by D P Lyle
Norris appeared with a roll of duct tape. Options raced through Cain’s mind. None were good. Three armed men, he and Harper face down. The main deciding factor was the black hole of the shotgun muzzle that stared at him like a dead eye. Buy time. They were to be hunted. That means released. An opportunity might yet arise.
Norris taped their wrists together behind their backs, before making several wraps around their chests, pinning their arms to their sides. He did the same with Chelsie. The trio then led them outside to the SUV. Tyler lifted the back hatch. The second and third row seats were folded flat. The massive cargo area was empty except for a couple of folded towels and one of those metallic, folding windshield screens.
“Inside.”
Cain hesitated.
Tyler stepped toward him, looked up into his eyes. “Either crawl in or I’ll have them shoot you and we’ll dump your body in.”
Cain complied. Harper and Chelsie followed.
“Face down,” Tyler said. “All of you. Side by side.”
Norris bound their ankles with the tape, then slammed the door. Cain could hear them talking.
“Hank, you go get the boat ready,” Tyler said. “Ted and I’ll grab the crossbows and meet you at the launch.”
Cain heard footsteps crunching the gravel, moving away.
“What are they going to do?” Chelsie asked.
“They’re going to take us somewhere and hunt us,” Harper said.
“No.” Chelsie began to sob.
“Chelsie,” Cain said. “Listen to me. Don’t panic.”
“What? Aren’t you?”
“No,” Cain said. “For them to hunt us, they have to let us go. That gives us a chance.”
“But they have the weapons.”
“Not all of them.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that if you keep your head, do exactly as Harper and I say, we just might get out of this.”
CHAPTER 60
“I was driving by and I saw your light on,” Jimmy Rankin said as he walked into Laura Cutler’s office. “What’s up?”
“Catching up on paperwork.”
Her desk top was empty, only her cell laying there, right in front of her.
“No, you’re not,” Rankin said.
She shrugged. “Waiting to hear from Cain and Harper.”
Rankin glanced at his watch. “Might be a bit early to get all sideways.”
“Feels late to me.”
“They’re out there sneaking around. Sometimes that goes quickly and other times it takes a while.”
“Or goes wrong?”
“That, too.”
Cutler spun her phone with a finger.
“Want to take a ride?” Rankin said.
She considered that. She was going insane sitting here. Doing nothing. She stood. “I’ll drive.”
“No, you won’t. Your Bronco has those big old gold emblems on the doors and that light bar. Might as well hang a disco ball on the roof and let everybody know we’re snooping around.”
“Good point.”
“My car, on the other hand, is completely invisible.”
It was. Rankin drove a plain, vanilla, sliver Taurus. Looked no different than the thousands of others on the road.
Ten minutes later they rolled by Martin Stenson’s estate and continued south toward Tyler’s place. Rain flooded the windscreen, the wipers fighting to keep up.
“Shitty night for a drive,” Cutler said.
“We could’ve stayed at the station.” Rankin grinned. “Your desk was all cozy and warm.”
“And boring.”
“How you want to do this?” Rankin asked.
“Just a drive by, first.”
“Sounds good.”
Headlights approached. A large vehicle. It whipped by, its wake rocking the car slightly.
“That was Tyler,” Cutler said.
“And Ted Norris.”
“You see anyone else in there?”
Rankin shook his head. “Nope.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Want to follow them?”
Cutler considered that. It wouldn’t be possible to do that and stay invisible. Especially at night on quiet rural roads. “No. Let’s go ahead.”
They passed the road to Tyler’s place. His home was barely visible in the distance. The rain blurred the landscape lighting. Another couple of minutes and they reached the road that demarcated the line between Tyler’s property and Clovis Wilson’s cotton fields.
“Turn here,” Cutler said.
“Where?”
“Right there.” She pointed. “On that road.”
He did. The car gyrated. He came to a stop. “Why’re we here?”
“This is the road Bobby Cain pointed out. It’s the one he and Harper were going to use.”
He nodded and eased forward. “I hope we don’t get stuck out here.”
“Wimp.”
“This ain’t no Bronco.”
The path rose and fell, the car slipped a couple of times, but they soon saw the rear of Cain’s Mercedes. Rankin came to a stop. They climbed out.
Fat rain drops slapped the overhead leaves and pine boughs. Drips fell on Cutler’s face. One slid down her back.
“It’s all locked up,” she said. She walked around to the front of the car and looked into the darkness ahead. “They must still be up there.”
“Want to wait?”
She sighed.
“Maybe go take a look around?” Rankin said. “We know Tyler ain’t there right now.”
“He might come back.”
“So? We can just say we dropped by to say hello.”
“Like he’d buy that.”
“Right about now I don’t give a big old goddamn what he buys,” Rankin said. “If he’s the one that did this to those women, then he’s got one up there on his place most likely. To me, that changes things.”
“We might interfere with what Cain and Harper are doing.”
“Yeah, well, this ain’t their job. It’s ours.”
Cutler nodded. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 61
No, they didn’t have all of Cain’s weapons. Not close. He still had five blades in his possession. The two throwing knives in the soles of his boots. A simple twist of the heels and they would be released. Two others in his belt buckle. Small, stacked inside the metallic rectangle. What Uncle Al, who had hand-made Cain’s first pair, called “T-Pokers,” saying, “You never know when you might have to poke someone in the throat, or the eye.” T-shaped handles that when grasped in his fists allowed the finely-honed, leaf-shaped blades to protrude between his index and middle fingers. Perfect stabbing, or “poking” weapons. Very lethal. Finally, his favorite throwing knife sheathed high in the back of his shirt, between his shoulder blades.
When someone searched for weapons, particularly someone who was a rank amateur, they checked pockets, shoes, arms, legs, even a grab of the crotch. But high on the back? No one ever thinks of that. Tyler and his crew hadn’t. They found three knives, a reasonable number. Enough to satisfy them. Cain never went into a potentially combative situation with less than eight.
As comforting as that was, they were of little use right now. Hands, arms, and legs bound with multiple wraps of duct tape allowed little movement and no chance of slipping free. Hopefully, their bonds would be cut before they were released for the hunt.
Tyler drove, Ted Norris shotgun. Cain, Harper, and Chelsie managed to shift into positions that were more or less comfortable. Not really, but at least acceptable. Like three rolled carpets. They lay on their sides, knees flexed slightly, Chelsie between them.
The storm had arrived. Rain pounded the roof, its drumbeat echoing inside the cavernous SUV. Cain tried to sense where they were going. Turns, distances, types of roads. But since he didn’t really know the area, it was a futile effort. So, better to engage his captors. Try to dig out useful intel.
“Where are we going?” Cain asked.
“S
omewhere off the grid,” Tyler said.
“And then what?”
“I told you. You run. We hunt.”
“Leave Chelsie out of this,” Harper said.
Norris twisted in his seat. His weapon rested on the seat back, the muzzle angled down toward them. “She’s the star of the show.”
“Tell me, Tyler,” Harper asked. “What’s in this for you? I thought you didn’t like hunting.”
“I don’t like hunting animals for sport. Humans are a different story.”
“Oh, that’s right. You think that’s fairer somehow.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Yeah, right. Three guys hunting a young, naked, and barefoot girl is so very fair.”
“They could escape,” Tyler said. “That’s part the thrill.”
“Escape?” Cain said. “From an island?”
“It’s possible.”
“You’re such a sport,” Harper said. “Daddy must be proud.”
“Shut up.”
Harper wasn’t finished. She was going full PsyOps on him. Make him angry. Make him miss something. Overlook some crucial detail. It might work. It might not. They had little to lose.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Harper said. “I mean, his little boy uses daddy’s money to buy young girls, mark them up like some childhood coloring book, and play big game hunter.”
“I said, shut up.”
Norris twisted further, nudged the top of her head with the muzzle of the gun. “You heard him.”
Cain picked it up. “Not to mention displaying your work. Sort of like tacking third-grade crayon drawings on the family fridge. Shouting ‘look at me. See how clever I am’.”
“And taking their heads as trophies,” Harper said. “Like collecting trinkets.”
“Yeah,” Cain said. “Daddy, look what I made for you in shop class.”
Norris rapped the gun muzzle against Cain’s scalp. “Shut the fuck up.”
Cain did. He and Harper had gotten the reaction they wanted. Best to let Tyler stew on it.
Fifteen minutes later, the SUV turned off pavement onto an uneven gravel road. The behemoth rocked slightly and pebbles pinged the undercarriage. It crunched to a stop.
CHAPTER 62
The house was quiet. Cutler rang the doorbell, knowing Tyler wasn’t there, but continuing the narrative that if they were wrong about seeing him and Norris on the road, or if someone else was there, it would look like a more casual visit. As expected, no answer. Peering through the adjacent windows revealed a couple of lights on, but no one inside. She came off the porch to where Rankin stood, surveying the grounds.
They checked the garage, peering through the side door window. Dark, Tyler’s BMW inside.
A gravel drive forked off the paved one and led down and around the barn. They walked that way. Also dark, but the side door stood open. Cutler felt an electric current zip up her back. She looked at Rankin. He nodded, unholstered his service weapon.
Cutler pulled her own weapon, pointing it toward the ground, and approached. Rankin moved to her left, keeping a clear line of sight to the doorway.
She peeked inside.
“What the hell?”
“Are you kidding me?” Rankin said.
A large cage dominated the center of the space. Door open. No one there. She saw a blanket, an air mattress, two empty water bottles, and a toilet chair inside.
“Look at this,” Rankin said. He stood next to a pair of metal tables. The larger equipped with wide leather straps, the smaller supporting a pair of tattoo guns and an assortment of ink bottles.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” Cutler said. “Guess I have to now.”
“So, where’s the girl?”
“You think Cain and Harper have her?”
“Wouldn’t they have called?” Rankin asked.
“Maybe they want to get completely clear first.”
“So maybe they’re working their way back to Cain’s car?”
“Possible.” Cutler looked around. “But I don’t like it.”
“You got his number, right? Call him.”
She pulled her cell out, found Cain’s number in her recent call list, and punched it. It’s chirping caused her to wheel around toward a table near the wall. She walked that way.
“What the fuck?” She pointed to the two cell phones, three knives, and the Glock that littered its surface.
“I don’t like none of this,” Rankin said.
“He has them,” Cutler said. “In his goddamn SUV.”
“Guess we should’ve followed him,” Rankin said.
“Damn it.”
Rankin walked around her. Lifted a canvas sheet. “Oh, Jesus.” He tossed the covering aside.
Cutler gasped. “Are you kidding me?”
“Those have to be Rose and Cindy.”
“My god, Tyler Stenson has completely split from the program.” Cutler shook her head. “Call in a couple of the guys. Get them out here to protect the scene.”
“What if Tyler comes back?”
“Wish he would.” She led the way back outside. “We aren’t visiting or trespassing or whatever anymore. This is a crime scene.”
Rankin pulled his phone and made the call. He arranged for a couple of officers to come cover the scene and then asked that a BOLO be put out on Tyler’s SUV. They climbed in Rankin’s car.
“Tyler’s lost his freaking mind,” Rankin said.
“I think he did that a long time ago. Right now he’s trying to clean up a mess.”
“Where to?” Rankin asked.
“Martin Stenson’s place. Maybe he can tell us something that’ll help find his son.”
CHAPTER 63
The boat was nice. And expensive. Sleek white with a dark blue water line, maybe thirty-five feet, covered bridge with a pair of captain’s chairs. Perfect for skiing, fishing, or taking the family for a cruise on Tims Ford Lake. All driven by an engine with the horsepower to vibrate the hull.
Vibrations that Cain felt deep in his bones.
He and Harper lay side by side on the galley floor, Hank Dixon charged with keeping an eye on them, sitting at the small table, gun in hand. Chelsie up on the bridge with Tyler and Norris.
The rain and wind had kicked up, churning the water into a washboard that made the ride rough. Cain and Harper bounced against each other. Their wrists and arms were still bound, but the tape around their ankles had been removed. Made it easier for Tyler and crew to herd them on board and for them to descend into the galley under their own power. A strategic error on Tyler’s part. Gave Cain and Harper weapons. He was fairly skilled with his feet, Harper more so. If it came to that. If the opportunity arose. Cain knew it just might not.
“You okay?” Cain asked Harper.
“All things considered, I’m peachy.”
“Shut up,” Dixon said.
Cain looked up at him. “How’d Tyler drag you into this?”
“Who says he did? Maybe it was my idea.”
“It wasn’t,” Harper said. “You’re a follower.”
Dixon recoiled, his head jerking back. “You don’t know shit.”
“I know losers. Weak sisters. Seen a million of them.”
Dixon turned in his seat. Kicked her hip. “You say another word and I’ll splatter your brains all over this boat.”
“No, you won’t,” Harper said. “Not without permission.”
He kicked her again. Harder.
“Not to mention that would leave a ton of forensic evidence to deal with.”
“Ever tried to clean up a crime scene?” Cain asked. “All that blood and brain tissue; it seeps into nooks and crannies. I can see you mopping the floor, scrubbing the walls, even on your hands and knees with a toothbrush, and still you’ll end up on death row.”
Dixon tapped the gun muzzle on the table top. “You guys think you’re clever, don’t you?”
Cain smiled at him. “It’s been said. But what I’m unsure about is how clever you are.”
/> Now, Dixon smiled. “Enough so that you’re the one on the floor wrapped up like a mummy.”
“And you’ll be the one in handcuffs,” Harper said.
“Not likely. You won’t be around to see it anyway.”
“So, you’re just going to blindly follow Tyler’s orders? Let his personal demons lead you to prison?”
Dixon stared at her.
“He’s crazy. You know that, don’t you?” Harper said. “This is his game, not yours. His pathology. His daddy issues. You can still unwind it. For yourself, anyway.”
“I think it’s a little late for that. Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”
“So you helped hunt down the two women?” Cain asked.
“Not the first one. She escaped before Tyler finished his work.”
Suspicions confirmed.
“But the second one?” Harper asked.
He shrugged.
“Was it your bolt that killed her?” Harper asked.
Dixon shook his head. “Ted won that round.”
“So you didn’t actually kill anyone?”
“Like that matters.”
“Sure it does,” Cain said. “If you tell the truth you might buy your way to a lesser charge. With luck and a good lawyer, you might even walk.”
Tyler descended the stairs, stopping halfway down, ducking his head, peering into the galley. “Everything okay down here?”
“All good,” Dixon said.
“Ten minutes and we’ll be there.” Tyler climbed back to the deck.
Cain felt the boat veer to starboard, then straighten again.
“Ten minutes,” Harper said. “What you decide in the next ten minutes will change your life forever.”
“So this is your divide and conquer strategy?” Dixon said. “Convince me to save your asses?”
“And yours,” Cain said.
Dixon smiled, nodded. “Exactly how do you see that working?”
“Cut us loose,” Cain said. “Give her the gun. We’ll take it from there.”
“Give her the gun? Not you?”
“She’s a better shot.”
“Never would’ve figured that. I guess life’s full of surprises.”
