“On their way. I told them she took off up the trail.”
I nodded; glad the call had gone through. “They’ll follow our tracks. No problem finding us in this snow. Aria!” I called. “Wait up.”
The girl disappeared around a bend.
“Aria! Please!”
Mickey joined in, cupping his hands over his mouth to yell after the girl. “Hey, Aria. Wait up.”
We stopped for a second to catch our breath, then continued our struggle up the mountain. Even using Aria’s footprints, it was torture. Lift one leg up high, set it down in the deep hole. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
By the time we reached the bend around which she’d vanished, my legs burned and I was drenched under my winter clothes. I needed to stop and catch my breath, and hunched over with my hands on my thighs. “Ugh. I thought I was in shape.”
Mickey took my arm and pointed. “Wait. Isn’t that her?”
My heart stopped. “Oh, God, please, no.”
Aria lay flopped in the snow, just ahead on the trail.
We doubled our speed, gulping in cold air and clambering up the hill until we reached her. The girl lay on her side, breathing hard, pale and perspiring.
“Aria! Honey. What’s wrong?” I stroked her face with my mittened fingertips and lifted her head to my lap. “Sweetheart. Are you okay? How can we help?”
She mumbled her answer. “Jus…tired. So tired.”
The leukemia. Her mother said the remission is over. It’s coming back.
Mickey looked helplessly at me, crouching beside the girl on the other side. “What’s wrong with her? How can we help her?”
“We need to get her to the hospital. She has leukemia.”
A frightened expression passed over his face. “That’s cancer, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” I zipped up Aria’s jacket, which had been flapping open as she ran. “Can you carry her down?”
He took a deep breath. “No problem. I’ve got her.” Leaning down, he slid one arm under her knees and another beneath her arms. He staggered a little, but straightened and walked stiff-legged through the deep snow back to the trail. “Aren’t you coming?” he yelled over his shoulder.
“I’m going up. Maybe I can help the other girls before he comes back.”
“You should wait for the cops,” he shouted.
“I know. But…” I looked up the hill, thinking about Ginny and Annie. “I have to try.”
“It’s too dangerous!” he hollered, but his words faded in the still forest, softening into the white blanketed woods.
With renewed determination, I followed Aria’s tracks up the hill.
I can do this.
At least it’s stopped snowing.
As the hill steepened, my progress slowed to a miserable crawl. I wasn’t cold, in fact, I was unbearably hot. In a frenzy that almost mirrored panic, I loosened my scarf and unzipped my parka, then stuffed my hat in a pocket. Freed of the strangling sensation of overheating, I felt better. My hair was damp from sweat, but the cool air ruffled it, refreshing me.
I stopped every ten or fifteen feet to rest, let my heartbeat come back to normal, listening to the winter birds who chirped with such innocence and joy. Didn’t they know of the danger lurking nearby? Had they no sense of impending disaster? Hadn’t they heard the cries of the women in the cabin?
Sometimes I’d drop into the snow, not caring that my knees were wet. I had to rest the throbbing muscles. I thought running up Cratsley Hill every morning would have toughened me for this type of workout, but climbing in snow was another whole adventure, using different muscles because I had to lift my feet and legs so high to maneuver through the deep drifts.
After my third rest, I started up the hill again. Toward the top, young beech tree saplings grew close together, so I was able to use them as leverage to help me climb. I leaned against a tree, pulling off my mittens. My hands were hot and perspiring, and it felt as if the temperatures must have reached the forties. I stuffed them in my pockets and took five more steps.
Ahead, in a small clearing, stood a cabin. Smoke coiled from its metal pipe chimney. I faced what seemed to be its rear entrance, which was flanked by a porch filled with firewood. The tin roof was covered in pine needles. A few windows glistened in the sunlight, blocking all views of the interior. I wondered if it was my firewood, but quickly tossed the idea to the wind.
Nothing mattered except helping Ginny and Annie.
My breath hitched in my throat. I surveyed the area carefully. No car or snowmobile was visible, but I worried that maybe a vehicle could be parked on the other side, out of my view. Warily, trying to stay low so I wouldn’t be seen from inside, I crept around the building in a wide semi-circle.
On the far side near the front door and porch, the parking area came into sight. Snowmobile tracks led to and from the building outlining a road cut through the dense pines. It curved into the distance and down the other side of the hill. All was quiet.
That’s how he’s getting up here. And that’s how he’ll come back.
Listening hard, I heard only the weeka, weeka sound of a male cardinal and the soft sighing of the wind in the pine branches above. No roaring of a mechanical sled. No angry voice of a madman. No crashing of dishes. No screams from his victims.
I shuddered. I needed to stop my crazy imagination and just do something before the creep returned.
Hurry.
I heard the words in my head as if someone else was speaking.
Aria must have come out the back way, because her tracks led toward a plain board door with a lift latch in the rear of the cabin.
Carefully, I inched toward the building and crouched beneath a window. Perspiring heavily and with my heart hammering, I grabbed the windowsill with my fingers and lifted my eyes just enough to see inside.
There, against the far wall, a young girl sprawled on a cot, one hand shackled to the metal frame. Blonde and tiny, she looked like a doll discarded by a bored toddler, with hair mussed, dirty, torn clothing, and an expression of despair on her face. To the right, Ginny lay on a couch, her leg propped on pillows. Fear stamped her features, and a huge red welt covered one cheek.
How the hell am I going to get them out of there? I thought furiously, considering and rejecting ideas as quickly as they came to my rattled brain.
As if God had deigned to make it a little easier for me, the wind blew and a door on the far end of the porch creaked open. It belonged to a tiny shed attached to the side of the porch. With hope hitching inside me, I crept inside, hunting through the tools.
Clippers. Post hole digger. Axe. Chain saw. Fishing poles. Knives.
Bolt cutters.
Pay dirt.
With heart thudding, I slid a knife into my pocket and grabbed the cutters, stealing toward the back door.
Chapter 42
I slid the door open about an inch, but even though I’d barely touched it, it squealed as if I’d stepped on its fragile toes. With blood roaring in my ears, I pressed an eye to the crack. I saw only the girls inside, their faces expectant and hopeful.
Ginny’s hushed voice reached me first. “Aria?” She sounded half-excited, half-worried. I totally understood her concerns. If her daughter came back, they all might be freed. But Aria also might be killed if Valentino’s partner returned too soon.
With the bolt cutters in my trembling hands, I stepped inside. “It’s me. Marcella.”
Ginny’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God. Marcella?”
Annie’s face twisted in surprise, but her voice sounded weak. “Who’s she?” She looked to Ginny for help.
“A friend,” Ginny said, still wearing a shocked expression. “How the heck did you find us?” She peered behind me. “Is Sky with you? And where’s my daughter?”
I hurried inside, wielding the bolt cutters as if I cut through handcuffs and chains every day of my life. “Aria’s safe. She’s on her way to the hospital.” I walked briskly to Annie’s side. “We met her down on the r
oad. We called the cops. They’ll be coming soon.” I brought the cutters up, trying to get them in the best position. It wasn’t easy. “And no, Sky’s not here. It’s only me.”
I caught her look of disappointment. Or was it fear?
“Sorry.” I opened the jaws over the chain that held Annie to the bed and clamped down hard. “Honey, I can’t get those bracelets off you, but at least you’re free.” I found a pink jacket on the table beside her, guessed it was hers, and tossed it at her. “Hurry. Put this on and head down the trail toward Route 30. That’s how the cops will be coming up.” I pointed to the woods in the direction I’d just come.
She looked blankly at me, then at Ginny. “How will you get Ginny out of here?”
Ginny pointed to her leg, grimacing. “I broke it.”
“Aria told me.” I ushered Annie out the door. “We’ll figure something out. But you need to get out of here. Now.” I shoved her when she hesitated. “Move.” I smiled grimly. “And don’t look back.”
Annie shivered, took one last look at Ginny, and hurried out the door. I watched her enter the woods on the same path I’d climbed earlier. With a small sigh of relief, I turned back to Ginny.
“Now. How are we going to get you down the mountain?” I hurried toward the cot where Annie had been chained. It was one of those camp cots with foldable legs, made of aluminum and canvas. The thing was bolted to the wall, but that wasn’t a problem. I cut it free in seconds, feeling quite accomplished. I hoped it wasn’t a false sense of security building inside me. I needed to stay on my toes.
“Come on. You can lie on this, we’ll use it like a toboggan. I’ll slide you down the hill.”
Ginny looked nervously toward the front door, her face fluid with fear. “Oh my God. He’ll be back soon. Please hurry.”
I yanked the chain from the legs of the cot and maneuvered it toward Ginny. It wasn’t heavy. “Can you hop to the door?”
She nodded. “Damn right I can. Nothing’s stopping me from getting out of here now.”
I helped her up, grabbed a walking stick leaning against the hearth, and within a minute I had her bundled in her parka and gloves. She leaned against the woodpile on the back porch. I dragged the cot out, collapsed the legs, and helped her lie down on it.
“Hold tight, Ginny.” I found a rope in the shed and snaked it through the head of the bed. “Okay, now I can pull you forward.”
At first the legs stuck in the snow, making the cot jerk and stutter. With a bit of fussing with it, I was able to flip it over, so they were no longer a cumbersome drag beneath it.
“Okay. We’re good to go.”
I momentarily froze when a snowmobile’s engine prowled in the distance, getting louder as it climbed the mountain. I briefly squeezed Ginny’s hand in encouragement, but didn’t stop sliding her along the trail.
She clutched my arm. “Oh, God. It’s him. Hurry!”
I ran ahead again and pulled with all my might, walking in the deep holes we’d made earlier and dragging Ginny on the side of the trail. We made it to the woods, but I realized in terror that he’d be able to track us down the hill just as easily as the cops would hopefully track us in the opposite direction.
“Hurry!” Ginny whispered again. Her eyes widened.
My heart cantered beneath my ribs. I leaned into the rope, straining to move her faster. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Where are the police?
The snowmobile’s engine growled louder, and suddenly went dead silent. Behind us, I heard a door crash open. A man cursed, spewing words in a violent torrent.
Ginny’s face turned to a mask of horror. “He’s back. Oh, God. He’s back.” She looked up at me. Fear stamped her features. “Run, Marcella. Save yourself.”
I’d never met the man, but horror took hold of me and I felt myself weaken in terror. With all the courage I could summon, I fought to steel myself. “No.” I said, my voice quaking. “I’m not leaving you.”
Had the trail been straight, I would have jumped on the cot with her and used it like a toboggan. But the path curved and twisted through the woods. No way could we ride it down the hill without crashing into one of the trees.
Just as I leaned hard into the rope again, a figure appeared above on the crest of the hill.
Tall, gray-haired, and looking like a man completely out of his element, he pointed a rifle at me. “Not another step.” He spoke with measured words, as if he were groomed for public speaking.
Somehow I pictured his voice resonating in a stately, paneled hall. It was totally incongruous and ridiculously bizarre, but the sensation of him being out of place in this wilderness was strong.
I stared at him, wondering why he looked familiar. There was something about him that niggled at me. I pictured him in a suit, posturing on TV, his arms waving, lots of other men around him. I couldn’t bring his name to mind yet, but in a flash I knew he was someone who’d been on the news lately.
“Spencer. No.” Ginny’s voice warbled with fear, but she tried to sound authoritative. “You can’t hurt this woman. She’s an innocent bystander. You have to stop.”
Spencer walked calmly toward us, grabbed the rope from me, and turned the sled around. He poked my back with the rifle. “Back to the cabin.”
When I didn’t move, he shoved the gun harder into my spine. “Now.”
I started to trudge back up the hill, looking behind me for the cops and wondering why in God’s name they hadn’t arrived yet.
Had Mickey really gotten through to them? Did they realize how dangerous this man was? Had Mickey made sure the cops understood the gravity of the situation? Or had he reached some clerk who wrote it down on a note that got lost? I pictured a post-it note fluttering to the floor beneath a desk.
No. That can’t be it. He called 911 and they don’t take those calls lightly.
I shuddered inside. It was taking way too long. I should have heard the sirens. Or voices. Or something.
But the mountain remained silent.
“Where are the girls?” Spencer asked, as if we were taking tea in the parlor.
I turned to him. “Annie’s long gone,” I said. “And Aria—”
Ginny interrupted me, her voice dripping with acid. “Your daughter is in the hospital.”
His daughter?
“Whoa.” I looked up with surprise. “You’re Aria’s father?”
Ginny’s expression hardened. Her eyes narrowed with bright anger.
Spencer yanked on the rope, almost dislodging her from the cot. “No more talking.” His mouth set in a taut line and he tugged harder on the cot. “You both just shut the hell up.”
Well, that isn’t a very patrician-sounding thing to say. Who are you, Spencer, and why do you want to kill your daughter and her mother?
Chapter 43
It came to me in a flash.
Spencer Troy. Congressman Spencer Troy. The guy who’d been filibustering on TV last week, for twenty-two hours straight, against some conservative black federal judge appointee.
Spencer Troy. Darling of the Democratic Party. Rumored to possibly be next in line for the presidential run in 2016.
I stared at him after he pushed me inside and roughly maneuvered Ginny back onto the couch. With his wavy silver hair that probably came from plugs and decked all in L.L.Bean outdoor gear, he stood imperiously, his presence commanding, his take-charge expression non-negotiable.
I hated him instantly.
Perched on one of the worn-out stuffed chairs, I fumed, crossing my arms tight over my chest. “I know who you are.” I glared at him. “You’re a congressman. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Ginny sneered at him, venom dripping from her words. “Oh, it’s not what’s wrong with him. It’s what’s wrong with Aria.” She bit back a sob and pointed to him, her finger shaking. “He didn’t want the world to know he sired a child out of wedlock. And he didn’t want to help her, either.”
Spencer’s cheeks reddened, but he spoke in measured tones. “If you hadn’t contac
ted me back in October, I wouldn’t have known about the child. You’d be safe, you idiot.”
Ginny screamed now. “The child’s name is Aria. And she’s sick. She needs your bone marrow, you selfish son of a bitch.”
My head spun from one to the other, watching and listening in disbelief. I felt like I was living through Warren Adler’s The War of the Roses.
So that was it. Ginny had contacted the congressman after years of keeping quiet about his baby. It sounded as if he didn’t even know he had a child by Ginny until last fall. Maybe it had come as a real shock to him. And maybe his wife and family would’ve been horrified if they’d found out.
So, he decided to kill them? In this day and age? When every other politician was outed for having a mistress or a president could play around with an intern in the Oval Office with no real consequences?
“Hey, Spencer.” Rage boiled in me, but I tried to stay calm, at least on the inside. “How did you and Valentino hook up?” I asked. I wanted to keep him talking until the cops arrived. Right now he had no idea that we’d called them and they were hopefully on their way.
He picked up a grocery bag he’d set by the fireplace, studying my face with his cold blue eyes. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m Ginny’s friend,” I said. “I volunteer up at Project Hope.”
“Well, then, since you’re a friend, you can join us for the last supper.” He calmly lit two candles on a round kitchen table. “I’ve bought some nice things you can wear. I wanted Aria to be here for the ceremony, but I guess I’ll have to deal with her later. Do you like cod?”
Speechless, I just stared. And blinked.
Last supper? Cod? What the hell?
“Valentino,” I repeated. “How did you meet him?”
He chuckled, as if proud of himself. “Ah. Young Marcus, such a talented fellow.”
He turned to look at me with a sly grin. “I researched him very carefully. It was quite clever, really. As you probably have guessed, I needed to establish a string of murders within which my…er…offspring and her whore mother would be just a few sad cases littered among the other corpses.” He unpacked an aromatic container of rice and fish, plating it as if he were a five-star restaurateur. With a flourish, he placed basil leaves and orange slices on the plates. “Lovely.” He turned back to me, looking proud. “Marcus was just released from prison when I found him. He had quite a record. Oh, it was delightful. Attempted rapes, convicted rapes. You name it, he did it. Always pretty young girls, of course.”
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