The Millionaire's Wife

by Shalini Boland

  ‘Anna?’ His voice is faint. Distant.

  I follow the sound. Heel to toe, heel to toe, I move silently, tracking him. If he really is heading back to the cabin, I’ll need to work out how I’m going to get to Olivia before he does.

  As I draw closer to his position, I realise I don’t need to worry about losing him – he’s making more noise than a stampeding herd of elk. Thanks to his noisy progress, I’ll have time to check my compass, to make absolutely certain where he’s going. I stop, ease off my rucksack, and open the top strap with fumbling fingers. I extract my compass from the inside pocket and then, as an afterthought, I take out my brand new hunting knife, close and re-shoulder my pack.

  Holding the compass in my gloved hand, I click on its built-in light and take a moment to find true north. To get to the cabin, he should be heading southeast. I hope and pray he’s going in the wrong direction, but my prayers aren’t answered. Damn. He’s heading southeast, back to Olivia.

  I shove the compass in my pocket and unsheathe the knife, gripping it in my right hand, feeling a little more secure now I have a weapon, even though it’s no match for a gun. I pick up his trail once more, close enough to hear his progress, but far enough away to be out of danger. Starting to feel the chill again, I zip up my fleece. With every step he takes towards the cabin, my chances to stop him are becoming more and more limited. We’re probably an hour or so out given the slow rate at which he’s moving. I need to act now.

  With a sinking stomach, I realise I only have one option – to creep up on him from behind, stab him in the kidney and try to grab the gun. The thought of doing it makes me nauseous, sets my pulse racing.

  Thing is, I don’t really think I have a choice. Not if I want to keep my daughter safe.

  I need to get much, much closer without him hearing me. I’ll have to be almost on top of him to give me the element of surprise.

  Okay, I’m going to do it. Have to do it.

  Clutching my knife, I increase my pace, my heart lurching when I finally catch sight of him up ahead, a dark bumbling shape weaving through the trees, his arms wrapped around his body, the Ruger hanging loosely from his right shoulder.

  I match his steps to mask any sounds I might make. When he steps with his left foot, I use my left foot. When he steps with his right, I use my right. But I make sure to step a fraction earlier than he does as sound travels differently, and there’s a delay between his visual step and the sound of his step. We move like this for a while, I can’t say for how long. Time seems suspended one minute, racing forward the next.

  The snow has stopped falling, the clouds are clearing, temperature dropping fast. Fin is slowing down even more now, muttering to himself. Slowly, slowly, I’m catching up to him. My heart clatters so loudly, I’m convinced he’ll hear it, turn around and see me here, almost upon him. A cloud moves to reveal a half moon, illuminating him completely. His hair is covered in crystallised drops, his shoulders coated with snow. It’s now or never. I need to gather my courage and make my move. I grip the knife handle and hold the weapon out in front of me, its lethal blade glinting in the moonlight.

  But before I get the chance to act, Fin yells my name, almost giving me a heart attack. I freeze. Does he know I’m here? Has he seen me? I step back and duck behind a tree clamping my lips together to stop myself from whimpering in fear, almost dropping the knife. Do I wait here to be discovered, or do I make a run for it?

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  I decide to stay put behind the tree. Breaking my cover could give him a clear shot, but if I stay where I am, I can use the knife on him as soon as he gets close enough. I take a breath and hold it, listening hard.

  ‘You bitch!’ Fin shouts.

  I flinch and risk a peek. Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I see him swing around, pointing the rifle in all directions. I’m still holding my breath, not daring to breathe, convinced he’s about to uncover my hiding place and drag me out so he can shoot me. I need to be ready to act.

  ‘Where the fuck are you?’ he cries.

  Did he hear me creeping up on him? Or is this simply a random outburst of fear and anger?

  ‘Bitch,’ he mutters. ‘Leading me out into this pissing, freezing shit hole of a forest. Where the fuck is she? I’ll fucking kill her when I find her.’

  I don’t dare peer out again. I press my back hard against the tree trunk, wishing I could disappear into it. Hoping he doesn’t choose to head over this way. I stay where I am for what seems like forever, listening to him shuffle around, muttering and swearing. My core temperature is dropping again. I need to zip up my coat, but I’m scared it will make too much noise.

  I keep telling myself that it’s okay. I know this place. I know it. Fin is way out of his depth. Okay, yes, he has a gun, but a gun is no good if you can’t find your prey. And right now I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a clue that I’m only a few yards away listening to him lunge around in shambolic circles.

  After an interminable amount of time, there is no more muttering or shuffling so I take a chance and peer out at where he was last standing. I think he’s gone, but I can’t be sure so I look out from the other side of the tree. No, he’s definitely not there.

  I zip up my outer coat and pull on my woollen hat once more, revelling in the new warmth over my ears. Then I leave my hiding place and study the ground. His footprints are going in the wrong direction, heading west towards the lake. It looks as though he might have lost his bearings.

  This could be my chance. I could run back to the cabin now. All my maternal instincts are screaming at me to head back there and check on my daughter. But then my paranoia kicks in. What if Fin is watching me? My scalp tingles as I realise it could be a trick to lure me out of my hiding place so he can follow me out of the forest. But I really don’t think so. Fin was a shivering mess when I last saw him, I don’t believe he’s capable of thinking rationally out here. I can’t chance it, though. I need to find him, to check for myself.

  It doesn’t take me long to catch him up. He’s inching along at a painfully slow pace, stumbling in all directions, shaking with cold. I settle in behind him at a distance, tracking his every move, still holding my knife, just in case.

  Fin has been moving in meandering circles for a while, now. But despite his circuitous route, he’s also moving further and further away from Olivia, deeper and deeper into the wilderness. Winter has begun to bury its way into my clothing. It has chilled my skin and is attempting to penetrate my flesh. God only knows what levels of cold Fin is experiencing without a coat. I can’t believe he’s still upright, still ploughing onwards. It must be safe to leave him. I think I can finally head back to Olivia without fear of him following me. I’ll wait just ten minutes more to ensure he’s well and truly lost.

  I’m walking without thinking now, mesmerised by our slow progress. By the soft squeak of our boots in the snow. By the muffled hush of the forest at night. By the insistent cold biting into my body. But then something jolts me out of my hypnotic state. I hear it off in the distance. A noise I haven’t heard for years – the howl of wolves.

  Fin stops dead in his tracks, cocking his ear.

  I bite my lip and step behind a tree as he turns around slowly, three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, trying to determine the source of the sound. The pack is likely to be miles away, but Fin doesn’t know that. He’s probably shitting himself, probably thinks they’re hunting him. Swedish wolves are shy creatures and haven’t attacked humans in the wild for over a century. But Fin doesn’t know that, either.

  As if on cue, the howling starts up again, like something out of Twilight.

  ‘Fuck!’ His voice is hoarse, almost a sob. Fin scrabbles to get my brother’s hunting rifle from his shoulder, aiming in front of him as he spins around in every direction, probably terrified that a wolf is going to leap out and sink its fangs into his neck.

  ‘Oh my God!’ he cries. And then: ‘Anna!’ he hisses. ‘Anna! Are you there? Please be there.’

&nb
sp; His footsteps draw closer and I shrink back, hiding myself within the bushy branches of a Norway spruce. Seconds later, I see his dark shape ploughing through the trees towards me, clutching the rifle, his fair hair covered in frost, his face ashen, ears red, eyes wide with terror, tears freezing on his cheeks. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. But not quite.

  He blunders, unseeing, past my hiding place, calling out my name, praying to a god he doesn’t believe in to save him. I let him go. Watch him stagger and swerve northwards, deeper into the woods, heading away from civilisation, away from the lake towards miles and miles of ancient wilderness. No, Fin doesn’t need to worry about the wolves. It’s the cold night forest that will kill him.

  At that moment, I realise he’s probably not going to make it. He’ll likely die out here if I don’t help him. I may not have been able to kill him in cold blood earlier with the gun or with the knife, but I realise I’m quite capable of leaving him out here in the wild to die. I’m pretty sure we’re far enough into the forest for him to never find his way out again. Hypothermia will get him before that ever happens.

  The chill is deepening. Winter’s fingers have found their way to my bones. I’ve been living in the city for too long. My body has grown soft. More acclimatised to central heating than to this subarctic climate. My brain is slowing, but I’m lucid enough to know that I have to get back. That Olivia has already been on her own for far too long.

  First I need to boost my energy or I’m not going to make it. Stiff-limbed, I pull a power bar from my rucksack, tear open the wrapper with my teeth, and cram half the bar into my mouth. It’s almost frozen, but not quite. I chew carefully, making sure I warm it up in my mouth before swallowing. Then, still chewing, I check my compass, and turn and head back towards the cabin – or at least, to where I think the cabin is. I can’t afford to second-guess myself. I need to be decisive or I’m going to end up dead out here. And if I die, then what will happen to my baby girl?

  As I take my first steps back, my heart pounds with uncertainty. Is this the way? Am I lost, too? Don’t panic, stay calm. Sweat breaks out on my upper lip and on my back beneath my rucksack. The more I try to calm myself, the more I panic. I unzip my coat and fleece, trying not to lose control, trying to remember all my wilderness training. Panicking is the worst thing I can do out here. I’m tempted to dump my backpack so I can move more freely, but that would be a mistake. Don’t do it. Keep it on.

  Images of my daughter flash through my mind. How she’s all alone in the cabin, crying, terrified, worse . . . Don’t think like that. Don’t think about how long she’s been on her own. I need to put these thoughts out of my head or I’ll end up going crazy, making mistakes. No. I need to take deep breaths, slow my breathing. Look out for landmarks. Keep checking my compass. Keep moving forward. Not long now. Not long now . . . is it?

  As I pick my way through the gloom, the wolves continue to howl mournfully, sometimes sounding distant, other times close by, the air playing tricks on my hearing. Several times, I lose my footing, stumble forward over tree roots and other obstacles hidden beneath the snow. But I push myself back up onto my feet and keep going, alternately clenching my fists and flexing my gloved fingers to try to keep the circulation going in my hands.

  After a while, I’m trudging on autopilot, my legs aching but my mind distanced from the pain, my thoughts still with Olivia. Desperation keeps me moving. Right leg, left leg, right leg, left leg. There are no features I recognise on my route. Just snow on the ground, dark sky above, trees all around. Always the same. Keep checking my compass. Don’t cry. Don’t panic. Don’t think about being lost. Think about getting back to my baby. Keep breathing. Keep going.

  I realise the wolves have stopped howling. Perhaps they’re hunting. A twisted part of me hopes they’re hunting Fin. Hopes they rip him to shreds. I give a short laugh that sounds strange to my ears. I sound like a wild animal.

  Am I going to die out here?

  As soon as I have that thought, I see it – a small mound of dead twigs. My twigs. My marker. I stop walking and stare at the twigs. Relief is like a warm blanket around my shoulders and I start to cry. But then I sniff away my tears, dab at my cheeks with my scarf and set my mouth in a hard line. I’m going to make it. I’m going to get back to my daughter.

  I walk faster now, my mind more alert knowing I’m almost there. My heart leaps as I see a light ahead of me through the forest. The cabin porch light! No. I can’t have reached the cabin already. I’m guessing it will take me at least another half hour, maybe more. I stop dead as I hear the crackle of branches ahead, the sound of a person or large creature moving through the woods. And then I see that the light is moving. And it’s heading my way.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  I stand rooted to the spot. Ahead of me the trees themselves appear to be moving, the branches swishing and crackling. I see the flicker of lights. What’s going on? My first thought is to run and hide. Has Fin managed to somehow get back here ahead of me? No that can’t be possible.

  Then, from my right:

  ‘Anna!’ A deep voice calling my name.

  ‘Anna!’ Another voice dead ahead.

  More voices calling out my name. Am I hallucinating? The whine of a wolf, or a dog, and then a volley of barks. And I see them emerging through the trees like a dream – police officers in high-vis jackets with sniffer dogs and torches.

  I don’t even have enough energy to call out. I simply stand where I am, letting my backpack slide to the ground in a shower of snow and relief.

  Within seconds, an officer has come over to me, propping me up as I lean into his solid shoulder.

  ‘Anna Blackwell?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I croak. ‘My daughter . . .’

  ‘Olivia is fine,’ he says, speaking English. ‘We got to her over two hours ago. Nothing to worry about. She’s safe. Completely unharmed, okay?’ He smiles, his blue eyes, kind, sympathetic.

  ‘Thank God.’ I finally allow myself to relax. To breathe. But my body is shaking. I’m quivering from head to toe. I can’t stop it.

  ‘Was anyone else with you?’ another of the officers asks. ‘Anyone still out there?’ He gestures with his hand to the forest beyond me.

  I pause for a moment. Do I want them to rescue Fin? No. No, I don’t. But even if they do manage to find him out there, I can’t imagine how he could possibly still be alive. Maybe I need the police to find him so I can see his frozen, dead body. It would be good to have that closure. So, I answer the officer: ‘Fin. Fin Chambers. My ex-boyfriend. He’s still out there. He kidnapped Olivia.’ My teeth are chattering so much I can hardly speak. ‘He was trying to kill me. He wanted to kill us both so I ran into the forest to get him away from my daughter.’

  A woman in uniform comes over and wraps a thick blanket around my shoulders, starts asking me questions about how I’m feeling. But I don’t answer. I’m too desperate to see my daughter. ‘How far are we from the cabin?’ I ask.

  ‘About forty minutes,’ the woman says, taking my temperature. She checks the thermometer. ‘You have mild hypothermia, but you’ll be fine. You’re extremely lucky.’

  ‘I know,’ I reply, chewing my lower lip. ‘Thank you for coming to find me.’

  She inclines her head and smiles. ‘We’ll put you on a stretcher, keep you insulated. I have some sweet tea for you in this thermos.’ She reaches into her bag and draws out a flask, unscrews the lid, pours out the tea and holds it in front of my lips. ‘Small sips,’ she says.

  Sweetness floods my mouth before the hot liquid slides down my throat, warming my body from the inside. ‘Thank you,’ I say again. Then I turn to the officer: ‘Can we go back now? My daughter will be so scared.’

  ‘It’s okay. Her grandparents have just arrived,’ the officer says. ‘But yes. We’ll go. I’ll keep a team out here searching for Mr Chambers.’

  The woman and her colleague, who I’m guessing must be paramedics, are telling me to lie on the stretcher. I do as they say. I�
��m not in any state to continue walking. My legs have turned to jelly.

  ‘How did you know where to find me? How to find the cabin?’ I ask the officer as I ease myself down, the paramedics covering me with layers of blankets. It’s heaven to be off my feet. I gaze up at the inky sky, at a myriad of stars, realising the snow clouds have completely dispersed. The paramedics lift the stretcher and it’s like I’m floating.

  ‘Your husband got in touch with the British Police earlier this evening,’ the officer explains, his voice deep and steady. ‘He was worried when you failed to answer your phone. He told them everything that’s been happening to you over the past few weeks. About Mr Chambers and Sian Davies. Their alleged plans to extort money, and the possible homicide of Mr Chamber’s wife. Your husband gave us the address where your daughter was being held.’

  ‘Will,’ I say, closing my eyes for a second and picturing his face.

  ‘You should never have come out here on your own,’ the officer says. ‘Very foolish. Dangerous.’

  ‘I was just trying to keep my daughter safe,’ I explain.

  ‘Okay. Well, we’ll talk about it back at the station.’

  I blink in acknowledgement, realising I’m going to have an awful lot of questions to answer.

  ‘In which direction would you say the suspect was headed when you last saw him?’ the officer asks.

  I look up at him. ‘North,’ I reply. ‘But he must be miles away by now.’

  ‘And he has a weapon?’

  ‘A hunting rifle,’ I reply, neglecting to tell them that he got it from me. That it belongs to my brother. ‘I think he only has one bullet left.’

  ‘Okay. Well. You’ll be fine now.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.