Tangled Threat ; Suspicious

by Heather Graham

  Well, hell, too bad. He was going to have to check on her—whether he interrupted something intimate or not.

  * * *

  MAURA WASN’T SURE what was taking Brock so long, except that he’d be filling Mike and Rachel in on whatever had gone on with Heidi’s parents.

  She paced her room for a few minutes, then paused as her phone rang.

  She answered quickly, thinking it was Brock.

  It was not.

  It was Angie.

  “Maura,” Angie said. “You’ve got to come out—find Tall, Dark and Very Studly, and come on out here.”

  “Come on out here? Angie, where are you?”

  Angie giggled. “Almost getting lucky!” she said in a whisper. “You need to come out here—first. I’ve found something. Or rather, my own Studly found something for me. Come on, quickly, just grab Brock and get out here.”

  “Out here where?”

  “The History Tree. I have something for you!”

  Maura heard a strange little yelping sound—excitement or a scream? She dropped the phone and hurried out into the hallway, just in time to see Brock coming up the stairs at the end.

  “Brock, come on. We have to go.” Maura said.

  “I tried to check on Angie because I didn’t see her in the lobby, but she’s not answering her door,” he told her.

  “She isn’t there. She’s out at the History Tree. Brock—she said that she’s found something. She was excited, but then, it was strange—come on!”

  She didn’t wait for the elevator—she headed straight for the stairs. He followed behind her, calling her name.

  “You shouldn’t go. I should go alone. Maura!”

  He didn’t catch up with her until they were out on the lawn, halfway out to the campfire and the trail. He caught her by the arm. “Let me go—you get back in the resort, up in your room—locked in.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong,” Maura said. “She wanted me to see something. Brock, you’re armed and she said to bring you. She just wanted us both to come.”

  He shook his head, staring at her, determined.

  “It could be a trap.”

  “Angie sounded like Angie. What kind of a trap would that be? Come on.”

  “No! You don’t know—go back into the resort, into your room and lock the door.”

  She stared back at him.

  “Please, Maura, if we’re to go on...”

  “But, Brock, I just talked to her. This is silly. I’m with you, and... Please, let’s just hurry!”

  She broke away from him, but he overtook her quickly. “Maura!”

  “What?”

  “You can’t put yourself in danger,” he told her. “Let me do my job.”

  “Oh, all right!”

  “Go!”

  She did. And since she knew that he’d wait until he saw her heading back into the resort, she turned and headed for the steps.

  Something was bugging her about Angie’s call. There had been that strange little noise. And then Angie hadn’t spoken again. The line had gone dead.

  Irritated but resolved, she hurried back into the resort. She waved to the night clerk and headed to the elevator—too tired and antsy for the stairs.

  She walked down the hallway, feeling for her phone to try calling Angie again. She remembered that she’d dropped her phone on her bed.

  That was all right; she was almost there.

  She walked down the hallway to her room and pushed open the door.

  The room was dark.

  She hadn’t left the lights out.

  And neither had she thought to lock the door.

  She had no idea what hit her; something came over her head, smothering any cry for help she might have made, and then she hit the floor.

  And darkness was complete.

  * * *

  BROCK WALKED CAREFULLY through the woods, swiftly following the trail to the History Tree but hugging the foliage and staying in the shadows.

  Long before he reached the tree, he heard the cries for help and the sobs. He quickened his pace, but continued to move stealthily.

  When he reached the clearing, he saw that Angie was tied to the tree.

  She hadn’t been hanged as the long-ago Gyselle had been; she was bound to the massive trunk of the conjoined trees, sobbing, crying out.

  Brock didn’t rush straight to her; he surveilled the clearing and the surrounding areas the best he could in the darkness. The moon was only half-full, offering little help.

  There seemed to be no one near Angie. Still, he didn’t trust the scene. It made no sense. Girls disappeared. Months later, remains were found.

  None had been tied to the History Tree.

  He pulled his phone out and called Flannery. “History Tree—backup,” he said quietly.

  And then, with his Glock at the ready, he made his way forward, still waiting for a surprise ambush from the bushes.

  “Brock, Brock! Be careful, he knows you’re coming... He knows... He could be here, here somewhere...”

  “I’m watching, Angie,” he said, reaching her. He found his pocketknife to start sawing on the ropes that bound her to the tree.

  When she was free, she threw herself into his arms. “You saved me. Thank God I called Maura. He might have come back. He might have... He would have killed me. Oh, Brock, thank you, thank you.”

  Mike and Rachel came bursting into the clearing.

  Angie jerked back, frightened by their arrival.

  “It’s all right, Angie. It’s all right—who brought you here? Who the hell brought you here?” Brock demanded.

  She began to shake. “I don’t believe it! I still don’t believe it!” she said, and she began to sob.

  * * *

  MAURA AWOKE TO DARKNESS. For a moment, the darkness confused her.

  At first she had no recollection of what had happened. When she did start to remember—it wasn’t much. Someone had attacked her when she’d walked into her room.

  She touched her head. No blood, but she had one hell of a headache.

  Brock had been right. The call had been a trap.

  Angie had called...and there had been that little yelp, and then the phone had gone dead. But Brock hadn’t allowed her to go with him.

  Whoever had done this knew how Brock would react. Knew that he would never allow Maura to chance her own life.

  She didn’t know who it was. Mark or Nils Hartford? Bentley?

  Donald Glass himself?

  She tried to move and was surprised that she could. She struggled her way out of the covering that all but encased her. It was a comforter—the comforter from her bed at the resort.

  She struggled to sit up and realized the earth around her was cold—as if she were in the ground. Struggling, she sat up—but she couldn’t stand. The space was too tight. She could see nothing at all.

  On her hands and knees, she began to crawl, blinking, trying to adjust to the absolute darkness. Where was Angie—had they taken her, too? Had Brock raced out to the clearing—to find nothing?

  If so...

  He’d wake the very dead to get every cop in the state out to start looking.

  Maura began to shake, terrified. Then, wincing at the pain in her head, she moved forward again.

  Brock would search for her, she knew.

  She also needed to do her damned best to save herself.

  She paused for a minute, listening. Nothing—but it was night. Late at night. She breathed in.

  Earth. Earth and...

  She paused, and suddenly she knew where she was—well, not where she was, but what she was in. There was earth, but she’d also touched something hard, a bit porous.

  And native to a nearby area. Coquina. A sedimentary rock made of fossilized coquina shells that had
been used in the building of the great fort in St. Augustine, that still graced walkways and garden paths and all manner of other projects. But to the best of her knowledge, there hadn’t been any at the Frampton Ranch and Resort, unless it had been long, long ago.

  Maybe she was no longer near the resort. She didn’t know how long she had been unconscious.

  She kept crawling, not even afraid of what night creatures might be sharing this strange underground space with her.

  And then, suddenly, she touched flesh.

  * * *

  “WHO, ANGIE? WHO did this to you?” Brock demanded, his arm around her still-shaking body as they headed back toward the resort. Flannery and Rachel had searched the area, a call had been put out for a forensic team and cops would soon be flooding the place.

  “It was—it was Donald Glass!” she said, still sounding incredulous. “He was so polite, so gracious, and he said that he wanted me to see something very special. It was him!”

  Flannery, right behind them, pushed forward. “Let’s see if the old bastard is at the house. Supreme Being. I’ll bet he sure as hell thinks that he’s one. What the hell was he going to do? Did he think that Angie would die by herself by morning? Or was he coming back to finish the deed—right where he probably murdered Francine years ago?”

  As they neared the house, Brock called to Rachel. “Stay with Angie, will you? I’ve got to go and bring Maura down.”

  “Don’t leave me!” Angie begged, grabbing his arm.

  He freed himself. “I have to get Maura.”

  Rachel had gotten strong; she managed to help Brock disengage a terrified Angie.

  Brock raced up the stairs to Maura’s room. He could tell the door to her room was open from halfway down the hall. He sprinted into it.

  Empty.

  The comforter was gone from the bed; her phone lay on the floor.

  The breath seemed to be sucked out of him. His heart missed a beat, and for a split second, he froze.

  It had been a trap. And he’d been such an ass, he hadn’t seen it.

  By the time he raced downstairs, the terrified desk clerk was hovering against the wall and Flannery had Donald Glass—in a smoking jacket—in handcuffs.

  “No, no, this is wrong—I’ve been in my room. Ask my wife! Angie! Why the hell would you say these things, accuse me? I did nothing to you. I opened my resort to you. I... Why?”

  Angie was shaking and crying, but Donald Glass was agitated, too. He appeared wild-eyed and confused.

  “You meant to kill me!” Angie cried.

  “I’ve been in my room all night!” Glass bellowed. “Ask my wife!”

  Marie Glass was coming down the stairs, her appearance that of a woman who was stunned and stricken. Her hands shook on the newel post of the grand stairway as she reached the landing.

  “Marie, tell them!” Glass bellowed.

  Marie began to stutter. Tears stung her eyes. “I—I can’t lie for you anymore, Donald.”

  “What?” he roared.

  Brock strode up to him, face-to-face, his voice harsh, his tension more than apparent. “Where’s Maura?” he demanded.

  “Maura?” Glass asked, puzzled. Then he cried out, “Sleeping with you, most probably!”

  “She’s gone—she was taken. Where the hell is she?”

  Donald Glass began to sob. He shook his white head, far less than dignified then. “I didn’t take Maura. I didn’t hurt Angie. I swear, I was in my room. I was in my room. I was in my room—”

  “Get every cop you can. We have to search everywhere. Maura is with those other girls, I’m certain, and they’re near here,” Brock said.

  A siren sounded, and then a cacophony of sirens filled the night.

  “We’ll get him to jail—you can join the hunt,” Flannery told Brock.

  “I’ll get out to the car with him. By God, he’s going to talk.” Brock said. He set a hand hard on Donald Glass’s shoulder, following him and Flannery out to the police cruiser.

  A uniformed officer jumped out of the driver’s seat and opened the back door for them.

  “He’s not going to talk, Brock, get on the search—” Flannery began. “Or don’t,” he said as Brock shoved Glass into the rear of the car and then crawled into the seat next to him.

  “I don’t have her. I don’t have her. I don’t have her!” Donald Glass screamed. “Don’t kill me. Please, don’t kill me!”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Brock said. “What I need to know from you is anything I don’t. Where around here could someone hide women?”

  “But I swear, I didn’t—”

  “You—or anyone else. Dammit, man, I’m trying to believe you! Talk to me.”

  * * *

  “WATER...PLEASE... Don’t kill me... Water...”

  The flesh Maura had encountered spoke.

  “I don’t have water. I’m not going to kill you,” Maura assured the voice she heard. “I’m Maura Antrim. Who are you?”

  “Maura!”

  The person struggled in the darkness. Maura felt hands grab for her. “I know you... I know you... I’m Heidi... I’m so scared! I stopped because a car had flashing lights and... I went out to help and there was no one to help, and someone hit me, and... I’m dying, I’m sure. I’m going to die down here. I’m so scared. It’s so dark. I don’t know... Did they take you, too?”

  “Yes, they hit me over the head in my hotel room. You don’t have any idea of who did this to you?”

  Maura felt the girl shake her head.

  “We’re not far from the resort—I know that. Not far at all.”

  “But where...?”

  “I think we’re in a bit of a sinkhole—covered up years and years ago—but someone used it as something. They shored up the sides with coquina. But they got us in here—there has to be a way out. Can you still move?”

  “Barely.”

  “Okay, so stay still. I’m going to try to find a way to escape.”

  “No! Don’t leave me!” Heidi begged, clinging to her.

  “Then you have to come with me,” Maura said firmly.

  She began to crawl again, and she felt the earth grow wetter.

  They were in a drainage culvert. They were probably right off the main highway, and if she could just find the grating...

  Her mind was numb, and it was also racing a hundred miles an hour. Angie had called her because she had been meeting someone. That someone had lured Angie out and let her lure Brock out and, of course...

  That someone had known Brock. Yes, she’d thought that right away. Known that he would make her go back, that he’d consider himself trained, ready to meet danger.

  Brock would want Maura safe.

  Whoever it had been walked easily and freely through the resort, knew where to go—how to avoid the eyes of the desk clerk and the cameras that kept watch on the lobby.

  Thoughts began to tumble in her mind. One stuck.

  It couldn’t be. And, of course, it was just one someone...

  It wasn’t a society or an organization—but rather someone who had known about it.

  She suddenly found herself thinking about the long-lost Gyselle, the beautiful woman running from her pursuers, those who would hang her from the History Tree until dead.

  Maybe they had been part of a society. Maybe they hadn’t. Maybe they had just...

  She saw a light! A tiny, tiny piece of light...

  * * *

  THE NIGHT WAS ALIVE. Police were searching everywhere.

  Dogs were out, each having been given a whiff of Maura’s scent. But while they searched the woods and the house and the gardens and the pool, Brock headed off toward the road.

  Donald Glass had spilled everything he knew. No, there had never been a basement; there were foundations, of course, but barely wide enough for one m
aintenance man. There had been a well, yes, filled in years and years ago.

  Outbuildings had been torn down. The wings on the resort were new. There were no hidden houses; the one little nearby cemetery had no mausoleums or vaults...

  Where to hide someone?

  Warehouses aplenty on the highway. And the drainage tank off the road, ready to absorb excess water when hurricanes came tearing through.

  A perfect place for a body to deteriorate quickly.

  Donald Glass had been taken off to jail.

  That didn’t matter to Brock right now. Nothing mattered.

  Except that he find Maura.

  He reached the road and raced alongside the highway, seeking any entrance to the sunken areas along the pavement.

  He ran and ran, and then ran back again, and then noted an area where foliage had been tossed over the drain.

  He raced for it.

  And as he neared, he heard her. Crying out, thundering against the metal grate.

  “Maura!”

  He cried her name, surged to the grate and fell to his knees. His pocketknife made easy work of the metal joints. He pulled her out and into his arms, and for a long moment, she clung to him.

  And then he heard another cry.

  “Heidi—she says there are other women down there... Dead or alive, I don’t know.”

  He pulled Heidi from the drain. She crushed him so hard in a hug that he fell back, and several long seconds passed in which it seemed they were all laughing and crying.

  Then, in the distance, he heard the baying of a dog. He shouted, “Over here!” Soon, there were many officers there, many dogs, and he was free to take Maura into his arms and hold her and not let go.

  Epilogue

  “You know,” Maura said, probably confusing everyone gathered in the lobby of the Frampton Ranch and Resort by being the one to speak first. “Sometimes, really, I can still see her—or imagine her—the beautiful Gyselle, running in the moonlight, desperate to live. Legends are hard to shake. And I’m telling you this, and starting the explanation because, in one way, it’s my story. And because Gyselle’s life has meaning, and legends have meaning, and sometimes we don’t see the truth because what we see is the legend.”