31

Rusty lay at the bottom of the stairs in a crumpled heap. Isaac was pretty sure he was dead. He couldn’t see any blood, not from where he crouched, but the deputy didn’t seem to be breathing. Isaac wanted to check, to get help, but he couldn’t come into the open in case whoever fired that shot was still at the top of the stairs.

Hoping to hear footsteps that might tell him more precisely where the shooter was, he paused to listen—and heard nothing. He was tempted to believe the person had already run off, but he knew better. It had to be Les Weaver, and Les Weaver was a cool customer. He’d left too soon when he torched Isaac’s cabin; he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

That meant Isaac had to be careful and not make a mistake himself—or he’d end up on the floor like Rusty.

Pulling his gun from his waistband, he peered around the corner and saw only darkness. Whoever it was had turned off the upstairs lights. Was he sitting there, waiting for Isaac to come out so he could pick him off?

Probably. But if he was going to be trapped in the basement, he had to get behind something that might block a bullet or two and allow him at least a limited view of the stairs, since they were the only exit. Jeremy’s room provided his best option, but to get there he had to cross the laundry room.

Reaching around the wall, he switched off the light, plunging the basement into darkness, too. He couldn’t let Les see him; he’d be a dead man if he did.

Now!

A gun went off as Isaac charged past Rusty and dived through Jeremy’s open door. Les had fired on sound alone.

Isaac didn’t feel any pain, but he was so rattled it took him several seconds once he’d scrambled up against the inside wall to ascertain that he wasn’t injured. The bullet must’ve gone into a wall or the bed.

Thank God…

“Les?” he called. There was no answer, but he kept talking. “If you’re smart, you’ll get the hell out of here now. You just killed a sheriff’s deputy. The police catch you, you’ll get the death penalty for sure.”

Again, no reply. Les was hedging his bets, trying to kill and get out while concealing his identity, just in case Isaac—or even Rusty—somehow survived long enough to finger him.

“Rusty radioed the sheriff. He’ll be here any minute,” Isaac yelled. He wanted to believe that was true; Rusty had been about to contact Myles but no way could he have had time.

Maybe if he stalled, the police would arrive even without Rusty’s having called.

No, that wasn’t likely. He had to be realistic. Someone might eventually come looking for the deputy, when dispatch realized he hadn’t checked in for a while, but that could be an hour or more away.

“Les? You listening? We found Alana O’Toole in the crawl space. Probably Don, too. The game’s up.”

“Not yet it isn’t!” A rapid succession of gunshots rang out as someone came running down the stairs.

It was a fast, bold and confident move—so fast, bold and confident it took Isaac by surprise. In that split second, he wasn’t sure whether to dash into the open, like his adversary. With bullets going everywhere, he could easily be hit. But if he waited, he’d get pinned in Jeremy’s room.

Heart pumping so hard he could almost hear it above the gunfire, he froze in indecision. If he didn’t act fast, he wouldn’t get out alive. Les was almost on him.

He thought of Claire. They had something—something worth fighting for. He wasn’t going to let it end this way.

Dropping to the floor, he rolled into the center of the doorway, did what he could to steady his hand and pulled the trigger.

The random firing stopped; it sounded as if his opponent fell.

Rolling back behind the cover of the wall, Isaac waited a few seconds to see what would happen next. But nothing happened. He could hear heavy breathing and the grunts of someone in pain, so he got up and turned on the light.

It was Les Weaver, all right. He’d fallen over Rusty and landed on his face. When the light came on, he managed to roll onto his back. He even attempted to lift his gun. “I’ll get you, you son of a bitch!”

Isaac wasn’t too worried. Blood poured from the man’s chest, and he was shaking too hard to control his hand. When he finally managed to take awkward aim, Isaac merely kicked the gun away and stepped on his wrist. “I think you should’ve taken my advice and left.”

Les’s demeanor changed instantly. Clutching his chest with the other hand, he winced. “Help. G-get help!”

Isaac felt drained, weak. The adrenaline—and the fear, anger and shock—were taking a toll. He almost made himself stumble up the stairs to the phone, but Rusty hadn’t stirred or moaned or done anything since he’d been shot, even when Les fell over him. He was dead. The only person at risk here was the person who’d killed him, and Isaac doubted Les was in as much mortal danger as he thought. The way he kept gasping, the bullet had probably punctured a lung, but the hole wasn’t very close to his heart.

“First you’re going to help me.” Because this was his only hope. Once Les went into police custody, he’d lawyer up and they’d never get the real story. He’d deny having shot David, setting the fire, ransacking Claire’s house, killing Don—whatever he’d done.

Isaac figured Les owed him and Claire a few minutes of his time, but Les’s eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Apparently, despite how cold-blooded and calculating he’d been, he expected nothing but compassion in return. “I—I’m dying!”

“Tell that to Rusty over there. I’m sure he’ll feel bad for you.”

“How—how can I…help you?”

“By telling me why. Why’d you do it?”

“I don’t…know what you’re…talking about—”

Isaac pressed harder on his wrist. “Are you really going to play dumb? In case you’re not aware of it, your ass is already beyond saving.”

“You—you’re crazy. Just…just get the helicopter!”

Isaac didn’t move. “Maybe I am crazy, but after everything you’ve done I consider Life Flight an unnecessary waste of taxpayer dollars.”

He blinked rapidly. “So…you—you’re going to let me…die?”

“Unless you tell the truth.”

“You—you’ll go to…prison…yourself.”

“I doubt it. This was self-defense, pure and simple.” He bent to press the muzzle of his gun to Les’s head, just to put him at even more of a psychological disadvantage. “Were you hired to kill David?”

He struggled for breath. “Yes, okay? Now will…will you call for the helicopter?”

“Tell me who hired you.”

“D-Don.”

“Where’d he get the money?”

“How should…I know? I never…asked.”

The bloodstain on his black T-shirt was spreading fast. Isaac wondered if he should feel sorry for him, because he didn’t. It wasn’t easy to take pity on a cold-blooded killer. “And Alana? Did you murder her, too?”

“No.”

“Who did?” Isaac thought he knew. He assumed it was Tug, or that Tug had put Don up to it, but he wanted to hear the answer straight from Les’s mouth.

Shaking his head, Les licked his lips and gasped for more air. “His—his son.”

The blood seemed to freeze in Isaac’s veins. “Jeremy? That can’t be true. He was only sixteen at the time,” he said, but the memory of all those locks on the crawl space door seemed to give credence to Les’s words.

Chest rising and falling in violent spasms, Les tried to explain. “All I know…is—is what…Don told me.” Gasp. “He…he said his boy…didn’t mean…to do it. Alana caught him…in her daughter’s room…when he was supposed to be at…at school.” Gasp. “He was…going through Claire’s…drawers.” Closing his eyes, he slumped back as if he couldn’t say another word, but Isaac wasn’t finished with him yet.

“Tell me more!”

Les cried out as Isaac shook him but seemed to rally. “He—he tried to get around her—” gasp “—but she cut him off.”

“And then what?”

“God, can’t you…imagine? She—she said she…was going to call the police.”

“That’s why he killed her?”

“He panicked! He just wanted to shut her up…” Gasp. “She was screaming and crying…so he put his hands…around her neck…and…”

“Strangled her.”

Les nodded.

“How did Don get involved?”

“He—he helped get…rid of the body but—” Les swallowed hard “—last year David started figuring it out. Don couldn’t…let that happen…couldn’t go to prison…or allow his son to go to prison over a…a stupid accident. He said Jeremy was…like Lennie in Of Mice and Men. Jeremy even convinced himself that…he didn’t do it.”

Isaac had read Steinbeck’s novel in freshman English and always hated the ending. “Now will you help me?” Les gasped. “This bullet…My chest feels…like it’s on fire.”

Which reminded Isaac… “Did you set the fire at my place?”

“No!” he said, but the fear in his eyes gave him away.

“Did you?”

Tears slipped down his cheeks, but they were the result of pain, not remorse. Isaac didn’t think Les was capable of feeling remorse. “I—I had to. You—you and Claire…wouldn’t leave this…alone. You…showed up at my…house, for crying out loud. Right in front of my wife!”

“You didn’t have to do any of it,” Isaac said, but he stooped to pick up Les’s gun and ran upstairs for the phone. He had to call for the helicopter before Les lost any more blood. And he had to get back to Claire.

He called 9-1-1, then tried the motel. He had to reach her, had to warn her that Jeremy could be dangerous.

The phone rang and rang and rang. No answer. So he hung up and called again.

This time, he asked for Jeremy’s room, but Jeremy didn’t answer, either.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” Claire had tried everything to get Jeremy to untie her; nothing had worked. She’d been afraid to use this ploy because she didn’t want him to say he’d help her, was afraid it might give him ideas. The things he kept saying about the way she’d kissed Isaac—with her mouth open—frightened her, but she couldn’t think of anything else that might persuade him to untie her.

This seemed to give him pause.

“You don’t want me to go in your car, do you?” she pressed. “I don’t have any clothes to change into. How will we wash these?”

Since running out of gas, they’d stayed in the car, waiting for God only knew what. Jeremy had locked all the doors as if he was afraid someone or something, maybe the zombie he kept talking about, might come after them. But he hadn’t explained what he planned to do from now on; he hadn’t so much as helped her sit up. He remained behind the wheel while she lay in the backseat. They were deep in the woods with no food or water, not even a working vehicle.

Thank God it was summer. As chilly as it was—she could almost see her breath—they would’ve frozen to death if he’d done this in winter.

“But you don’t want to get out, do you?” he said as though he couldn’t believe she’d even consider it. “There are bears out there.”

“We have to get out sometime. We have to go to the bathroom and we have to find food and water.”

He dropped his head in his hands. “Can’t you wait until morning? Your mother could be in the trunk.”

She wished he’d quit talking about her mother. Her heart ached enough right now. “She won’t hurt me. But she might hurt you for kidnapping me. So untie me, and I’ll go by myself.”

His voice fell. “You think she’s angry?”

“Wouldn’t you be angry?”

“But I’m just trying to protect you.”

He was trying to protect himself. “I’m going into the trees over there for a few minutes. Then I’ll come right out.”

“How do I know you won’t leave me?”

She heard panic in that question, panic she quickly tried to relieve. “Where would I go? I don’t even know where I am. Do you think I want to get attacked by a bear? They forage at night.”

Head still in his hands, he nodded. “We can’t leave any food in the trash.”

“See?”

“Okay,” he said, but he obviously didn’t like the idea. He rubbed his head some more, sighed, sniffled a little and began to whine. “I want to go home.”

“Then let’s go home.”

“I told you! We can’t!”

The anger that flashed in his voice frightened her even more. She’d never seen him act volatile or unpredictable. He’d been pushed so far beyond his ability to cope she had no way of guessing what he might do. “It’s okay, Jeremy. We’ll figure it out together,” she said. “But first, let me go to the bathroom before I have an accident.”

“That’d be gross,” he muttered, sniffling again.

“Not to mention unnecessary. It won’t take me long. You can tie me up again afterward.”

“If you run away you’ll get eaten by a bear.”

“Which is why I’m not going to run away. Like I said, we’ll figure this out together.”

Getting up on his knees, he twisted around. With his big body hunched, head and shoulders pressed up against the ceiling, he stared through the windows as if he was ten years old and imagining all kinds of terrible dangers lurking out there, cloaked by darkness.

In that moment, Claire was able to feel sorry for him again. He didn’t know what he was doing; he was just trying to deal with the loss of his father, his fears and basic survival. Even innocuous animals in that type of situation could be dangerous.

“You don’t have to get out with me,” she said. “Reach over and untie this rope. It’s cutting into my wrists and ankles.”

He wiped the tears from his face and did as she asked. His thick fingers struggled with the tight knots but eventually he succeeded and blood began to flow back into her hands and feet.

However, that wasn’t an immediate improvement. The burning sensation hurt so much Claire couldn’t even move.

“I thought you were going to get out,” he said.

She considered explaining to him what the ropes had done, but why confuse him further? She couldn’t tell how he might react to more guilt or pressure. “I just… I need a minute to…to think about how to do this.”

“What’s wrong?”

The strain in her voice had given her away. “Nothing,” she lied.

“Are you scared, too?” He seemed relieved to think he might not be alone in that.

“A little,” she said. “That’s why I—” she drew a deep breath as the prickling in her feet intensified “—I’m going to make it…really quick.”

“Okay. I’ll leave that door unlocked so you can get in. But I’m going to lock the rest.”

“Good idea,” she said, playing along. No matter what Jeremy had done, he was as much a victim in all of this as anyone else. He didn’t understand enough about life and people or what was right and wrong to avoid the many pitfalls. She just happened to be something—like a shiny bauble—that’d caught his attention and captured his heart.

Lucky her… But she was still better off than he was. Despite what she’d been through, what she might still lose before this was over, she’d had a keen mind, good health and people to love, including Isaac. After what he’d said in the truck—that he’d always loved her—she had such hope for the future. She wanted that future, a future with him. She was almost certain she couldn’t be pregnant, but if she was, she wanted Isaac’s baby, too.

The pain hadn’t eased but she didn’t dare delay any longer for fear Jeremy would change his mind. He wasn’t smart, but he was physically intimidating. If, for some reason, he got spooked and decided to restrain her again, he’d have no problem getting the job done. Her best option was to get away from him as soon as possible and hide until morning, then try to find help. If she was fortunate enough to make it, and careful enough to remember her route, she could take someone back for him.

She’d barely climbed out of the car when he surprised her with the reversal she’d feared.

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ll leave me. I know you will.” He scrambled out of the car even though she’d thought his terror would keep him inside, and tried to grab her.

Her feet felt as if a million needles were stabbing into her soles at once. To make it even worse, they were still sore from the night of the fire, when she’d been running without her shoes.

The pain was unbearable and she screamed, but that only frightened Jeremy more. She could tell by the look on his face that he was suddenly determined to stop her.

He reached out, but if he got hold of her, she might never have another chance to escape. They’d die together in that car.

Run! her mind ordered, but she couldn’t. Her feet wouldn’t carry her. Instead of darting off into the trees, as she’d planned, she stumbled and fell.