barn. Halfway there, the dogs started yapping like crazy. Rico froze in his tracks and didn’t move for a second, but then he took off running for that barn as fast as he could. He burst through the front doors and ran straight into a great big man squatting down. The man grabbed him from the back and slapped a hand over his mouth, then dragged him backward into the shadows.
“Don’t make a sound, Rico, you hear me?” The man’s voice was deep and gruff and sounded familiar.
Rico didn’t make a sound. He stood rigid, held up on his toes by the big guy’s arms, one around his neck and one around his chest. He didn’t like to be held like that. The tight grip was cutting off his air. The mean people on the island did that to him all the time. So he rammed his elbow into the man’s side and tried to jerk loose at the same time. His captor grunted out a bunch of air, but he caught Rico by the back of his jacket and jerked him around.
“Stop fighting, Rico. It’s me, Oliver.”
Rico went still with relief. Oliver Wood was his new friend. They had played video games together at Cedar Bend. Oh, he was so glad to see somebody he knew that he just sagged down to his knees. Oliver hunkered down beside him.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Oliver whispered in a low voice, glancing outside. “The guys inside this house are bad news. How did you get here?”
Rico started trembling all over, really scared now. Oliver was a big, strong guy and he sounded afraid, too. “Those guys inside? They tried to kidnap me from the mall but I got away. I’ve been trying to call Claire and Black on this phone but it won’t work.”
“Listen to me. Claire’s inside that house, too. I tracked them out here and was hiding when they took her and some other guy inside. I’ve got to get her out safely. I can’t take time to worry about you, too. Understand me, Rico? You’re safe out here, unless you do something stupid. You’ve got to hide and stay quiet. Understand?”
“No, no, I need to help Claire, too, if she’s in there with them. They’re mean.”
“You are staying out here, damn it. I will get her out of there if you don’t interfere. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been following them.”
“Is Nick in there, too? With Claire? Did they get him, too?”
“No, I don’t know where he is.”
“You got yourself a gun?” Rico asked. “You’re gonna need a gun to get her out. They’ve got guns, I saw them.”
Oliver shushed him again. “Yes, I’ve got a gun. Look, I don’t have time for this. I’m going in. Just stay out of my way and hide back there in the dark. I can’t worry about you. I’ll get Claire out, just don’t mess it up.”
“Who are those bad people? Why do they want Claire and me?”
“We’ll talk about that later. Just hide out here. I’ll come get you when I’ve got her.”
“But what about those guns?”
“Just stay here, or the dogs will bark and alert them. Don’t you dare move out of this barn, you got that, Rico?”
“Yes, sir.”
Then his friend was just gone, slipping out into windblown snow and disappearing around the side of the barn. Rico moved to the door and watched him move stealthily through the trees, just like somebody’s shadow. He made no sounds that Rico could hear, not with the wind blowing so hard. Nothing made any sound except for the thump and swish and gurgle of that waterwheel. He watched until Oliver got to the back of the house and then swung up onto a tree limb and climbed quickly onto the roof. Wow, he was doing stuff just like a superhero would, like Spiderman or the Green Arrow. Rico could do that, too, he bet. He was good at climbing trees and stuff.
Claire was in there. That really scared Rico. How did they get her? She had all those guns, the one in her shoulder holster and the one in her ankle holster. How could they have gotten her? He just didn’t understand it. The thought of her being inside that house with those two bad guys made him feel sick to his stomach. Maybe he ought to go and help Oliver get her out. Rico had gotten Claire out of trouble before; she had been glad he came around that time. Yeah, maybe he should go inside, too, and help her. There were too many of them for Oliver to handle all by himself anyway.
Still undecided and afraid, he waited awhile like Oliv
er had told him, and then he decided Oliver and Claire were going to need his help, whether they knew it or not. Rico had helped Claire and Black escape off the island. He could help again. He knew what it felt like to be held captive by mean people, and it wasn’t good. He just wished Black were there, too. He was really good at that stuff. And he always carried a gun. Black was going to be so mad when he found out that those guys had taken him and Claire. Rico wished he had a gun. Maybe Nick would get him one for Christmas when he got back home. Maybe he’d see now that Rico really needed it for protection. He took a deep breath, and then he moved outside into the snow and crept his way toward that tree.
About a mile from the old mill, Black and Booker were following Rico’s GPS signal. Booker was driving the Jeep, and Black was riding shotgun, about as anxious as he’d ever been in his life. Both Claire and Rico had gone missing, and he knew it had everything to do with this stretch of back road. The phone’s GPS was getting harder to read because of the snow and the leaden clouds hanging low overhead. The road was deserted and out in the middle of nowhere. No houses, no businesses, no farms. Just dark and trees and one narrow, crooked gravel road. Where the hell was Rico?
“Wait a sec, Book,” he said, spotting something. “I see some footprints at the side of the road. Small ones, small enough to be Rico’s. Hold up a second.”
Book stopped the vehicle and let the motor idle, and Black got out and squatted down beside the tracks. They were a kid’s, all right, and the treads looked like the ones on the new snow boots Black had bought Rico in New York. It had to be Rico. He had gotten away from the kidnappers somehow, because there was just one set of tracks and they appeared to be walking, not running. That didn’t really surprise Black. Not with that kid. At only ten years old, Rico was about as resourceful as anybody Black had ever met. He’d had to be.
Climbing back into the jeep, he pointed ahead. “I think he’s been walking along here. I hope to God we’re getting close now.”
Booker drove on slowly, and Black kept his eyes sweeping the side of the road, where he held his flashlight beam. They reached a private drive heading up a hill off to his right, and it looked like Rico’s tracks had stopped and then turned up the hill. “Okay, he’s got to be up that road somewhere. Let’s go in quiet.”
They turned and drove slowly, snow pelting the windshield, barely able to get traction on the icy road. When they caught sight of a light burning in the yard, Booker braked and turned off both lights and the ignition. “Okay, we better go in on foot from here, Nick, until we find out what we’re dealing with.”
They got out quietly, and Black racked his .45 and gripped it in his right hand. Booker did the same with a shotgun. If anybody had hurt a hair on Rico’s head―or Claire’s, because Black hoped to God she was up there, too―he was going to make them pay. If they weren’t too late. He increased his pace, knowing he probably didn’t have much time left to find them. They’d both been gone a long time now. He set his jaw and kept going, the wind whipping icy sleet straight at him.
Chapter 24
Still sitting at the game table with the three men, Claire reached out and slowly turned over the top card in the Live or Die pile. She blew out a relieved breath. ALIVE. Okay, so far, so good, but this kind of luck was not going to last much longer. She felt a shiver start up her spine and tried to stop it.
Lucky hooted and clapped his hands. “Well shit, woman, you are as lucky as Satan himself. But this time you gotta draw from our bag of tricks. We need to get this show on the road. We get bored if things don’t move faster than this.”
“What bag of tricks?”
“Just watch and learn, my love. I can’t believe there’s been no blood spilled yet. Damn, you two are really beginning to grate on my nerves.”
Claire realized that Junior was not laughing with Lucky, also known in police precincts as the psychopath Troy Edward Wood. Junior was not enjoying the game as much as his partner in crime. This game was serious business for him: the business of murdering his father, something he had no doubt looked forward to for years. To him, Claire was just icing on the cake, somebody Lucky could play with. She watched Junior take hold of the bag and pull out a card. He read it silently, and then he grinned evilly at his father. “Now we are talking, Dad.”
Junior turned the card around so Claire and Lucky could see it: FINGER FUN WITH JUNIOR.
Lucky laughed out loud. He reached down and cupped his hand over Claire’s breast. She slapped it away with her bound hands. “Touchy, touchy, but you’ll get used to me touching you, Claire. You’ll end up begging me to do that instead of hurting you. And now you’re going to see something you don’t see every day. Finally, some blood’s gonna get spilled on this nice clean table.”
Claire felt herself tense up. She had been sitting still since they’d brought her to the table; her whole body felt as rigid as a board. She wasn’t sure what they were going to do next. She was afraid to think. They were sadists. They loved to hurt people and inflict as much pain as they could. She watched Junior pull out a large switchblade knife. He slung it out hard so that the blade flipped open. Claire could see that the edge had been honed until it was razor sharp. Oh God, what was he going to do?
“Put your hand down on the table, daddy dearest,” Junior was telling Jonesy. His face had grown hard now, unrelenting, and something else glowed inside his eyes, behind those black glasses: pleasure. “And spread out those talented guitar-pickin’ fingers of yours.”
“No.” Jonesy’s voice came out very low. Claire froze up even more, afraid for what was going to happen to him.
Junior smiled. It was one of the most evil expressions that Claire had ever seen on a human being. “Do it, or I will cut off your ears one at a time. Then your nose, then other parts I’m sure you don’t want to lose, not with that sexy girlfriend waiting for you back at the hotel.”
“No.” Jonesy managed to draw himself up a little, displaying a belated burst of courage. He balled both hands into fists and held them down on his lap. Claire was glad to see him resisting a little. These guys were not men who admired cowardice, no matter what terrible deed they were perpetrating on their victim.
Junior did not hesitate. He gripped the knife by the hilt with the blade pointed down, and then swiped down through Jonesy Jax’s ear. Part of it came off in Junior’s hand, and Jonesy’s scream was so shrill and awful that Claire’s blood ran cold.
“Stop!” Claire tried to grab Junior’s hand with the knife but he shook her off. Then Lucky stood behind Claire and held her down in her chair with a tight, two-fisted grip on her shoulders. Jonesy was breathing hard, holding his bleeding wound, sucking air in and blowing it out. He was staring down at his partially severed ear lying on the table in front of him.
“Okay, Dad, you want your other ear down there on the table, too? Quit playing around and put your hand on the table and spread out your fingers.”
Jonesy was pressing his bound hands tight over the bleeding. Junior held the dripping blade aloft, more than eager to take off the other ear. Claire struggled to get free as Jonesy slowly placed his hands down on the table. He spread his fingers wide and shut his eyes. That’s when Claire realized what Junior was going to do. She’d seen it done before, in films.
“Now you hold real still,” Junior told Jonesy, “and maybe I won’t cut off your fingers by mistake.”
Jonesy did not move. What was left of his ear was bleeding down the side of his neck. Claire held her breath. Junior started his game by placing the sharp tip of the blade down between Jonesy’s spread fingers, very slowly at first, just tapping the table, and then he started doing it faster and faster until he finally missed, and the blade sliced deeply into Jonesy’s ring finger. Jonesy screamed in agony, and Claire squeezed her eyes shut. These guys loved inflicting pain. They were laughing together now, and Jonesy was hugging his injured hand up tight against his chest. He was losing a lot of blood
and gasping for breath.
“Stop it, stop it!” Claire was angry now, angry that they were just sitting there laughing and torturing him. She made a grab for the knife at Lucky’s waist, but he was faster. He got hold of her arm and twisted it until she was forced down in her chair.
“The fun is just getting started, love o’ mine. You still have your own torture to look forward to. Be patient. It’s just his finger. He’s gonna miss that ear more. But he’ll die soon, so no real harm done.”
Outside, the strident barking of dogs interrupted their grisly game. Junior and Lucky darted looks at each other, then they jumped up and took off down the steps beside the big waterwheel. Claire jumped to her feet. In his panic, Junior had left the switchblade stuck point down in the tabletop. She grabbed it and turned it around, awkwardly trying to saw through the ropes binding her hands together. She could hear shouting now, and then the rope snapped apart and she was free! She cut Jonesy’s hands free, too, and then she got an arm around his waist and tried to help him stand up. When she got him to the top of the steps, she could see the room right below: They weren’t down there. She wasn’t sure where they were, but this was her only chance to get away.
“C’mon, Jonesy, I’ve got to get my guns and then we can get out of here,” she whispered to the moaning man. He was holding the side of his head, and blood was oozing through his fingers. Before she could turn back, a big hand closed over her shoulder and jerked her back away from Jonesy. Another arm snaked around her waist and a hand clamped down over her mouth. Jonesy fell weakly to his knees at the top of the steps.
“Don’t fight, Claire, it’s me!”
Then he let her go, and Claire spun around to face him, shocked when she saw Oliver Wood. “You’ve got to help us! They’re trying to kill us.”
