Riding the Storm

by Heather Graves

  The facilities of the cabin were old but, mercifully, clean and although most of what she was given to eat was fast food, brought in by the younger of the two men, there was plenty of it. They didn’t intend her to starve.

  The older man went out often, leaving the two young people alone although he always insisted on handcuffing her to the brass rail of her bed before doing so, laughing at her promises that she wouldn’t try to escape. He had a low opinion of women, she thought.

  The younger man, still in his late teens, was more friendly and liked to chat, so it was easy for her to draw him out, getting him to talk about himself. He told her his name was Tim and the older man was his father, although they didn’t find each other until he was a teenager. He had always believed his father was dead until his mother told him how to find him when she found she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in its later stages. She didn’t have much time; her death was sudden, taking place with a speed that shocked him. Chrissie could see that it upset him to speak of her still; his voice grew husky and tears came readily to his eyes. He blew his nose into a crumpled tissue and continued his tale after taking a shuddering breath.

  ‘Harry didn’t want to believe I was his, not at first,’ he said. ‘He’s always been a loner with no real friends – an odd sort who didn’t trust anyone. He told me he didn’t need a son to look after, dragging him down. But he only had to look in the mirror to see I was speaking the truth. There I was – a younger version of himself. We got on all right but he still didn’t want me around, said I was cramping his lifestyle – with girls, I suppose. So I got shoved off to boarding school, “to do some more growing up”, so he said. God, how I hated that place. They had us bellowing hymns all day and didn’t teach us anything. The food was miserable too – macaroni cheese and stodgy puddings to fill us up. Most of us were spotty and overweight. Soon as I could, I learned to drive and make myself useful to him so he’d let me leave.’

  ‘Didn’t you want an education, Tim?’ Chrissie said. An enthusiastic student herself, she found it hard to understand anyone who didn’t like to study.

  ‘Not if it meant staying at that school.’ He wrinkled his nose.

  ‘So what is your father teaching you now?’ She couldn’t resist teasing him. ‘To be a good criminal? Kidnapping is quite an advanced place to start. Higher up the ladder than shoplifting lollies. He’ll have you robbing banks next.’

  ‘No, he won’t.’ The young man looked uncertain. ‘This kidnapping is a one-off. He said so.’

  ‘And you believed him?’ she said, speaking softly to make him lean closer. ‘Are you up for murder as well, Tim? Remember, I’ve seen enough to identify both of you. D’you honestly think your father will let me go?’

  ‘Yes, of course. When he gets the money. He told me so.’ Tim blushed, looking shocked. ‘He doesn’t like doing this – it’s only out of necessity because a man cheated him.’

  ‘That would be my father, I suppose?’

  The lad shrugged. ‘I dunno. He doesn’t tell me much. He has nothing against you. It’s only the money he wants – for us to make a new start. A new life for ourselves overseas.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said softly. ‘And where will that be?’

  Tim paused, staring at her and breathing heavily, realizing he’d already said too much. ‘I don’t want to talk to you any more. Dad said I shouldn’t, anyway. In case I give too much away.’

  ‘Too late, Tim,’ she said softly. ‘You’re already on the slippery slope.’

  ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘You’re frightening me.’

  ‘Be afraid, Tim,’ she said. ‘Be very afraid. Your father’s a ruthless man and I think he means to kill me.’

  He left her then, slamming the door behind him.

  She knew it was a slim chance but it was the best she could do; plant the seeds of doubt with Tim concerning his father’s intentions and hope that he would refuse to let himself be a party to murder.

  On the way back down the mountain, she had been forced to lie under that smelly rug yet again and when the car stopped, she sat up, pushing it aside and blinking as her eyes became used to the light. They were in a deserted lay-by with traffic moving on a busy freeway nearby.

  ‘Where are we?’ she said. ‘There’s nobody here.’

  ‘For your sake, there had better be.’ Sitting uncomfortably close to her, Harry gave her a little shake. For the first time she sensed that he too was nervous, breathing heavily and smelling of fresh perspiration. ‘Because if anyone tries to play the hero and cheat me, somebody’s going to get hurt.’

  Chrissie knew this was no idle threat and when it occurred to her that she was likely to die anyway, somehow she was no longer scared. She could only hope that when death came, it would be swift and painless.

  ‘Don’t expect my father to be there.’ She was suddenly flippant. ‘He’s stuck in a wheelchair – quite aside from being a devout coward. Well, you probably know that already. No. He’ll send my mother. So please don’t hurt her – I know she won’t try to cheat you. Promise me you’ll just take the money and go.’

  ‘You talk too much. And stop telling me what to do – I don’t like it.’ Harry glared at her through narrowed eyes. ‘All bets are off until I have the money. That’s the only way you and your mum will get out of here.’ He gave her another shove to emphasize his words. ‘Just remember I’m armed.’ And he showed her the revolver before tucking it into his belt at the back; a gesture so practised that she knew he was used to handling firearms.

  Chrissie smiled. Beyond fear now, she was almost resigned to her fate. Her only hope was that Val wouldn’t have to share it. ‘Here she comes. That’s my mother’s car. Right on time, isn’t she?’

  Ordering Tim to stay in the driver’s seat and wait, Harry pulled up his grey hoodie so that his face was hidden. Then he got out of the car, opened the back door and pulled Chrissie out where she could be seen. He held her arm in a vice-like grip, far from gentle.

  ‘Here she is,’ he called out. ‘Your daughter, safe and sound.’

  Ryan watched their unsteady approach before getting out of the car to meet them. There seemed to be something familiar about this man but as yet he couldn’t place him. Perhaps it was the grey hoodie. They were common enough – worn by men and boys everywhere. But this man seemed unusually tall and with a strange, loping walk. Ryan was sure he had seen him before.

  It came to him in a flashback – a scene from the past. This was the man who had been snooping around the stables up north before Ryan’s world changed forever – before his father died, before the horror of the cyclone and the tree fell on his mother. Intuitively, he knew that this man was responsible for more than a few of his woes. And now he was threatening and terrorizing Chrissie, the woman he loved.

  A cold fury took hold of him as he got out of the car, pulling the briefcase with him. He set off towards them, mouth set, not yet knowing what he would do.

  ‘Don’t come any closer, Ryan,’ Chrissie called, warning him. ‘He has a gun.’

  At this crucial moment, a huge logistics truck left the highway and pulled up with a squeal of airbrakes behind them, headlights lighting up the whole scene.

  Realizing it was impossible to hide now, Harry gave Chrissie a vicious shove, making her gasp and fall to her knees, bruising them on the rough surface of the road. Pain prevented her from moving right away.

  ‘Put the briefcase down and move away,’ he ordered Ryan. ‘We have to act quickly now there’s a witness. Don’t make this worse than it is already.’

  But Ryan was beyond reason now and kept coming. Only then did Harry pull the gun, releasing the safety catch and aiming it at Ryan’s heart.

  ‘No,’ Chrissie said brokenly. ‘Please, no.’

  Ryan ignored the order, still moving forward as Harry lowered the gun and fired it into the ground near his feet.

  The truck driver didn’t wait to see any more. He started his vehicle again and charged past them, peppering them with gravel as he d
id so. Continuing to keep his firearm trained on Ryan, Harry grinned.

  ‘That’s what I like to see,’ he said as the truck barged onto the highway, causing a fanfare of horns as other drivers were forced to move out of his way. ‘A man who doesn’t want to get involved. And you keep your distance,’ he said to Ryan. ‘Next time, I’ll aim for your head.’

  At this point Tim disobeyed his father’s instructions and got out of the car to come running towards them. He too sounded distraught.

  ‘Dad, you told me the gun wasn’t loaded. You said it was only for show.’

  ‘Shut up and get back in the car, Tim.’ Harry glanced at him, momentarily distracted.

  Ryan took advantage of this to hurl the briefcase with all the force he could muster, directly at Harry’s chest. It burst open on contact, scattering money around them like a game-show bonanza of wealth.

  Harry, winded and startled, still managed to hang on to the gun but Ryan was upon him now, trying to wrestle it from his grasp. Although Harry was more used to unarmed combat, age was catching up on him and he wasn’t as agile as he thought. He was no match for Ryan, who was young and whose arms were unusually strong from a lifetime spent exercising and controlling horses. Try as he may, Harry couldn’t break Ryan’s hold on the gun as they struggled to gain control of it.

  Suddenly, the firearm went off again and the two men froze for a moment as Chrissie screamed. Almost certainly one of them had been hit.

  By this time, a Highway Patrol car had come on the scene, sirens wailing, probably summoned by the truck driver, who had been appalled by the drama unfolding before him.

  Although there was blood on both of them, it was Harry who sagged in Ryan’s grasp and collapsed to the ground. Tim knelt beside him, sobbing and using his hands to try and stop the blood flowing up between his fingers from the wound in his father’s chest. Harry had taken a bullet at very close range.

  ‘God – oh, God, get an ambulance. Don’t let him die!’ Tim pleaded with Ryan who stood rooted to the spot staring down at them, equally shocked. ‘You did this, you bastard! You shot my father.’

  Ryan shook his head. ‘No, no. The gun just went off. I don’t know who pulled the trigger.’

  Grim-faced, two policemen emerged from their vehicle, assessing the scene. One of them was quick to retrieve the revolver, placing it carefully in a plastic bag. By this time another squad car with two more policemen had arrived as backup.

  By now an ambulance had also arrived at the scene. When Harry, now barely conscious, had been stabilized sufficiently to load into it with Tim and the paramedics beside him, it took off at speed, sirens blaring.

  The police quickly gathered up the money and pushed it back into the briefcase.

  Ryan had his arms around Chrissie’s shoulders and he could feel her whole body still shaking as she put an arm round his waist to steady herself.

  ‘You’re quite sure you’re not hurt?’ she whispered. ‘When that gun went off, I was certain you must be dead.’

  ‘Oh, it takes a lot to kill me,’ Ryan said uncertainly, enjoying her concern.

  ‘Ahem – sorry to break up the touching reunion.’ It was the police sergeant who spoke, regarding them both with suspicion. ‘But a man has been seriously injured here and we have to find out who owns this.’ He held up the gun in the plastic bag.

  ‘It belongs to the man who was shot,’ Chrissie said.

  ‘We’ll need statements from both of you so you’d better accompany us to the station – now.’ The sergeant was unimpressed by her outburst. ‘You can lock up your car and leave it where it is.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Chrissie said. ‘You’re behaving as if we’re the criminals here. Those people are kidnappers and I was their victim. The money in that briefcase belongs to my parents. They raised it to ransom me.’

  ‘Really?’ The policeman looked sceptical. ‘How do I know that’s the truth? That it isn’t a piece of quick thinking on your part to cover up a drug deal gone wrong? We’re dealing with things like this all the time, especially around here—’

  ‘If that’s what you think – where’s the dope?’ Chrissie said. ‘I don’t have it and neither does he.’ She nodded towards Ryan.

  ‘Could be in the ambulance with the injured guy. Or the truck driver.’ The policeman smiled. ‘People are good at finding ways to dump anything incriminating when the police turn up.’

  After all they’d been through, Chrissie groaned, feeling close to tears.

  ‘Why can’t you believe me?’ she said. ‘Talk to my parents. Please. They’ll tell you I’m speaking the truth.’

  ‘Give us your phone, then.’

  She patted her pockets, forgetting she’d lost it. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘The kidnappers threw it away.’

  ‘I have mine,’ Ryan said, producing it.

  ‘Fine.’ The policeman confiscated it. ‘You’re still coming with us. We can call your relatives from the station.’

  Exhausted after all they’d been through, Chrissie and Ryan sat in the police car holding hands; for now, they were just relieved to be safe and didn’t want to say too much within the hearing of the officers. Unfortunately for them, that particular lay-by had been the scene of many a drug deal and the local police were used to catching both users and dealers there.

  At the station, Ryan and Chrissie were interviewed separately and were finally allowed to make a phone call to Val, who arrived in a borrowed car an hour or so later. Although the policemen had been unwilling at first to let go of their drug-dealing theory, Val’s anger soon convinced them otherwise.

  ‘My daughter has been through enough already without being treated like a criminal,’ she ranted. ‘And this young man is my nephew.’ She indicated Ryan. ‘I can vouch for him, too. You need to let these young people go.’

  ‘Your daughter can leave,’ the sergeant said. ‘She has no charges to answer. But not the young man.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we’ve had word from the hospital that the man who was shot has just died. And if the weapon used in the shooting turns out to belong to your nephew—’

  ‘But it doesn’t, Officer. It belongs to the kidnapper,’ Chrissie said. ‘Ask the truck driver, he saw what happened – or most of it. Speak to the boy who went to the hospital with the kidnapper – he’s his son. Tim’s really just a kid. He isn’t a criminal like his father – not yet anyway.’

  ‘These matters will all be investigated – in due course. For now, Ryan Lanigan must remain in custody. He could be facing a charge of murder.’

  ‘He was trying to rescue me – to protect me,’ Chrissie pleaded, once more close to tears. ‘Why can’t you believe me?’

  ‘Come on, Chrissie,’ Val whispered. ‘They’re not going to change their minds now. We need to get in touch with Uncle Henry – see what he can do.’

  Val’s uncle Henry was a sharp mind; an elderly lawyer who still had a practice, although it was mostly run by his junior partners. He would know what to do in this situation. She had the feeling that the police, cheated of an open-and-shut case of drug dealing, would like to pursue the charge of murder instead.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WHEN CHRISSIE AND her mother arrived home, instead of hiding in his study as usual, Robert was waiting for them downstairs. He pulled the front door open, the moment he heard their approach.

  ‘Come on, then, tell me what happened,’ he said, scarcely glancing at Chrissie. He made no move to embrace her or even to ask how she felt after such an ordeal. Instead, he pulled a face and recoiled, waving his hand as if there was a bad smell under his nose. ‘Christ, but you reek! You need to get a shower.’

  ‘So would you, if you’d been held in one room for nearly a week and scarcely allowed to go to the bathroom.’ She was close to tears, her emotions still raw and close to the surface, and she was in no mood for criticism.

  ‘So, since you’re here in one piece and unharmed, everything must have gone according to plan?’

>   ‘Not exactly,’ Val sighed, remembering that he didn’t yet know the whole story. He had been upstairs in his study when she took the call from the police station. In a panic because she had no transport as the old yellow taxi had gone to be serviced, she was forced to borrow a car from a stable hand who had come in to work early. He wasn’t happy about lending his car to a woman on the verge of hysteria but she left him no choice; she was the boss’s wife, after all. It had been a long night for everyone and Val could think only of sleep but now she must stay awake long enough to tell Robert the whole sorry tale.

  ‘Go on, then. What happened?’ he said, raising his voice. ‘Did Ryan give them the money?’

  ‘If you’ll stop yelling for a moment, I’ll tell you.’ Val was in no mood for one of his tantrums and after all the drama, the adrenaline had worn off and she was exhausted. ‘But first I need some tea or a stiff drink – probably both.’

  Impatient with her father’s line of questioning, Chrissie pushed past him, steering Val towards the kitchen where the fire in the Aga was still in, keeping the room warm.

  ‘I’ll make some tea and then you can get to bed for an hour or so,’ she whispered. ‘It’s too late now but you’ll need to talk to Uncle Henry first thing in the morning.’

  ‘What do you need Henry for?’ Robert demanded, following in the wheelchair, angry at being ignored. ‘And where’s the boy?’

  ‘Finally,’ Chrissie said, turning to look at him. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  ‘What happened, then? Is he injured? In hospital?’ Robert seemed more eager than anxious. ‘He isn’t dead?’

  ‘Of course Ryan isn’t dead.’ Val glared at him. ‘What gave you that idea? But he is in trouble. The police were involved and they’re holding him because one of the kidnappers was shot and they’re not sure how it happened. And to make matters worse, the man died on the way to the hospital.’