by B. J Daniels
But he was smart enough to know that a man like Marc Stewart, when trapped, might do something stupid like kill an off-duty state deputy sheriff who was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
* * *
GILLIAN LOOKED OUT through the snow-filled pines as Marc drove. She couldn’t see the cabin from the road. She’d been here once before, but it had been in summer. The cabin sat on Island Park Reservoir just off Centennial Loop Trail. While old, it was charming and picturesque. At least that’s what she’d thought that summer she and her sister had spent a week here without Marc.
That had been before Rebecca and Marc had married, back when her sister had been happy and foolishly naive about the man she’d fallen in love with.
Gillian hugged herself as she remembered her sister’s text message just days before.
On way to your house. I’ve left Marc.
She’d tried her sister’s number, but the call went straight to voice mail. She’d texted back. Are you and Andy all right?
No answer. Helena was a good two hours away from Gillian’s home in Big Sky. Even the way her sister drove, Rebecca wouldn’t have arrived until after dark. Gillian had paced, checking the window anxiously and asking herself, “What would Marc do?” She feared the answer.
It was night by the time she finally saw her sister’s car pull up out front. Relieved to tears, she’d run outside without even a coat on. But it hadn’t been Rebecca in the car.
By the time she’d realized it was Marc alone and furious, it was too late. He’d grabbed her and thrown her into the trunk. She’d fought him, but he’d been so much stronger and he’d taken her by surprise. He’d slammed the trunk lid and the next thing she’d known the car was moving.
“Did you really forget your name?” Marc asked, dragging her out of her thoughts. He sounded amused at the idea. “Sometimes I’d like to forget my name. Hell, I’d like to forget my life.”
She didn’t tell him that pieces of memory had her even more confused. She’d remembered there was someone in the trunk of the car she’d been driving, but she hadn’t remembered it was her.
When Austin had returned to the cabin with the patrolman, he’d told her that the only thing he’d found in the trunk of the car was a suitcase. She’d been more confused.
It wasn’t until she’d laid eyes on her alleged husband that she’d remembered Marc forcing her into the trunk. When he’d stopped at a convenience mart in the canyon, she’d shoved her way out by kicking aside the backseat.
She hadn’t known where they were when she’d crawled out. He’d left the car running because of the freezing cold night. Not knowing where she was, she’d just taken off driving, afraid that he would get a ride or steal a car and come after her.
The next thing she remembered was waking up in a hospital with vague memories of the night before and a tall Texas cowboy.
“I’m curious. Where was it you thought you were going?” Marc asked. He sounded casual enough, but she could hear the underlying fury behind his words.
“I have no idea.” She’d been running scared. All she’d been able to think about was getting to a phone so she could call the police. Her cell phone had been in her pocket when she’d rushed out of her house, but Marc had taken it.
“You should have waited and run me down with the car.” Marc glanced over at her. “Short of killing me, you should have known you wouldn’t get away.”
She shuddered at the thought, but knew he was right. She had managed to get away from him, but not long enough to help herself or her sister. Maybe that had been a godsend. He’d told her at the hospital that if they didn’t get back to her sister soon, she would be dead.
Gillian hadn’t known then where he’d left Rebecca. But she’d believed him. He’d had her sister’s wedding band in his pocket. It wasn’t until Marc headed out of Bozeman that she’d figured out where he was taking her.
Now Marc slowed the Suburban as he turned down a narrow road with high snowbanks on each side. He drove only a short distance, though, before the road ended in a huge pile of snow. She glanced around as he pulled into a wide spot where the snow had been plowed to make a parking area. Other vehicles were parked there, most of them with snowmobile trailers.
“Here.” He tossed her a pair of gloves. A snowmobile buzzed past, kicking up a cloud of snow. “If you want to see your sister alive, you will do what I say. Try to make another run for it—”
“I get it.” As angry and out of control as he was, she feared what kind of shape her sister was in. Marc had told Austin that their son, Andrew Marc, was with his grandmother. That had been a lie since Marc’s parents were both dead and he had no other family that she knew of.
So where was Andy? Was he with his mother at the cabin? She didn’t dare hope that they were both safe.
Marc backed up to where he’d left his snowmobile trailer. Both machines were on it, Gillian noticed, and any hope she’d had that her sister might have escaped evaporated at the sight of them. Even if Rebecca was able to leave the cabin, she had no way to get out. The snow would be too deep. One step off the snowmobile and she would be up to her thigh in snow. As she glanced in the direction of the cabin, Gillian could see the fresh tracks that Marc had made in and back out again from the cabin on the deep snow. Neither trip had packed down the trail enough to walk on.
Marc cut the engine. She could hear the whine of snowmobiles in the distance, then an eerie quiet fell over the Suburban.
“Come on,” he said as he reached behind the seat for his coat. “Your sister is waiting.”
Was she? Gillian could only pray it was true as she pulled on the coat Austin had given her and climbed out into the falling snow. Even as she breathed in the frosty air, she prayed they hadn’t arrived too late. Marc had told her last night that if Rebecca was dead, it was her fault for taking off in the car and causing him even more problems.
The only thing that made her climb onto the back of the snowmobile behind her brother-in-law was the thought of her sister and nephew. Whatever was going on, Marc had brought her here for a reason. She couldn’t imagine what. But if she could save Rebecca and Andy...
Even as she thought it, Gillian wondered how she would do that against a man like Marc Stewart.
* * *
AUSTIN WAS PLEASED to find that driving a snowmobile wasn’t much different from driving a dirt bike. Actually, it was easier because you didn’t have to worry as much about balance. You could just sit down, hit the throttle and go.
With the GPS in his pocket, along with a map of the area, and his weapon strapped on beneath his coat, he headed for Marc Stewart’s cabin. The area was a web of narrow snow-filled roads that wove through the dense pines. From what he could gather, the Stewart cabin was on the reservoir.
He followed Box Canyon Trail until it connected with another trail at Elk Creek. Then he took Centennial Loop Trail.
He passed trees with names on boards tacked to them. Dozens of names indicating dozens of cabins back in the woods. But he had a feeling that the Stewart cabin wasn’t near a lot of others or at least not near an occupied cabin.
Snowmobiles sped past, throwing up new snow, leaving behind blue exhaust. It was snowing harder by the time he reached the spot on the GPS where he was supposed to turn.
He slowed. The tree next to the road had only four signs nailed on it. Three of them were Stewart’s. Off to his right, Austin saw a half dozen vehicles parked at what appeared to be the entrance to another trailhead that went off in the opposite direction from the Stewart family cabins.
The black Suburban was parked in front of a snowmobile trailer with one machine on it. There were fresh snow tracks around the spot where a second one must have recently been unloaded.
Austin double-checked the GPS. It appeared the cabin at the address the marshal had given him was a half mile down
a narrow road.
As he turned toward the road, he saw that there were several sets of snowmobile tracks, but only one in the new snow—and it wasn’t very old based on how little of the falling snow had filled it.
Marc and Gillian weren’t that far ahead of him.
Chapter Ten
The road Austin had taken this far was packed down from vehicles driving on it. But the one that went back into the cabins hadn’t been plowed since winter had begun so the snow was a good five or six feet deep.
Austin had to get a run at it, throttling up the snowmobile to barrel up the slope onto the snow.
Fortunately, the snowmobile ahead of him had packed down the new snow so once he got up on top of it, the track was fairly smooth. Still, visibility was bad with the falling snow and the dense trees. He couldn’t see anything ahead but the track he was on. According to the map, the road went past the Stewart cabins for another quarter mile before it ended beside the lake.
His plan was to go past the cabin where the snowmobile had gone, then work his way back. As loud as the snowmobile motor was, it would be heard by anyone inside the cabin. His only hope for a surprise visit would be if those inside thought he was merely some snowmobiler riding around.
A corner of a log cabin suddenly appeared from out of the falling snow. Austin caught glimpses of more weathered dark log structures as he continued on past. The shingled roofs seemed to squat under the layers of snow, the smaller cabins practically disappearing in the drifts.
No smoke curled out of any of the rock chimneys. In fact as he passed, he saw no signs of life at all. Wooden shutters covered all the windows. No light came from within.
He would have thought that the cabins were empty, still closed up waiting for spring—if not for the distinct new snowmobile track that cut off from the road he was on and headed directly for the larger of the three cabins.
Austin kept the throttle down, the whine of his snowmobile cutting through the cold silence of the forest as he zoomed past the cabins huddled in the pines and snow. He stole only a couple of glances, trying hard not to look in their direction for fear of who might be looking back.
* * *
MARC PULLED AROUND the back of the cabin and shut off the snowmobile engine.
Gillian could barely hear over the thunder of her heart. Her legs felt weak as she slipped off the back of the machine and looked toward the door of the cabin. The place was big and rambling, dated in a way that she’d found quaint the first time her sister had invited her here.
“Isn’t this place something?” Rebecca had said, clearly proud of what she called Stewart Hall.
The main cabin reminded Gillian of the summer lodges she’d seen on television. All of it told of another time: the log and antler decor, furniture with Western print fabric, the bookshelves filled with thick tomes and board games, and the wide screened-in front porch with its wicker rockers that looked out over a marble-smooth green lake surrounded by towering pines.
“It is picturesque,” Gillian had said, not mentioning that it smelled a little musty. “How often does Marc’s family get up here?”
“There isn’t much family left. Just Marc and me.” Rebecca’s hand had gone to her stomach. Her eyes brightened. “That’s why he wanted to start our family as soon as possible.”
“You’re pregnant?” Her sister and Marc had only been married a few months at that time. But Gillian had seen how happy her sister was. “Congratulations,” she’d said and hugged Rebecca tightly as she remembered how she’d tried to talk her out of marrying Marc and her sister had accused her of being jealous.
Now as she watched Marc pocket the snowmobile key, she wished she’d fought harder. Even when they were only dating, Gillian had seen a selfishness in Marc, a need to always be the center of attention, a need to have everything his way. He was a poor sport, too, often leaving games in anger. They’d been small things that Rebecca had ignored, saying no man was perfect.
Gillian wished she had fought harder. Maybe she could have saved Rebecca from a lot of pain. But then there would be no baby. No little Andy...
“You know what you have to do,” Marc said as he reached in another pocket for the key to the door.
She nodded.
“Do I have to remind you what happens if you don’t?” he asked.
Gillian looked into his eyes. It was like looking into the fires of hell. “No,” she said. “You were quite clear back at the motel.”
* * *
AUSTIN RODE FARTHER up the road until he could see another cabin in the distance. He found a spot to turn the snowmobile around. The one thing he hadn’t considered was how hard it would be to hike back to the Stewart cabins.
The moment he stepped off the machine, his leg sunk to his thighs in the soft snow. His only hope was to walk in the snowmobile track—not that he didn’t sink a good foot with each step.
He checked his gun and extra ammunition and then headed down the track. The falling snow made him feel as if he were in a snow globe. Had he not been following the snowmobile track, he might have become disoriented and gotten lost in what seemed an endless forest of snow-covered trees that all looked the same.
An eerie quiet had fallen around him, broken only by the sound of his own breathing. He was breathing harder than he should have been he realized. It had been months now since he’d been shot. That had been down on the Mexico border with heat and cactus and the scent of dust in the air, nothing like this. And yet, he had that same feeling that he was walking into something he wouldn’t be walking back out of—and all because of a woman.
A bird suddenly cried out from a nearby tree. Austin started. He couldn’t remember ever feeling more alone. When he finally picked up the irritating buzz of snowmobiles in the distance, he was thankful for a reminder of other life. The snow had an insulating effect that rattled his nerves with its cold silence. That and the memory of lying in the Texas dust, dying.
It seemed he’d been wrong. He hadn’t put it behind him, he realized with a self-deprecating chuckle. And now here he was again. Only this time, he didn’t know the area, let alone what was waiting for him inside that cabin, and he wasn’t even a deputy doing his job.
The structure appeared out of the falling snow. He realized he couldn’t stay on the track. But when he stepped off into the deep snow, he found himself laboring to move. It was worse under the trees, where it formed deep wells. If you got too close... He stepped into one and dropped, finding himself instantly buried. He fought his way to the surface like a swimmer and finally was able to climb out. The snow had chilled him. He’d never been in snow, let alone anything this deep and cold.
But his biggest concern was what awaited him ahead. He had no idea what he was going to do when he reached the main cabin. He needed to know what was going on inside. Unfortunately, with the shutters on all the windows, he wasn’t sure how to accomplish that.
As he neared the side, he saw an old wooden ladder hanging on an outbuilding and had an idea. It was a crazy one, but any idea seemed good right now. The snow was deep enough where it had drifted in on this side of the cabin that it ran from the roof to the ground. If he could lay the ladder against the snowdrift, it was possible he could climb up onto the roof. The chimney stuck up out of the snow only a few feet. With luck, he might be able to hear something.
The snowmobile that had made the recent tracks to the cabin was parked out back—just as he’d suspected. Steam was still coming off the engine, indicating that whoever had ridden it hadn’t been at the cabin long.
Austin took the ladder and, working his way through the snow, leaned it against the house and began to climb.
* * *
IT WAS LIKE a tomb inside the cabin with the shutters closed and no lights or heat on. Gillian stood in the large living room waiting for Marc to turn on a lamp. When he did, she
blinked, blinded for a moment.
In that instant, she saw the cabin the way it had been the first time she’d seen it. The Native American rugs, the pottery and the old paintings and photographs on the walls. The vintage furniture and the gleam of the wood floors.
She’d felt back then that she’d been transported to another time, one that felt grander. One she wished she’d had as a child. She’d envied Marc his childhood here on this lake. How she’d longed to have been the little girl who curled up in the hammock out on the porch and read books on a long, hot summer day while her little sister played with dolls kept in one of the old trunks.
If only they could have been two little girls who swam in the lake and learned to water-ski behind the boat with her two loving parents. And lay in bed at night listening to the adults, the lodge alive with laughter and summer people.
For just an instant, Gillian had heard the happy clink of crystal from that other time. Then Marc stepped on a piece of broken glass that splintered under his snowmobile boot with the sound of a shot. He kicked it away and Gillian saw the room how it was now, cold, dark and as broken as the lonely only child Marc Stewart had been.
Most of the lighter-weight furniture now looked like kindling. Anything that could be broken was. Jigsaw pieces of ceramic vases, lamps and knickknacks littered the floor, along with the glass from the picture frames.
The room attested to the extent of Marc Stewart’s rage—not that Gillian needed a reminder.
She looked toward the large old farmhouse-style kitchen. The floor was deep in broken dishes and thrown cutlery.
Past it down the hall, she saw drops of blood on the worn wood floor.
“Where’s my sister? Rebecca!” Her voice came out too high. It sounded weak and scared and without hope. “Rebecca?”
“She’s not up here,” Marc said as he kicked aside what was left of a spindle rocking chair.
The weight of the fear on her chest made it hard to even say the words. “Where is she?”
