“Carrie made her choice,” Jeff said. “She killed Jenna. Now she’s going to pay. Everyone is.”
“So you’re gonna ruin everybody’s lives?” Greg asked, sliding another step forward. “You’re gonna shut down the clan? All these years of working, hiding, helping, and you’re gonna end it, just like that?”
Carrie’s eyes closed. Her body went limp. She was giving up. C’mon, Greg begged. Just another second.
“Seems fair to me,” Jeff said.
“Seems cruel to me,” Greg countered.
Jeff’s eyes hardened, grip tightening on the rifle. “That’s life.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
Greg sprung forward. In one leap, he charged and rammed into Jeff and Carrie, shoulder hitting their stomachs. Jeff wasn’t prepared. His feet slipped on the slushy grass, and the three of them tumbled back.
The rifle went sailing.
Jeff scrambled for it. Greg was faster and kicked it out of reach. Screaming, Jeff jumped up, and threw a fist. Greg saw it coming and spun. Unprepared for the extra momentum, Jeff went sprawling on the snowy grass.
Greg jumped on top of him at the same time Braden, Dylan, and Terrell sprang out from the bushes. The four of them pinned Jeff face down in the slush.
“Get off me!” Jeff bellowed. In his rage, he had the strength of two men, but they kept him tackled. His limbs flailed less and less until finally they went slack.
“Jenna,” he moaned.
As the last of the fight went out of him, Greg fell back on the grass, sucking in deep breaths. Braden and the others took care of Jeff, which was good because everything in front of Greg went in and out of focus. It felt like somebody was ramming his head against the wall with each heartbeat.
As his breathing slowed, his mind sped up, realizing the magnitude of the situation. Jenna. Jeff. His grandpa. Carrie
Carrie?
Greg turned to find her. She’d fallen, too, but that’s the last he’d seen her. He twisted further but didn’t see her anywhere.
Gathering his strength, he pushed himself up. His clothes were cold, wet, and heavy. Still, Carrie was nowhere. Panicked, he squinted to see the porch. Half the clan huddled around the window. The rest stood at the front door, blocking it. Carrie couldn’t have made it inside to check on Zach.
Then Greg found her. The opposite direction. She was sprinting down the street, away from Jeff. Away from all of them.
“Carrie!” he yelled.
She kept running, frantic.
He started after her as fast as his weary body could take him. “Carrie, wait!”
She slid to a stop and double-backed to him.
“I have to go,” she huffed, her voice scratchy from the attack.
“No. It’s okay,” Greg said. “It’s over now. Jeff’s done. He’s not gonna hurt you or anybody again.”
She shook her head, too out of breath to explain. Instead, she pointed.
Greg followed her finger and froze. Carrie wasn’t running away. She was headed for the end of the cul-de-sac. To Jeff’s house.
To Jenna.
“No!” He shook his head adamantly. “You can’t go there. We don’t know what happened. It might not be—”
“The boys?” she cried. “Who has the boys?”
A chill ran down Greg’s body as he realized what she had. Little Jeffrey and Jonah were home alone.
With their dead mother.
Greg looked at Carrie, back at Jeff, then he took off down the street.
forty-nine
CARRIE COULDN’T RUN FAST ENOUGH. She passed yard after enormous yard, desperate for time to slow down or her feet to speed up. All she could think about was Jenna, her unborn baby, and the boys who were too young to understand any of it.
Somehow she picked up speed, but Greg outpaced her. He was already to Kovach’s slushy driveway and up the front steps. Then he stopped. He stood on the porch, waiting for her to catch up. When she did, she saw why. The front door was blocked by a couch. A huge, ugly, green couch.
Her hands flew to her mouth. “No!”
Carrie’s couch was wedged in the doorway, like someone wanted to be rid of it. Like someone went in a fit of rage and tried to return it to its previous owner. Only it got stuck.
A wave of nausea hit her strong and hard. She clutched her stomach.
“You did this! You killed her!” Jeff had yelled.
The couch was perched at an awkward angle, blocking off the entrance from above. Greg shoved all the corners to find a way through. It didn’t budge.
“Jeffrey!” Carrie shouted, her voice raw and tender. She pressed her face to the side window. The sun was setting, making it dark inside. She couldn’t see anything. “Jonah!” she tried to scream. It’s like Jeff was still choking her. She couldn’t yell, and she couldn’t hear anything either.
Greg threw his full weight against the couch. Nothing. Then Carrie spotted an opening below. It wasn’t huge, but it was enough to squeeze her skinny body through.
The second she crouched down, Greg grabbed her. “No, Carrie. You don’t know what’s in there. Let me go.”
Before she could argue, Greg flattened himself on the porch and somehow wiggled his way underneath the couch until he disappeared on the other side. She wasn’t about to sit around and wait. Scrunching down, she followed.
The second she was inside, she scanned the house for any sign of life.
“Jeffrey!” she tried again. “Where are you?” Her tender throat couldn’t project far enough, her eyes struggled to adjust to dark house, but her ears were alert. All stayed silent except her pounding heart.
Greg helped her to her feet. “I don’t see Jenna anywhere. Stay here and let me check things out.”
Carrie started to nod but caught sight of something. A dark red stain was smeared on the carpet below her. Her stomach pitched. The room spun. She saw another dark spot down the hall and another beyond that. Her feet started moving before she could stop them.
“Jenna?”
Greg grabbed her by the shoulders. He bent down and looked her squarely in the eye. “Carrie. Go upstairs and find the boys.”
“Jenna,” she breathed, starting to hyperventilate.
“Carrie,” Greg said firmly. “Go upstairs. Find the boys.”
She nodded, too paralyzed to do otherwise. The boys. The boys. By the third stair she was running to reach the top.
“Jeffrey! Jonah!” She scanned the upstairs hallway. The shock was shutting down her ability to move properly. “Jeffrey!”
She stumbled to the boys’ room. Empty. She yanked open their closet. Empty. She ran back into the hallway, calling their names over and over.
Bathroom. Nothing. Spare bedroom. Nothing.
She headed for Jeff and Jenna’s room.
“Jeffrey!”
Her voice was losing volume until it was barely a scratch of sound. She searched every inch of that room, behind the mattress, in the closet, in the bathroom.
If Jeff went nuts, maybe he…
No. He wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t hurt his boys. And yet she couldn’t hear anything. They should be crying or something. With the evening darkness, they could have been anywhere and she’d miss them.
“Carrie!” Greg yelled from downstairs. “Carrie, down here!”
She flew back the way she’d come, down the hall, down the flight of stairs, nearly tripping as she ran. Greg was coming up from the basement.
She shouted in relief when she saw him carrying the two boys. Jonah was crying, eyes red and puffy, his voice hoarse with tears. Little Jeffrey stared straight ahead in a state of utter shock.
Carrie grabbed them both from Greg. Her knees buckled under their weight and she sank to the floor, clutching them. Jonah’s crying picked up. Little Jeffrey didn’t move. She stroked their hair over and over again.
Greg crouched down next to her. “They were locked downstairs. I think Jeff put them down there when he realized what was happening.”
Carrie closed her eyes and steeled herself for the question she couldn’t bear. “Jenna?”
Greg swallowed. “In the kitchen. I’m sorry.”
Her chest caved. Jenna was gone. Her baby, gone.
Carrie buried her face in the boys’ shoulders as the grief consumed her. Then the shaking started. The fear, the anguish, the wet cold. Her entire body shook with terrible convulsions.
Greg sat on the floor next to her and gathered all of them into his arms. He laid his head on top of hers. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I’m so…so sorry.”
fifty
WELL PAST MIDNIGHT, Greg stood in the last place he wanted to be: outside of the Shelton patrol station. He was awake, barely. Instead of staying with Carrie to make sure she was okay, staying with his grandpa and mom to make sure they were okay, he was about to tell the guy Carrie was supposed to love that he had to arrest the man who almost killed her. Something Carrie was sure to hate Greg for. Oliver, too.
Had anybody else in the clan been willing or able to go, Greg would have sent them. But he stood outside the dark patrol station with his cursed yellow card, freezing to death.
The snow had subsided, which meant the temperatures had plummeted. Even with a coat, Greg blew on his hands to keep them from seizing up. His toes were ice blocks after making the two-mile trek into town. If Oliver didn’t emerge soon, Greg would have frostbite to add to the day’s injuries.
He rubbed his swollen brow. The blood had crusted over, and his head ached like mad. He hadn’t looked in a mirror, and he didn’t want to. Carrie’s neck was already darkening with bruises. Her throat had probably swelled to the point she could hardly swallow, and he wondered if she’d ever stopped shaking. Or if she’d found the energy to start a fire in her house.
If Terrell and the others hadn’t followed them to Kovach’s, Greg would probably still be there, holding Carrie and the little boys.
Thankfully, Carrie’s neck was the only place Jeff got her. His grandpa, while awake, was far worse off. He was disoriented and feverish. And his mom had been coughing up blood for the past hour.
Greg’s head throbbed. The night was far from over, but the worst was yet to come.
He leaned sideways.
Oliver had been in that station a long time. With his yellow card, Greg could have gone in there and talked to him, but he didn’t have the energy to face anybody, let alone a room full of patrolmen.
A few minutes later, Greg heard voices. Somebody was shouting inside the precinct. Though it killed him to do so, Greg strained to listen.
“You’re telling me you’ve known about this the whole time!” somebody yelled.
“No,” Oliver answered. “I’ve only suspected for a short while, sir.”
Oliver was talking to his boss.
Greg slid closer.
“All the things missing from the precinct,” the chief said, voice rising. “All the things disappearing over the years. You’re telling me it’s been two of my own guys selling it on the black market?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who?” his boss said, low and deadly.
Greg held his breath. One wrong move could detonate the whole plan. No wiggle room, he wanted to tell Oliver. You’ve got the upper hand. Use the truth to your advantage. Truth sells.
“Sir,” Oliver said, “I need a promise of protection first. If I don’t have that then my job—as well as my life—is in danger.”
It was quiet for a long moment. The precinct was the only source of light on the dark, deserted street. Greg pictured Oliver sweating bullets in there.
Finally, the chief answered. “Deal. Who are they?”
“The raid in Logan Pond,” Oliver said. “Jamansky and Nielsen said there were twenty-ish squatters holed up there. But if so, where’s all the stuff? They said the clan had furniture and everything, yet they only reported an acquisition enough for one or two squatters—not twenty.”
Greg nodded. Brilliant.
“Where’s the rest of it?” his boss asked.
Oliver’s voice was a little shaky when he answered. “I don’t know where it is now, but I can tell you where it was the morning after the raid.” He paused. “Because I inventoried it.”
“You what?” The chief’s voice echoed off the deserted buildings.
“Here’s the list,” Oliver said.
For a long moment, it stayed quiet. Greg hoped Oliver had been smart enough to wait until he and his boss were alone. Otherwise, Oliver was a dead man. Jamansky would see to that.
“Why would you inventory this without telling me?” the chief said.
“I heard them talking about the black market,” Oliver said, “but I needed proof. So, I waited to see if they would turn in the stuff after that raid. They didn’t, did they?”
More truth.
He was on a roll.
“No.” Another pause. “If this is true, Simmons, you’re getting a raise. If it’s true. How do I know you’re not just sabotaging your new boss to save your own hide?”
“Like I said, sir, the math doesn’t add up. If you look at the logs, Nielsen checked out the truck the night of the raid, plus the next morning. Why would he need a truck if they only found a few things that could have fit in their car?”
When the chief spoke again, his voice took on a hard edge. “Where are they now?”
“Home,” Oliver said.
Good, Greg thought.
“Follow me, Simmons,” his boss said.
Twenty minutes later when Oliver emerged from the station, he stood taller and more confident, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Greg double-checked to make sure the chief hadn’t followed, and then he stepped out from behind Oliver’s car.
Oliver jumped back and whipped out his gun.
Greg’s hands flew up.
“Whoa. Take it easy, buddy. It’s just me,” Greg said. “Don’t shoot.”
“Greg?” Oliver said. “What are you doing here?”
Greg didn’t answer until Oliver slid the gun safely into its holster. He’d had enough guns pointed at him to last a lifetime. “We had an incident after the wedding.”
Oliver’s eyes zeroed in on the nasty wound over Greg’s eye. “What happened?”
“Long story, but I need your help.”
The color slid off Oliver’s face. “Carrie?”
Greg opened the passenger door. “Get in. I’ll explain on the way.”
Greg was only halfway through the Jeff incident when Oliver glanced in the rearview mirror for the twentieth time. Greg stopped his narrative. “What’s wrong?”
Oliver checked his mirror again. He turned down a dark side road, heading away from Logan Pond.
“Where are we goin’?” Greg asked. “We don’t have time for this!”
Oliver gripped the steering wheel. “Someone’s following us.”
Greg whirled. Headlights trailed them a hundred yards back. Not even headlights. Just yellow parking lights. The car made the same turn down the same dark road.
“Tell me that’s not who I think it is,” Greg said.
Oliver started breathing heavily. “Jamansky. And his partner. That’s their car. Chief just served them notices. If they don’t return the stuff by morning, they’ll be…they’ll be…” Oliver checked the mirror again and pressed the accelerator. “Oh, man. I’m dead. I’m dead, I’m dead.”
Jamansky’s car was gaining on them.
“Faster!” Greg said. “Go faster!”
Oliver pushed the pedal to the floor, speeding down the dark neighborhood. He barely slowed as they neared a bend. Greg grabbed the door handle as they hit the curve. He bounced and held on.
“If you think the government is hard on illegals,” Oliver said, “think what they do to rogue patrolmen. What was I thinking? Jamansky’s going to kill me—kill us—now!”
Jamansky had already threatened Oliver, and that was before he knew what he’d done. If he saw Greg with Oliver, a man he hated plenty on his own… If they were found togeth
er…
Greg ducked down in his chair. “What happened to your boss leavin’ you outta this? Go left. Left!”
“I don’t know. Stop talking!”
“Left!” Greg grabbed the wheel and yanked hard. The turn came too late.
The car jumped the curb. Then snow-covered grass. Oliver swerved, overcorrecting. He managed to get back on wet pavement. They went barreling down another dark road, taking them further off the beaten path.
Jamansky’s patrol car didn’t make the turn. He slammed on the brakes, shoved the car in reverse, and took pursuit again.
“Where does this street lead?” Greg asked.
“I don’t know. A school, I think.”
“You think, or you know?”
The road answered for them. Up ahead, Greg saw the looming shape of a building, long and squat. An abandoned school. A parking lot. A dead end. From his scrunched position, Greg scanned every inch of the road. No more turns. No other streets. The road ended at the school.
He threw off his seatbelt. “How fast can you run?”
“What?” Oliver shrieked. “They’ll run us over if we go on foot.”
“Not if we’re lucky. There are woods to the right. It’ll work. Jump the curb there,” Greg said, pointing. “On the grass. No. Don’t slow down. Punch it. Go, go, go! The curb will—”
The car jolted as they hit the curb. Without a seatbelt, Greg flew forward and slammed into the dashboard. Recovering fast, he tried to see through the dark. Oliver’s headlights didn’t shine far enough. They flew over the bumps and dips in the grass.
“Around the school,” Greg ordered. “Loop around the playground and double back the way we came.”
Oliver didn’t argue. He headed over a sidewalk and right between two giant trees toward the playground.
Greg glanced over his shoulder, calculating. Jamansky took the bait and headed full speed for the curb.
Oliver’s car hit a bump, and Greg nearly flew through the windshield. He grabbed the door as Oliver cranked the steering wheel. The tires slid on the wet grass, struggling to find traction. They swung wide, sliding further from the playground.
Greg watched in horror as they slid right for a huge tree. At the last second, the wheels found traction and leapt forward again.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 37
