“I love you, too, Mom,” he told her.
He wasn’t even sure if he meant it. But he knew himself well enough to know he would regret not saying it if she died on the table. And he knew she needed to hear it. It cost him nothing to give her those words. It would cost him everything not to. So he told what might have been a lie. And he saw the relief in his mother’s eyes as he stepped back and let the doors close.
He lowered his head, pinched his nose with his fingers, closed his eyes.
Someone clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s in good hands,” a man said.
Lifting his head, Gabe turned to see Bryan Kendall standing behind him, along with another uniformed officer. “We were looking for Carrie.”
Gabe sniffed hard and tried to push his way through the overwhelming fog of emotion that had taken over his brain. “I thought she was with you.”
Carrie was on her way to the little B and B where Ambrose Peck had been staying. She’d phoned Bryan about the mark on Rose’s face and the ring Ambrose had been wearing, and he’d said he would head out there to meet her and see what he could learn.
She knew the owner, Barbie Law, a woman in her mid-fifties with a heart as big as all outdoors and a love for gossip that was almost as huge. Barbie would feel terrible about what had happened to Sam, even while being thrilled to be at the center of it all. The after-hours visit from the police wouldn’t bother her at all and would, in fact, only add drama to the story when she retold it to anyone who would listen. She would probably make them tea and serve cookies.
Mentally preparing herself not to let Barbie’s tendencies get to her, Carrie jumped when the phone rang and pulled her car off to the side before answering.
Ambrose Peck’s name was on the screen.
Her heart in her throat, Carrie stopped the car and answered the phone, schooling her voice to be utterly calm. Don’t let him know you know he’s the one, she thought. Do let him know you’re upset. He would expect you to be upset. He knows Sam is missing.
She drew a breath and hit the answer button. “Hello?”
“Carrie, it’s Ambrose. I need your help. Are you alone?”
“Yes, Ambrose. I’m alone. What—what’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m with Sam. He needs you, Carrie. He’s…well, he’s sick.”
She felt her heart go cold and instantly dropped her act. When she spoke again, the words emerged in a tone gone dangerously low. “What do you mean, he’s sick?”
“His asthma,” Ambrose said. “I didn’t know. He’s…he’s having an attack. He says he needs his inhaler—and—”
“Just tell me where you are. I’ll come.” She had no idea what the hell was going on. Her son didn’t have asthma, so what the— Wait a minute. Sam had seen enough asthma attacks to know how to fake one. They were noisy and dramatic, and always got everyone’s attention and brought everything to a halt. Maybe he was faking.
“I have an extra inhaler in my bag,” she said. “Along with his pills. If it’s severe, he might need something stronger. He could die without help. Ambrose, you don’t want him to die.”
“No, no, I don’t want that. But you have to come alone. If you don’t—”
“I will. I’ll come alone. Where are you?”
“There’s a road through the state forest that leads to a fire tower,” he said. “Do you know it?”
“Yes. We just call it Tower Road.”
“There’s a hunting cabin about halfway up. Barely discernible dirt track. A gate at the front with a faded No Trespassing sign. We’re there. You really do need to come alone. Don’t call anyone—especially the police. Just bring his medicine. And then you have to leave again. Do you understand?”
“I’m not a stupid woman, Ambrose.”
“I never thought you were.”
“I’ll be there just as fast as I can,” she promised, the car already in motion.
“Here’s what we know,” Bryan said as he led Gabe out of the hospital and into the cool night air so they could speak without the possibility of anyone overhearing them. “We got Peck’s credit card info from Barbie Law at the B and B and ran a background check on him. And the thing is, Ambrose Peck is seriously ill. He’s been in and out of psych wards since he was in his teens, and he has a history of going off his meds as soon as he feels better. He also has a history of stalking—gets obsessed with a woman, invents a relationship that never happened, then can’t figure out why she pretends not to know him. That’s what got him fired from his last job, which actually was as a financial advisor.”
“And I was so eager to give him the benefit of the doubt.” Gabe felt his heart flip-flop in his chest. “So do you think he has Sam?”
“I do. He was helping Nate Kelly, giving him financial advice, and somehow he got access to one of the cabins. I suspect Nate found out and Ambrose had to kill him. I don’t know. I haven’t put it all together yet, but I think we’re close.”
“And what about Carrie? Where the hell is she?” Gabe asked, looking up at the night sky helplessly.
“I don’t know. She never showed up at the B and B, so I just figured she got held up here.”
“I’m getting worried,” Gabe said. “She’s not answering her cell or her home phone, and she’s not here. I don’t know what to think.”
“But you’re thinking something. I can see you are.” Bryan studied him and Gabe thought the guy was a good cop and apparently a decent human being, as well.
“If she’s not here, she’s out looking for Sam. But where?”
Just then his phone rang. Gabe damn near jumped out of his skin, but he picked it up fast, not even looking at the name on the call ID. “Carrie?”
“Yeah. It’s me, but if you’re with anyone, you need to pretend it’s not. Understand?”
He frowned, glancing up at Bryan, shaking his head side to side. “Bill. Sorry, I was hoping you were someone else.”
“So you’re not alone?”
“No.”
“I don’t have time to wait for you to get that way, so I’ll keep it simple. There’s a hunting shack three miles up Tower Road. You’ll know it by the gate and the No Trespassing sign at the end of the overgrown path that used to be a driveway. He told me to come alone, and I don’t dare tell the cops. I’m almost there now. Get here as soon as you can, but be quiet and be careful.”
“Um, I know you’re in a hurry, Bill, but I’d really prefer you wait for my input on this.”
“No can do. Get a map and get up here.” She hung up, just like that. Bryan was watching him way too closely, Gabe realized. And his mother was having brain surgery.
“Bill, things here are a little crazy right now,” he said into the dead phone. “I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.” He folded his cell phone, and dropped it into his pocket. Then he looked at Bryan. “Look, you should be finding out all you can about this Ambrose Peck and hunting for any sign of his car. I need to stay here. My mother is having brain surgery. I can’t leave, not even to go looking for Carrie.”
Bryan nodded slowly. “I understand. All right, I’m heading back to the station. If Carrie calls, let me know. If we don’t hear from her within the hour, I’m putting out an APB on her car, too.”
“Good. Thanks for updating me, Kendall.”
“You’re welcome.”
Bryan got into his car, and Gabe turned to head back toward the hospital doors, but only until Bryan’s car was out of sight. As soon as the cop was gone, Gabe ran to his Volkswagen, got in and turned on the GPS system, programming a course for Tower Road in Shadow Falls.
The little machine told him it was “Planning Route” while he drummed his fingers impatiently, but finally the screen filled itself with a colorful back-lit map. ETA: thirty minutes, the machine told him. And that was thirty minutes too damned long. Gabe started the engine and hit the gas.
19
Carrie turned the cell phone’s ringer off and then hid it in the crotch of a crabapple tree outside the cab
in where her son was being held prisoner. She saw the glowing light inside and hurried closer, walking as softly and as quickly as she could. In her hand, she clutched the inhaler she kept in her medical bag for emergencies, even though she was sure her son didn’t need it, and the bag itself hung from her arm. She had left her car out at the road, a good thirty yards away, to make it easier for Gabe to find her and harder for Ambrose to know exactly when she was coming.
But he would know anyway. She was sure of it.
God, she was still stunned by the knowledge that Rose was Sam’s grandmother. Gabe’s mother. A woman who had used her own son to extort money from a superstar. Gabe had told her how strained his relationship with his mother was. And she knew that finding her here in town had been a shock to him, too. She’d been hard on him. Too hard, maybe.
Rose had tried to fight off a murderer and taken a serious injury in the process, all in an effort to save Sam. Carrie found herself believing the older woman’s story. Believing her.
Why, then, was it so hard for her to believe Gabe? He’d told her once, before she’d learned the truth about him, that his feelings for her had been real. She’d been waiting for him to tell her again. To prove it to her. But maybe she should have listened to the wisdom of her son and just believed him. Just decided to believe him. It was what she wanted to be true, what she hoped was true. Why not just decide to believe it?
Such a radical notion. But it was feeling more and more like a valid one. Even to her.
But none of that mattered now. All that mattered right now was getting Sam back safe and sound.
She crept closer, edging around to one side of the cabin to peer through a dirty window. Inside, she saw Sam lying on the floor, some wadded-up bundle—a shirt, perhaps—under his head for a pillow. His eyes were closed. Ambrose was pacing—and holding a gun in his hand.
Backing away from the window, Carrie went to the cabin’s only door and hoped to God Ambrose didn’t intend to just shoot her once he had what he wanted.
She tapped on the door, then jumped backward when she heard him moving toward it. He opened it just a crack, looked left and right, then opened it farther. “Come inside. Quick!”
Carrie darted into the cabin, her eyes on her son. “Sam? Sam, honey, are you okay?” He didn’t answer, and she turned accusing eyes on Ambrose. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. You brought the inhaler?”
“Did you give him anything? Did you drug him the way you did poor Kyle?”
“I didn’t give him anything. It’s his asthma, I tell you. Give him the inhaler and let’s get on with this.”
She almost blurted that an inhaler didn’t work very well when the asthmatic was unconscious, but she bit the words back. Ambrose didn’t need to know that, and Sam didn’t need the inhaler, anyway. If something was truly wrong with him, it wasn’t asthma. Trembling, Carrie knelt beside Sam, holding the inhaler near enough to his lips to make it look convincing and depressing it, so it released a short sharp puff of medication.
As Carrie bent over him, blocking his face from Ambrose’s view, Sam opened his eyes slightly, winked at her and closed them again. Thinking fast, she backed away. “It’s this dust! He’s allergic. And it’s a deadly allergy, Ambrose. It could kill him. We need to get him out of this filthy cabin.”
“He’s not going anywhere until I’m ready.”
“Then he’ll die,” she said softly. “Why did you take him, Ambrose? Why did you take my son?”
“My son,” he said. “He’s my son. Not yours.”
“And this is how you treat your son? You take him to a place that could kill him?”
Ambrose frowned, pursed his lips, paced a few steps one way, then a few steps the other. Finally he turned. “All right, we’ll take him outside for a little while. But don’t try anything, Carrie. I’m warning you.”
“I wouldn’t risk his life for anything in the entire world, Ambrose. I think you know that.”
He held her eyes, searching them. Carrie went on, hoping the power of suggestion would be as effective on him as she had seen it be on certain patients. “You can see that I’m telling the truth by looking into my eyes. So look, and see. I mean it.”
Ambrose stared for a long moment, and then, finally, he bent and scooped Sam up in his arms. Sam did a great job of pretending to be deadweight as Ambrose carried him out into the darkness of a night in the forest. A tiny patch of star-dotted sky was all that was visible between the fragrant limbs of the overhanging pines. Ambrose laid Sam down in the grass, then straightened, looking around. “Where’s your car?” he asked.
“I left it by the road. I didn’t think it would make it up here.” Then, with an idea taking root in her mind, she added, “I’ll be lucky if it’s still there when I go back for it. I was so distracted, I left the keys inside.” Then she knelt beside Sam again and set her medical bag on the ground beside her. She took out her stethoscope and made a show of listening to his breathing.
“He needs water. He’s terribly dehydrated.” Turning her head toward Ambrose, who hunkered beside her, she said, “Do you have any water here?”
“Some bottles. Inside.”
“Would you get him one?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot, Carrie?”
She shot him a look as she took hold of Sam’s hand where he couldn’t see. “What do you think he’s going to do, Ambrose? Suddenly recover from an asthma attack and—” she squeezed Sam’s hand, hard, so he would understand that she was telling him exactly what to do “—make a run for it while you’re gone? Go to my car and take off in search of help?”
She saw Sam’s face tense, and he shook his head so slightly it was nearly imperceptible.
“He wouldn’t leave me here with you, for one thing,” she said. “Even if he knew you were going kill me no matter what.” Squeeze. “He’s just a kid. He’d never realize that his escaping would be my only chance.” Squeeze. “Besides, he can’t even walk. Look how blue his skin is. He’s oxygen deprived. And if you really believed he was your son, you’d be doing something about it instead of worrying about protecting your own interests.”
“You’re trying to trick me, Carrie.”
“Fine. I’ll go get the water. But don’t even pretend to think you could be related to Sam. You’re evil, and he’s nothing like you. My son knows enough to always do the right thing. Always. No matter what.”
She rose to her feet and strode toward the cabin, her heart beating a thousand miles an hour as she prayed Sam would do the right thing when she created an opportunity for him. He was an athlete. He was young and strong, and he could outrun damn near every kid on his soccer team, not to mention he could drive like a pro. He could do this. He could get away.
She opened the cabin door and spoke loudly to absolutely no one. “Who the hell are you, this maniac’s accomplice?” And then she threw herself inside as if being jerked by some unseen hand, and slammed the door behind her.
Immediately she went for the lantern, blowing out the flame. Then she hurled it through the only unbroken window, shattering the glass.
Barely a second passed before Ambrose was slamming through the cabin door, peering inside. He struck a match and held it high, looking around the room. And then he saw her standing there, and his eyes widened as she brought the iron frying pan around in a home run swing.
Quicker than she’d expected him to, he ducked, dropped the match and tackled her with his head and shoulders to her midsection. His momentum carried her backward until they smashed into the wall, the impact forcing the air from her lungs.
She brought her hands up and clawed his face, his neck, yanked his hair. He backed off, tugging free of her and swinging a fist to her face. It connected, and then he turned, lunging for the door. She leaped onto his back, linking her arms around his neck and squeezing for all she was worth. She had to hold him off, had to give Sammy time to get away. She told herself he was running even now, heading for the road, for her car. He could ma
ke it. He would make it.
Ambrose growled and backed up hard until he smashed her into the stovepipe that thrust up through the ceiling. It clattered to the floor, and she felt soot raining down on her as she reached behind her to clasp a length of the broken pipe. She brought it around in a two-handed roundhouse, but only managed to hit him in the shoulder.
Ambrose swung at her with his other arm. His fist connected, and her head snapped back, hitting the cast-iron woodstove as she fell to the floor.
She saw stars, even though she was indoors. And her final thought was of Sammy. Please, she prayed, let him have had enough time.
Gabe was pushing the VW Bus harder than he had ever pushed any vehicle, up the twisting cow path that his GPS told him was Tower Road. The curves were so snakelike and sudden that the bus kept losing its footing and skidding around them, as if the loose gravel were standing water.
He was terrified at the thought of Carrie facing down that madman alone. The fear of losing her was as big as his fear of losing the son he’d only just found. He refused to consider the possibility that he would lose either one of them.
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
And so he pressed harder on the gas, then nearly lost control when he saw headlights bounding toward him. At the last minute he recognized Carrie’s minivan. She apparently recognized the bus, too, because she skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust and got out.
Except it wasn’t her.
“Sam!” Gabe wrenched his door open and got out, too, running to the boy. He wrapped his arms around Sam, hugging him hard. “Thank God, thank God!”
“No.” Sam was twisting against his embrace. “Gabe, let go! We’ve gotta go back for Mom!”
Gabe dropped his arms. “Ambrose has her?”
“Yeah, and I’m afraid he’ll kill her when he figures out I’m gone. The guy’s completely insane, Gabe.” He pulled free and raced around to the passenger side of the bus. “Get in. Come on!”
Kiss Me, Kill Me Page 27
