“Maddox!” A few seconds of blissful silence. “Where the hell are you?”
I sighed. “We would have lost her.”
Nate was not impressed. “Stop the car. I can’t believe you left without me. Pull over now.”
That was the edited version, in case you’re interested. The original had more curse words than vowels.
I tuned Nate out to concentrate on tailing Isla. Easier said than done with two cars and a delivery bike between us. At the upcoming intersection, Isla hooked a sharp right and we lost the bike and one of the cars. I also lost my phone as I yanked on the wheel to take the turn; it went flying off the seat and thudded to the floor.
The call dropped, cutting Nate off midsentence.
He was not going to like that.
My phone whinnied, Nate trying to call me back. There was no way I could reach it without pulling over to crawl onto the passenger side, and that wasn’t going to happen.
Maybe at the next red light.
The whinnying stopped, started, stopped, started, and that’s how it went on because the lights all stayed green, and then we were on the open road, leaving Brackenport behind. There was no more buffer traffic and I slowed drastically to put some distance between me and the Range Rover. It wouldn’t do for Isla to get a rearview glimpse of me.
My heart hammered at every dip or curve in the road that put her out of sight. I wasn’t sure why. Good hunches weren’t exactly my forte and I wasn’t truly expecting this hunch to lead anywhere other than a dead end.
The homes on the outskirt of town gave way to farmsteads, and a short while later, the road wended through thick, snowy woodland, loosely following a creek that lumbered broken sheets of ice along in its measly flow.
My view of the Range Rover came and went, sometimes for minutes with nothing more but an occasional blur of black through the forest bending up ahead.
I’d lost all sense of direction ages ago and my nerves were starting to itch.
We’d been travelling at least a half-hour, maybe more.
Nate would be spitting mad.
This was probably a wild goose chase.
Jenna was out there somewhere, at the mercy of a psychotic killer, and the minutes were ticking by.
I could’ve made a quick stop to grab my phone, but I wasn’t quite ready for Nate to talk me into turning back.
The road finally speared out of the forest on a clear straight. Nothing but me and the road and acres of white-carpeted fields.
Where in blazes had she gone?
I pulled over along the side of the road, left the engine idling to blast heat through the vents as I stared up the unobscured mile. How long had it been since I’d actually seen the Range Rover? A minute, maybe two. I didn’t recall passing any turnoffs, but I must have. No one disappeared into thin air.
I engaged the handbrake and scrambled over the seat to retrieve my phone. For all I knew, Peter Nell had confessed all and Jenna was already waiting for me back in Brackenport. Yeah, that’s the spirit.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I called Nate, wincing as I noticed the million or so missed calls.
To my amazement, Nate didn’t pick up where he’d left off in a blaze of cursing glory. Instead, he answered with a rather stoic, “You hung up on me.”
“My phone flew off the seat,” I said. “Sorry about that. Any news on that end?”
“Well, someone stole my truck and went chasing after a possible murder suspect,” he said. “That kind of news?”
I pursed my lips and waited. My phone beeped a low battery alert. Crap. An unwelcome reminder that I’d unexpectedly fallen asleep in Nate’s bed without putting it on charge.
Nate released a heavy breath. “The field agent actually briefed me in on what they had, but it isn’t much. He’s still in there with Peter Nell.”
“Joe?”
“He’s doing okay,” Nate said. “Now, where the hell are you?”
“I’m…” I looked around me. “Um, I have absolutely no idea. About a half hour out of town. I lost Isla. I reckon she turned off the main road, but she can’t be far. I’m going to turn back and look for side roads.”
“This is what you’re going to do,” Nate said, bringing out his endless-patience voice. “Look just below the steering wheel, slightly to the right, there’s a digital pad. See it?”
I stretched over, saw the four digit pad. “Yeah?”
Nate gave me the code to punch in, and a hidden compartment slid open.
My eyes widened. “That’s a gun, Nate.”
“My service revolver.”
“Okay.” And…?
“Have you ever handled a gun before?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Apparently not. “I’d feel better if you have some protection.”
“You do realize I’ll probably shoot my foot off or something.”
“You’re not going to have to shoot anything,” he said calmly. “This is just a precaution. But it is loaded with a round in the chamber. All you have to do is slide the red safety switch back, aim and squeeze the trigger.”
“Okay.” Not. I snapped the compartment closed.
“As soon as I hang up, use your phone’s GPS to find your location and text me, and then I want you to stay where you are until I get there.”
“How are you getting here?”
“I’ll hitch a ride with a patrol unit,” he said. “And, Maddox?”
“Hmm?”
He hesitated, then, “Just take care, okay?”
“Always,” I said and ended the call so I could locate myself on Google Maps before the battery died.
My current location turned out to be a numbered road that ran north along a river, Loyalsock Creek, unmistakably heading in the general vicinity of Sallymon Peke. That popped out at me like a giant red flag, but I tried to not jump all over it. Sure, the situation with Isla reeked of suspicion. That was, after all, what had brought me out here. But we already had Peter Nell, and he’d actually been seen at Duke’s Saloon last night.
I captured a screenshot of the map with my location pin-pointed and attached the image in a text to Nate.
While I waited for confirmation that he’d received it, I noticed a missed call from Jack. And a new text message: Sam??
He must have figured it out on his own, because when I called, he went straight to, “Burns seems reasonably sure he doesn’t recognize Peter Nell.”
I could imagine how that conversation went.
Do you recognize this man?
I’m sure I wouldn’t know.
“Joe was adamant that Peter Nell is our guy,” I huffed. “Now you give me ‘reasonably sure.’ What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Burns did admit that there could be some vague resemblance and he hadn’t paid close attention to the subcontractor,” Jack said. “Sam and I are on our way to the Build Yard to see if they can give us a positive ID.”
My foot tapped.
My dying battery beeped.
“Forget about Peter Nell,” I told Jack, making a snap decision. “The FBI have him covered, anyway. Would you mind going back to Hollow House? We had a guest stay around the week before Halloween. Isla something or other, ask Burns to check the register for her full name. There might even be an address. Short blonde hair, mid-thirties probably, striking features, maybe Burns will remember her a little more clearly.”
“Who is this Isla?”
“A possible suspect, maybe,” I said. “Just find out anything you can about—”
Beeeeep.
The screen blinked to black.
Great.
Absolutely marvelous!
I tossed the useless phone onto the seat.
Glanced over my shoulder.
Drummed my fingers on my thigh.
Nibbled my lower lip.
Another look over my shoulder, even though I knew it would be at least another twenty minutes before Nate arrived (assuming he hadn’t found a ride that had a ground speed o
f Mach 1).
Waiting, waiting, waiting… This wasn’t going to work for me, not with the shadow Burns had cast over Peter Nell’s guilt.
I scooted across the seat to get behind the wheel so I could execute a three-point-turn (give or take a couple of extra points) to turn the truck around.
I had absolutely no intention of doing anything stupid.
Seriously.
I’d just cruise slowly down the road until I met up with Nate. And keep a look out for any likely side roads that Isla could have taken.
When the road wound into the forest, I slowed to a crawl, my gaze stuttering left to right like a hawk deliberating two prey options. I hadn’t gone far when I saw it.
I slammed the brakes, screeching to a skidded halt, the truck angled awkwardly.
Not a road. Not a turnoff I’d missed. The tire tracks drifted off-road through the rough terrain of the snow-caked forest underbelly.
My blood ran cold.
Granted, Isla could be an adrenaline junkie who jungle-crashed for fun. Not everyone drove a top-of-the-range Range Rover just because it looked flashy.
That was one possibility.
Isla could also be up to no good.
That was definite alternative possibility.
My mind ran through everything I knew about the woman, which wasn’t much. She’d come across as reserved, the type who politely answered questions but didn’t volunteer a scrap more.
She was a collector of first editions, I recalled. That had come up in one of our few conversations during her stay at Hollow House. Stamps. Books. Scarves. Vinyl Pressings. Anything that was rare, original, priceless and preferably signed.
I remembered thinking at the time that Isla was something of a rare edition herself, a notch or two above the rest of us.
But was she a murderous villain?
I squiggly reversed onto the shoulder of the road to get a better look at those ruts in the snow. I couldn’t see much beyond where Isla’s (or someone’s) tire tracks disappeared into the depth and darkness of the woods. An aggressive descent, snow at least two foot thick in places.
Nate’s truck could have handled it, easy, but plunging off-road didn’t seem smart. I pulled my gloves on and climbed out to investigate, leaving the truck in plain sight to be found. I tramped down the slope and into the tree line, where the ground flattened. Ears pricked, I walked the tire tracks into the woods, a little deeper, deeper, not planning on wandering off too far.
The bitter cold took on a life of its own, thinning the air, slithering down my neck and stealing though the forest with snapping crackles and icy pops. Before long, the crackling softened into a rushing flow. Loyalsock Creek?
A nasty thought crept over me. An abandoned fisherman’s shack teetering on the bank of the river would be an ideal hidey hole for Killer Max. Or Killer Maxine.
Indecision arrested me, locked my knees immobile. Wait for Nate or rush into danger blindly like a fool? It wasn’t the danger that worried me; it was the likelihood of messing up Jenna’s rescue. Because let’s face it, me against a serial killer would not end in my favor.
A sudden chug-a-chug-clank-clunk-chug startled the smoothing sounds of nature. Definitely some sort of motor, stuttering like an untamed mechanical beast.
What on earth?
I sprang forward into a thigh-crunching run and, moments later, burst into a shallow clearing on the water’s edge. The Range Rover cowered beneath a shroud of winter-bared branches. The noise came from a boat still tethered to a wooden stake on the bank, a scrappy trawler with rubber bumpers and peeling paintwork and a cramped pilot house raised on the nose.
My eyes strained to make out any human form or movement behind the cabin’s grime-packed windows. The grime won. I was caught completely off-guard when the door creaked open and Isla stepped out onto the deck.
Our eyes locked.
My heart nearly imploded inside my chest.
Isla broke the eye-lock and dipped back inside the cabin.
Right about now would be the perfect time to turn tail and skedaddle.
But if Isla was an innocent first edition collector with a secret fish trawling habit, then that seemed like an excessive over-reaction. And if she was Killer Maxine, then I’d be running away from a vital link to Jenna.
Isla reappeared. “Maddox?” she called, her voice a delicate balance of puzzled awe and refined bemusement. “Maddox Storm?”
I wasn’t convinced, but I just had to play dumb long enough for Nate to get here. Right?
I raised my hand in a tepid wave, scrambling for some halfway decent excuse to explain my presence.
Isla raised a mean-looking hunting rifle, locked and loaded and sighted on me.
Permission to over-react?
Granted!
I started backpedaling toward the cover of the trees, managed about two bumbling steps before the rifle popped! Or maybe it cracked. I was pretty sure a rifle shot should crack.
The bullet clipped my upper arm with a burning prick, spun me about, crawled beneath my skin like red ants on the march.
Again, maybe I was confused.
Bullets didn’t crawl like red ants.
Of course, I’d never been shot before. Maybe they did.
I pulled my shocked gaze from the barrel of the rifle, reached over to clasp my bleeding wound, screamed, wrapped my fingers around something thin and cold, saw a huge ass dart instead of a gaping hole in my arm—it was all very slow motion and out of sequence, so my recount may not be totally trustworthy, but I’m pretty sure my knees buckled and my vision blurred and then the world around me became whoozy…
TWELVE
The condition I awoke in left a lot to be desired. The contents of my stomach rocked, my tongue felt too big for my mouth, my entire scalp crawled with pins and needles. My wrists were bound behind my back and, judging from the rattling sound when I tried to move, my ankles were probably chained to the bunk I’d been dumped on.
The deck above creaked with footfalls—Isla, I presumed.
Oh, and that rocking didn’t all come from my stomach. The chug-a-chugging monster seemed to have found its rhythm and Lord knew how fast we were sailing away from Nate’s truck and imminent rescue.
Dire predicaments aside, my day had definitely taken a turn for the better. Sure, I’d been zapped with a tranq dart, I was bound and chained in a musty cabin below the deck, but I’d found what I’d been so desperately searching for.
Jenna.
Very much alive.
Relief hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, scream hysterically or crumple beneath the dazed weight pressing down on me.
Two bunks either side ran along the stubby length of the cabin and she was across from me, down the far end. Bound, chained and gagged, staring at me with wide, horror-filled eyes.
Understandable. I was actually surprised I wasn’t a horrified mess myself. Then again, this wasn’t my first time. Or my second. Getting myself kidnapped by certifiable lunatics was becoming an unhealthy habit.
“Are you okay?” I whispered-shouted. The last thing I wanted was to bring Isla down here.
Jenna blinked furiously. Morse code (I guessed) for, ‘Look at me! Do I look as if I’m okay?’
Point taken.
I had to say, though, she could have looked worse given the circumstances. She didn’t appear abused, tortured or starved. She wore a thick winter coat that Isla must have provided and there was a portable gas lantern/heater combo nearby that cast a soft glow over the dim interior and took the bite out of the drafty cabin. Isla didn’t totally suck as a hostess, if you discounted the whole Lady Killer thing she had going on.
My Uggs had been removed, leaving me in socks with my ankles zip-tied (individually) to a short length of chain that was firmly bolted in. I shuffled as far along the bunk as my chains allowed, aching to wrap my arms around Jenna and never let go. That wasn’t going to happen, but I did close some of the gap between us.
“Nat
e’s coming,” I told her. The chugging motor and gentle rocking was a minor problem, in my opinion. We were on a river, after all. There were only two places to go, upstream or downstream. “He was on his way to meet me, and when he finds Isla’s car by the river, he’ll put two and two together.”
Jenna shook her head, somewhat frantic.
“This will all be over very soon,” I reassured her. “The local cops and the FBI are working on it. Joe’s cooperating with them.”
I thought it best not to mention they were focusing on Peter Nell, an apparently innocent medical rep with a wife and two kids. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth was overrated anyway. Both Nate and Jack knew about Isla. Between them, they surely had enough clout to redirect the investigation.
I scooted back up the bunk to give my chains some slack so I could stand and peer out the porthole on the waterline. The winter sky was grim and grey, already turning to dusk. Had I missed most of the day? Panic leapt into my chest. What if I’d missed most of two days?
“How long was I unconscious?” I asked Jenna.
Her eyes boggled at me.
Oh, right.
“Nod for yes, okay?” I said. “More than a day?” No. “Isla brought me in this morning?”
Jenna shrugged with a small nod.
I breathed out in relief. Then remembered just how many hours had gone by without Nate showing up for our blitz rescue. Jeez, no hurry. Take your sweet time, why don’t you? And every minute took us further away. On the plus side, as long as we were moving, Isla was up there preoccupied in the pilot house.
I wriggled my wrists, but it felt like they were zip-tied as well, plastic ribbons cutting into my skin. “Have you tried to free your hands?”
Jenna just looked at me.
“What about the chains?” I sat, thighs parted, and lowered my head between my knees to take a look.
The chain was bolted to the bunk panel. How sturdy could it possibly be? It took some fancy footwork, but I managed to wind the chain around and around my ankles to tighten the slack. I yanked hard, nearly strangled my ankles with the zip ties. The bolt trembled, but refused to give.
Frustrated, I peered up at Jenna. “Have you tried your chain?”
Words That Kill (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 3) Page 11
