Joshua snorted. “Santa Barbara ain’t that big a town. It’s not like your fancy cars rolled in with nobody noticin’. I hung around downtown, dressed up fine to blend in. When I saw one of those limos stop at a jewelry store—that was it. I went into the store, pretending to look at watches. Heard one of them big muscle guys of yours—the one with the black hair sticking straight up—talking to the jeweler. Muscle Man said the ring had to be delivered before the ceremony and given to you personally. He gave exact orders where the van should go.”
I looked at my lap. Wendell had only been following my orders. I was so ticked about that ring I didn’t want anyone else handling it. “What if he hadn’t told the jeweler to deliver the ring only to me?”
Joshua cast me a long look. “Then you wouldn’t be sittin’ here, would you.”
My nerves prickled. It was too much to take in. My own anger and forcefulness over that ring had led to this? What if I’d kept my cool?
What if the ring had fit? What if Joshua hadn’t known that security guard?
I laced my bruised hands to keep them from shaking. So many little things added up to make this happen. The lack of any one of them could have derailed it.
Joshua laughed. “All I had to do was lie in wait for that van. I stashed the other car in the meantime, knowing we’d have to change over quickly.” He waggled his head back and forth, as if immensely pleased with himself.
How I wanted to say, I know who you are, Joshua! You’re no prophet, you’re just a criminal who used to stalk me.
I could not live the rest of my life with this man. As his wife. I couldn’t. New, clawing panic gripped me, curling my fingers into my palms. I had mere hours left, almost all of them in darkness. Even if somehow the police knew about the Camry, who would see the license plate at night on this nearly deserted highway?
The clock read 11:31. Despair descended over me. Every mile took me closer to my fate.
Just past midnight we hit Bozeman, Montana.
“We’ll stop for gas here.” Joshua aimed me a chilling smile. “And this is where we hit the freeway for a while. All the quicker to get us home.”
Part 3
Monday
36
The night wore on, my defiant hope fading with each mile. We drove on Interstate 90 for less than an hour, the night hiding me from any eyes that may have recognized me, that may have helped. I thought of the evidence I’d left in the Explorer and knew that it was all for nothing. Of the book in the trailer, in which I’d written my name and a note. Why had I even thought that would help? I didn’t know the name of the town close to Joshua’s cabin, and Montana was a huge state. Police could search for years and not find me. I knew Mom and Dad would never give up. But the imaginings of what would happen to me for months…years as they searched dried up my heart.
I sat in the Camry’s passenger seat, beyond numb. Part of my mind refused to believe I even existed anymore. I was a shell of a body hurtling through darkness. No way out for me. No help. No hope.
God, where are you?
Joshua no longer tried to get me to talk. With every minute he sat straighter. As if it didn’t matter now what I did, trapped in this car while he drove. What mattered was when we got “home.” When he would make me do whatever he liked, and no one would be close enough to hear my cries.
I couldn’t look at him, not even a glance. In my mind he grew uglier and more contemptible as the hours ticked by.
At a town called Big Timber, we turned off the freeway onto Highway 191. It ran through the small, dead town, then crossed railroad tracks and a river. After that—north into more nothingness.
Sometimes I stared dully at the deserted road. Sometimes I closed my eyes and imagined Mom and Dad’s wedding. By now they would have been on their honeymoon at a quiet resort in the Fiji islands. Brittany, the band, and I would have been back home in Southern California. How far away that all seemed now. Like a dream. Like someone else’s life.
We hit another town. Lewistown. I barely noticed the sign. What did it matter anyway? We’d drive through here and be gone, no trace of me left behind.
Joshua turned off Highway 191 onto some smaller road. “Heading east,” he said, as if I cared. Then it hit me. I’d thought he was taking me north toward Canada. Maybe he’d lied. Which meant my note in that paperback in Ed and Jean’s trailer would only send searchers in the wrong direction.
With that realization, the last bit of fight in me died.
37
Around four thirty in the morning, the first streaks of light shimmered across the sky and through the front windshield. Dawn was coming. The first day in my new life.
Fear seeped through me until my limbs felt useless.
We were still headed east.
I pressed my foot against the balled-up T-shirt under my seat. Such hopes I’d had for that shirt. Now it would be no help at all.
“We’ll turn before too long.” Joshua was wide awake, the fingers of his right hand drumming against the steering wheel. “North. After that it’s only about an hour.”
North. The word echoed in my head. North.
A tiny flame sparked within me.
“What’s the name of the town?” I asked.
“Told you, we’re not livin’ in a town.”
“But you said one’s close. What is it?”
He turned to me, a leering grin on his face. “Peace. Peace, Montana.”
I glanced at him, then looked away. “You’re making that up.”
“Nope. That’s the name.”
Peace. Didn’t that just fit. About as misnamed as Joshua’s being a “prophet.”
I watched the sun peep over the horizon directly ahead of us. Never had I seen such a depressing sight. Joshua and I put down our visors, but it didn’t help. The sun was still too low.
Everywhere I looked I saw emptiness. The landscape was mostly barren hills with scattered scruffy trees. This world was vast and dry. I couldn’t imagine living in it.
At five fifty Joshua slowed and turned left onto an even smaller road. “Just one hour to go,” he gloated.
The newly risen sun shone into my window.
I moved the heel of my right foot back and forth, rubbing against the T-shirt. Here was my chance. I could use it now after all. There was only one problem: not one person was around to see it.
I slumped down in my seat, thinking, What’s the use? I might as well show the T-shirt to Joshua, admit my “sin,” and plead for forgiveness before he found it. Maybe that way he would hit me less.
Peace, a voice in my head whispered. Peace, Montana.
Maybe we would drive through the town.
I pulled in a breath and held it. That tiny flame I’d felt a while back flickered a little higher. Maybe I still had a chance.
The sun warmed the right side of my face.
I made a point of squinting. Turned my head slightly toward Joshua, away from the brightness. One hand came up, shielding my eyes.
My heart fluttered into a double-time beat. Did I dare try this?
If it went wrong, Joshua would beat me for sure. He’d pull the car over right on the road, and who’d be around to stop him? Maybe he’d get mad enough to strangle me.
I breathed deeply but quietly, trying to hide my fear.
The sun rose higher. More heat, more brightness. Before I could stop myself, I leaned over. Pulled the T-shirt out from under the seat.
“I’m going to put this in my window.” Did I sound normal? Did my voice betray me? My legs trembled. “So the sun’s not in my eyes.”
Joshua merely grunted.
Here goes nothing.
I had to unroll the shirt without allowing Joshua to see the writing on it. Suddenly I realized that was impossible.
And—oh, no. That eyebrow pencil was still inside the shirt. Why had I put it back like that? I should have shoved it under the couch in the trailer.
For a second I froze, heart clicking like a train going down a track. I s
hould have thought this through better.
There had to be a way.
I put down my window an inch. Fresh, cool air blew over me. Turning away from Joshua, I unrolled the T-shirt until the eyebrow pencil came into view. With my right hand I pulled out the pencil and dropped it between my seat and the front door.
No reaction from Joshua. He hadn’t seen it.
I unrolled the T-shirt the rest of the way, until it remained merely folded in half lengthwise. My writing was inside that fold. With thumb and forefinger at each end of the fabric, I lifted the top fold, raised the shirt to the window, and draped it over the glass.
When I let go with one hand to close the window, wind blew the shirt down. It flipped over, exposing some of the writing.
I shot Joshua a frantic sideways glance. His eyes were on the road, a smile on his face.
Pulse racing, I snatched up the shirt. Tried again. The wind blew it off the glass a second time. Panic swept through me.
“You might as well forget that.” Joshua sounded amused.
“I don’t like the sun in my eyes.” Surely he heard how breathy my voice was. Surely he saw how I shook.
With clumsy fingers I rolled up the window a little until I could barely force the fabric through the opening. When the shirt was in place, I took away my left hand and slid my right hand all the way across the window, using my forearm and elbow to hold the T-shirt steady. Quickly, I hit the button to roll up the window. The T-shirt caught.
I pressed back in my seat, trying to steady my breathing. Shot Joshua a glance. He drove on, unconcerned.
Because of the curve of the car, the end of the T-shirt hung an inch or two out from the bottom of the window. Would that make it harder to read the words on the other side? I rested my arm on the sill, forcing the shirt toward the glass.
Long minutes passed before my heartbeat began to slow.
After a while my arm started to go to sleep. I brought it down. No people around us now anyway. If we drove through Peace, I’d rest my arm on the sill again.
If we drove through the town. Please, God, let us do that. How could anyone not help after seeing the message on that T-shirt? In big block letters I’d written:
HELP! I’M SHALEY. KIDNAPPED!
38
Dawn. Rayne walked the floor of her bedroom, every inch of her weighted with tiredness and grief. A second night with no sleep. Another day to face.
Why had no one spotted that Camry? It was as if Shaley and her kidnapper had dropped off the face of the earth. Were they holed up somewhere? Had that despicable man realized his mistake in stealing the Camry and ditched it for yet another car? What if he hadn’t stolen that Camry at all, and police were looking for the wrong vehicle?
So many questions.
Some minutes Shaley felt so close to Rayne—as if she could reach out and touch her daughter. As if, even separated, their hearts beat as one. Moments later Rayne would feel the miles between them as big as the galaxy.
She could not go on like this.
Rayne’s legs weakened. Sinking to her knees by the bed, she begged God to save her daughter.
An odd thing happened as the prayers poured out. A quieting seeped into her soul. For the first time since Shaley had gone missing, Rayne found herself not demanding Why? Instead came the thought—God, how could I have lived through the last day and a half without you?
The prayers trickled away, followed by tears. Rayne slipped off her knees to lie in a fetal position. She sobbed weakly, breath hitching, wetness rolling toward her left cheek and onto the carpet. She cried until she could cry no more…then drifted into fitful sleep.
The next thing she knew, someone was knocking on her door. “Rayne? Rayne.”
She pushed herself to a sitting position, groggy and disoriented. “Yeah.”
“It’s Al. I have some news.”
39
For fifteen minutes after I’d hung the T-shirt in my window, I sat without speaking. But inside my head was anything but silence. Prayers wailed through my mind, begging God for the chance to drive through Peace, for rescue. As our wheels ate up the miles, I felt the nearing presence of our new “home.” It felt dark and oppressive. Might as well have been a dungeon instead of some cabin in the wilderness. Loathing and despair crept through me. I could not arrive there. Live there.
Then, like a desert mirage, I spotted buildings down the road. My heart leapt into my throat. “Is that Peace?”
“Yup.”
My right hand dropped down to feel the eyebrow pencil lying by my door. I pushed it beneath my seat.
For a moment I couldn’t form a sound.
“Nice town.” Joshua sounded proud, as if he’d founded the place himself. “People leave you alone.”
No. Don’t leave us alone!
“How many people live there?” I forced casualness into my tone.
“I don’t know. Couple thousand, maybe.” Joshua gave me a hard look. “Not that you’ll be making friends there.”
I swallowed. The town grew closer.
With a deep breath, I shifted in my seat and lifted my right arm to lie against the window.
I checked the clock. It was still so early in the morning. Peering through the windshield, I saw no one as we approached the town. Surely someone had to be awake and on the streets. Please, God.
At the edge of town we passed a sign. Peace. Population: 1,882. The speed limit dropped to thirty. Joshua slowed to forty.
My heart knocked against my ribs. I licked my lips, concentrating on resting my left hand on my knee, fingers open. They wanted to clench. To shake. They wanted to pound against the windshield and yell for someone to notice me.
We crossed into the town. Small wood houses lined each side of the street, giving way to businesses. A small grocery, a hardware store. The road became Main Street, with dilapidated storefronts, some empty. Not one was open yet.
Anxiety pressed my lungs until I could barely breathe. Just three blocks ahead, I could see open road again. So little time for anyone to appear.
We rolled through the next block, my eyes darting left and right. Still I saw no one. Panic clawed at my windpipe. I pressed the backs of my legs against my seat to keep them from trembling.
We hit another block. Only one remained. The town sat silent and empty. A crazy thought struck me—that Joshua knew all about my T-shirt and somehow had come here ahead of time, killing everyone so we could roll through, undisturbed. I threw him a glance. He turned his head and leered.
“Not far now.” He chuckled low in his throat. “I did it. I really did it.”
Here it came—the final block. Nothing but open country, brown and hilly, beyond it. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shove open my door and fling myself onto the pavement. What if I did? Would someone hear me before Joshua forced me back into the car? What price would I pay?
We neared the edge of town. It was now or never. My muscles gathered, energy pooling. My limbs tensed, ready to spring—
Joshua grunted in disgust. My eyes jerked to him. He was looking in the rearview mirror. My right arm came off the window. I started to turn.
“Stop!” he barked. “You just look straight ahead.”
“What is it?”
“Police car.”
A second passed before my chaotic mind could register. Police? Where had he come from?
Joshua flicked another look into the mirror. “Nothin’ to worry about.” Joshua’s words were clipped, tense. “He just happened to turn onto the street behind us.”
A coincidence, that was all. We hadn’t passed a police car on my side of the Camry, I was sure of that. No way he could have seen the T-shirt. No way.
“Don’t you move.” Joshua’s voice darkened with threat. “Don’t forget I got that gun under my seat. Wouldn’t want you to make me have to kill him.”
I stared straight ahead, eyes burning.
The town faded past us. I fought to keep my chin up, my mouth from trembling.
“Is he still there?” I whispered.
No reply. Left hand on the wheel, Joshua bent down and fished underneath the seat with his right hand. He brought up the gun. Laid it in his lap.
My stomach fluttered. “Don’t hurt him. Please. He can’t know anything.”
Behind us a siren whooped once.
My breath sucked in. I turned wide eyes to Joshua. His face blackened. Curses spilled from his lips.
“What are you—”
“Shut up!”
The siren whooped again. I saw a flash of red reflected in the mirror.
No, policeman, go away. Don’t stop us!
Joshua reached over and dug his fingers into my thigh. I gasped in pain. “Don’t you move,” he seethed. “Don’t say a word. You hear?”
“Please don’t shoot him.”
“Do you hear?”
“Yes. Yes!”
Joshua slowed the car and pulled toward the side of the road.
We stopped.
Fear cocooned me. I couldn’t move. I watched Joshua as from some distant place as he left the car in drive, put his foot on the brake. With his left hand he hit the button to roll down his window. His right hand picked up the gun and held it low, down by the front of his seat.
Footsteps sounded on pavement. They grew closer. I couldn’t just sit there and let this policeman die.
Joshua’s fingers gripped his weapon, knuckles whitening.
The officer reached Joshua’s window. Leaned down.
“No!” I screamed. “Run!”
The officer’s surprised eyes locked with mine. Joshua’s right arm rose. The policeman jerked back. My hand shot out and punched Joshua’s elbow—just as he pulled the trigger. His aim went wild out the window. The policeman grabbed for his gun, yanked it out.
Joshua re-aimed.
“No!” I hit him again—too late.
He fired. A bullet hole punched in the officer’s right chest. The man grunted and staggered back. Sank to his knees, then fell face forward.
Final Touch Page 12
