Mel gripped the armrest. “NASCAR, here we come. Who taught you to drive like that?”
A heaviness descended on her like a shroud, and she felt that stab to her heart. Nick had taught her to drive like that. Little had she realized he was grooming her to be his getaway driver.
She stared at the road ahead. Her car slipped to one side. She checked her rearview mirror. Mr. Knife stood in the driveway, arms crossed over his chest.
The car made a serpentine pattern and slid on the snow-covered road.
“Something is wrong here.” She struggled to keep the car on the road. Even with the slick roads, steering was taking way more muscle power than usual. The car began to shake and vibrate.
“I think your tires are losing air.” Mel’s voice remained calm. “No way would he have time to do both cars.” He studied the road and the surrounding trees as if he was trying to piece something together.
So her tires had been slashed too. Mr. Knife must have been in a hurry and not cut deep enough for the air to leak out fast.
She gripped the steering wheel as a tree loomed in front of her. The entire car seemed to be vibrating to pieces as the metallic clang of driving on her rims filled the front seat.
She scraped past the tree, but the car rammed into a smaller tree and came to an abrupt stop. Their bodies lurched forward then slammed back against the seat.
Mel craned his neck to stare out the back window.
Fear cut her to the bone. “Is he coming for us?”
“I can’t see him.”
Isabel tensed as she glanced over her shoulder. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t come after them.
“This car is not going to get us off this mountain. We’re going to have to call...somebody.” He pulled his phone out.
Somebody? What did that mean? Why not the police? Mr. Knife seemed to think they both were out to steal the fortune he’d come for. Whatever it was he was looking for in that house, it must be worth a great deal because Mr. Knife seemed determined that they not leave the house.
A chill ran up her spine. In fact, Mr. Knife seemed pretty bent on eliminating his perceived competition altogether. Why give him a chance at that?
Mel clicked open the door. “I can’t get a signal. We can’t stay out in this storm long. Maybe we can get a signal back at the house.”
“Are you nuts?” she said.
“What other choice do we have here? It’s five miles to the main road and another five into town. Who knows if any neighbors are home. Do you want to walk in a storm without a coat? You’ll freeze to death.”
She took in a breath. And it would be dark soon. He had a point. “Okay.”
“You know the layout of the house, right? There must be someplace where we could make the call and hide out.”
She clicked open her door, inviting the intense wind and cold in. “Mrs. Wilson has an art studio at the back of the property.”
He hurried around the car and tugged on her elbow. “Let’s get into the trees. More shelter and we won’t be spotted off the bat if he does come after us. Maybe I’ll be able to pick up a signal before we get to the house.”
She doubted that, not with the storm brewing. She crossed her arms over her chest and put her head down. She had no choice but to go with Mel’s plan. Even the short walk back to the house was going to leave her chilled to the bone at the very least.
The trees cut the wind and the snow by a little bit. They’d tromped only a short distance before the cold settled into her bones. Mel slipped out of his coat and placed it on her shoulders. She could still feel the warmth of his body heat as she put her arms in the sleeves.
The gesture warmed her heart too. The front-zip sweatshirt he had over his uniform shirt couldn’t provide much more warmth than her borrowed sweater.
“I’ll be all right. I got my thermals on.” He offered her a smile that brought a sparkle into his eyes. Beautiful blue eyes.
Don’t be taken in, Izzy.
One small act of kindness did not reveal a man’s whole character. “So you’re not really with the county, are you?”
“No.” He pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead, making it clear he wasn’t going to tell her anything else. “The less you know, the better.”
More secrecy.
As they forged through the quiet forest, Isabel felt a heaviness descend on her. What was God doing here? It felt like she was losing everything she’d fought for from the moment she’d given Him her heart in that jail cell. Her job was in jeopardy, her car had been sabotaged and she may be hooked up with another criminal.
Mel brushed the snow out of his hair. “We’ll get this straightened out. Trust me.”
She didn’t fail to notice the flatness in his voice as if he was trying to convince himself that everything was going to be okay.
Trust me. Those were some famous last words. Wind gusted and swirled through the trees. Isabel zipped the borrowed coat up to her neck and prayed that Mel was right.
* * *
As he trudged through the snow, Jason’s thoughts raced faster than a horse a mile from the barn. He glanced over at Isabel. Soft honey-colored curls covered her face as she bent forward to shield herself from the falling, blowing snow. She was pretty. He’d at least admit that.
She seemed innocent enough, but something about her just didn’t ring true.
The thief hadn’t found the bookmark yet or he would have left. Maybe the thief thought he or Isabel had it and that was why he was bent on taking them out. The guy was a fool to come after them. He wouldn’t be utilized again by the mastermind. Whoever was orchestrating the smuggling had kept it very under the radar. These low-level guys were sometimes more brawn than brains.
The one thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t let this investigation fall apart. The agents at the Bureau had put in hundreds of labor hours to gather profiles of all the people involved. His job was just one small part of a bigger picture.
Once he got a signal, he’d call his contact at the Bureau to come and get them. He’d tell Isabel the guy was a friend. The less she knew, the safer she was.
A chill had settled on his skin and was making its way to his bones. He didn’t regret giving his coat to Isabel, though. His father had taught him to be a gentleman. A lot of good it had done his dad. The man had endured a difficult marriage only to have his mom leave for another man. After the end of his own bad relationship, Jason had concluded that if women weren’t cheaters, they were liars. Isabel might not be a thief, but she was still hiding something. He just wasn’t sure what.
While they were working their way back to the house, he might as well try to figure out why she seemed to be acting a part.
“So how long have you worked for this property management place?” The trees thinned and he caught a glimpse of the obnoxiously big house with its central dome.
“What are you doing up here, anyway?” She turned, her expression filled with challenge.
If they were going to get out of this mess, he needed her to trust him. “I’m with the law. That’s all you need to know.”
She bent forward with arms folded over her chest. “He thinks we’re partners.”
“What?”
She stopped and stared at the sky. “When he held that knife to my throat—” She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, but her quivering mouth revealed she was upset.
His emotions whiplashed from rage that a man would be so violent toward a woman to compassion for Isabel. “It’s not right that happened to you.”
As quickly as she had lost it, she regained her composure. “Anyway, he accused us of working together to steal his fortune.”
Maybe he could still salvage this investigation. As long as the thief didn’t think he was connected to law enforcement. “I’m sorry about the knife.”
She shrugged. “It
wasn’t you that did it.” She did a double take as though she were trying to ferret out some hidden motive in him or see beneath his skin.
She still didn’t trust him.
The trees thinned.
Isabel stared up at the house, her voice filled with worry. “Perhaps he’ll just go away.”
He doubted that.
“He made a mess in the foyer,” she said. “If we get out of here, I’ll have to explain that to my clients and my boss.”
Her priorities seemed a little out of order. “Let’s just focus on getting out of here before he has a chance to come after us again.” His phone still showed no signal.
Snow pelted them as they came out in the open and approached the circular driveway. “Hide behind my van. He might be watching.”
He didn’t want to worry Isabel. She seemed anxious enough, but another thought concerned him. How did the man with the knife have time to slash both sets of tires and come after them pretty much nonstop? He suspected there was not one but two thieves roaming around the estate. One of them had probably been waiting in the unseen car and been called in when things fell apart.
Isabel scurried up the driveway and crouched on the far side of the van. He slipped in beside her, leaning close to whisper in her ear. “Let’s figure out where he is before we go to that studio. Is there a back way in?” Though he didn’t want to alarm Isabel, he wanted to know if they were dealing with not one but two men.
She nodded. “Through the kitchen.”
She led him around the house using the bushes for cover, then opened a door to a kitchen fit for a four-star restaurant. Stainless steel gleamed everywhere. An array of pots and pans hung above the island. The granite countertop displayed every gadget and more appliances than anyone could utilize in their lifetime. The lights were out. Clouds covered the late-day sun, making the room dim.
Isabel rushed toward the swinging kitchen door. He peered through it at the open living room and expansive entryway with its black-and-white checked floor.
If the thief was watching any part of the house, it had to be the entryway. The second-story mezzanine provided a bird’s-eye view of the main floor. The man with the knife could stand in the shadows and wait for them to cross the space. Jason studied each inch of the second floor as much as his limited view would allow. And if the thief had an accomplice, that only created more land mines.
Still no signal on his phone. The storm might be messing things up. He was going to need warmer clothes, or at least a coat, if they had to go back outside.
He cupped a hand on her shoulder. “You stay here. It’ll be safer. I’m going to see if I can figure out exactly where those guys are.”
“Guys?” she whispered.
He put his finger to his lips and signaled for her to stay.
He eased open the door. Keeping an eye on the second floor, he pressed his back against the textured wall. The whole house seemed darker. He wondered if the storm had taken out the electricity.
Jason’s heart pounded wildly. He loved this part of his job. Most detective work involved sitting and watching the sordid lives of other people. As dangerous as the situation was, he couldn’t help but relish the excitement.
He slipped into the living room, staying in the shadows and watching for movement. Gaze darting everywhere. Listening for the slightest out-of-place noise.
He waited for some time. No chance that these guys had just left. One of them might be searching the woods for them. The other looking for the bookmark they’d come here for.
Jason eased open the door and stepped back into the kitchen. His heart seized up.
Isabel wasn’t there.
Heart racing, he opened the door to the pantry. When he tried the light switch, it didn’t work. He whispered her name and circled through the pantry. No answer. He doubted she’d wandered off. Most likely, she’d been chased or...taken at knifepoint.
Either way, he needed to find her and fast.
THREE
Once again, Mr. Knife pressed the metal blade against Isabel’s neck. He’d dragged her through the kitchen and into the media room on the far side of the house. Lighting strips marked the aisles between rows of chairs. A single light that must be battery operated blazed on the back wall, lighting the media equipment.
She could feel the cold blade against her skin. She cringed, envisioning that coppery smell and the warm seeping of her own blood.
Oh God, I don’t want to die.
Mr. Knife leaned close and spoke in her ear, his voice raspy and filled with venom. “Where is it? What did you do with it?”
He let up the pressure of the knife so she could answer.
Her mind reeled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t know?” He pushed the knife against her neck again.
She shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“Don’t play coy with me. There are two of you. One of you will tell me where it is.”
She dared not cry out, fearing that he might slice the knife across her throat and seek the information he needed from Mel. Mr. Knife had made it clear he wasn’t opposed to killing her.
Still gripping her upper arm, he pulled the knife away from her throat, twisted her around and pushed her against the wall. He shoved an arm underneath her chin and pressed up. Her neck muscles strained, and she struggled for breath.
His eyes looked almost yellow. His breath stank like rotten eggs. Even in the dim light, she’d gotten a good look at him.
“That was our payday you took.”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t take anything.” He’d used the word our. Was there another killer stalking through this house? Mel had said as much.
“Liar.” He took the pressure off her neck but pushed her to one side. Her chest slammed against a commercial popcorn machine.
She righted herself and prepared to fight back. The knife still glinted in his hand. Pushing the popcorn machine on its casters, she created a barrier between them and backed him into a corner. She took the opportunity to run from him past four rows of movie-theater chairs down toward a movie screen. The floor was raked just like in a theater.
There was no door by the screen. No way to escape. She hurried around it toward the door beyond the far aisle.
Mr. Knife raced after her, grabbing her shirt just as she reached for the doorknob. She turned and kicked him in the leg. He yelped in pain. Isabel flung the door open and found herself running down a long dark hallway. Straining to see clearly, she turned a corner and peered out a window. No footsteps came toward her. She must have shaken Mr. Knife or he’d taken a wrong turn.
She slid it open and climbed out into the cold. Snow swirled around her and the wind nearly knocked her over. With the pending darkness and blizzard, she could see maybe three or four feet in front of her. Grateful for Mel’s coat, she shoved her hands in the warm pockets.
When she looked behind her, the wind was blowing enough to cover her tracks. Victoria Wilson’s art studio was out here somewhere. Though she’d never had reason to go inside it, she’d seen it from the house.
The snow pelted her and she forged ahead until an A-frame structure came into view. Finding the door unlocked, she pushed inside and fell on the floor, out of breath.
Isabel shut the door and pushed a large metal sculpture against it.
In addition to the artist’s supplies, the studio had a couch and a woodstove. She dared not start a fire. It might be spotted from the house. She gathered the blanket off the couch and wrapped it around her.
The sky was already growing dark. Was she going to die out here? Today was her day off and no one but Mel and the Wilsons knew she was up here. But she still wasn’t sure she could trust Mel, and the Wilsons wouldn’t know to worry about her until it was too late.
Isabel buried her face in her hands. What a mess.
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She shook her head. “Izzy, you seem to have a gift for getting into messes.”
Her mother had always said that she wouldn’t amount to anything. Maybe Mom was right. Even when she was trying to do the right thing by being conscientious about her work, it seemed to end in disaster.
She wrapped the blanket tighter around her and the melody of a hymn came into her head. She hummed it and then sang the words. She calmed a little.
God was her refuge and she could rest beneath His wing. She closed her eyes tight. She had to believe that. Somehow this would all work out.
The door rattled and she jumped. A fist pounded on the thick wood.
“Isabel, it’s me.”
That was Mel’s voice.
She hesitated. Did she really want to let him in? She still didn’t know how he was connected to all this chaos. He seemed interested in keeping her safe, but his secrecy bothered her.
The pounding stopped. A moment later his face appeared at the window by the couch. He tapped on the glass.
She had a decision to make. Did she trust him or not?
* * *
Jason stamped his feet to stave off the cold. When he’d gone to search for Isabel in the house and couldn’t find her, he remembered her talking about the art studio that was separate from the main house.
Was she really not going to let him in? He couldn’t stay out here in the cold much longer. Though he’d grabbed a jacket he found hung on a hook, the chill had sunk down into his bones and his fingers were numbed.
He heard a scraping noise. She was moving something across the floor.
“Come inside.” Isabel sounded out of breath.
He hurried around the little building and mounted three steps to open the door. The room was full of metal, canvases and easels. Isabel had retreated to the far corner by a couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“Are you cold?” She stepped across the room and pushed the heavy metal object back against the door.
He nodded. She’d hesitated but she’d let him in. Maybe she was starting to understand that he wasn’t the bad guy.
Mountain Secrets Page 20
