CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HARP PULLED OUT his phone with his left hand and fumbled with it until he heard it ringing. He’d taken the undersheriff’s advice and stayed away from Vicki but he was tired of staying alone in a motel room. It was time to go home. If he still had a home to go to.
“Hello?” Vicki answered in her usual tentative, quiet way.
Today it annoyed the hell out of him. “It’s me,” he said as if she didn’t know that. Silence. “So what was that about the other night?”
“We need to talk.”
“Apparently so. I thought you wanted to get married, give this baby a name. I thought...” Oh no, she wasn’t crying again, was she? “Look, I’ll come home if you aren’t going to lose it again.”
“I won’t,” she said and sniffled.
“Okay, I’m on my way.” As he hung up, he was having his doubts. Did he really want to marry this woman? Did he really want to get married at all? He thought about his job. He’d done good with Gary Long, even if he had been reprimanded for the way he’d gone about it. He could be sheriff. He could be anything he wanted.
But he’d like a woman waiting for him at home who appreciated him. Not one he’d have to worry about when he walked in the door. He questioned if Vicki was stable and what that would mean for their kid.
He thought about the things that drove him crazy about her. He’d never known what a clean freak she was until on his day off he’d had to sit there watching her scrub. He told himself it must have something to do with those hormones she was talking about because when she wasn’t cleaning she was crying. Before that, the house was a total disaster and she was throwing up. Was there no happy medium with that woman?
Either way, he wasn’t sure how much more he could take as he parked out front of the apartment, took a deep breath and climbed out of his truck.
* * *
VICKI DRIED HER eyes as she heard Harp’s heavy tread on the stairs. She promised herself she wouldn’t lose control again as she glanced toward the ruined bathroom door. Listening, she heard him turn his key in the lock. The door opened and the first thing she saw was his haggard face. Then her gaze went to the cast on his hand.
She leaped up and went to him. “Is it broken?”
He nodded. “Since I can’t shoot a gun, Mark put me on leave.” He tossed his hat on the coffee table as he moved past her into the apartment.
“I’m sorry.” She wiped her damp palms on the thighs of her jeans. “It’s all my fault.”
He turned to look at her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to agree. “No, I was the one who lost it. Vicki, what happened? I was so excited about the ring and asking you to marry me.”
“I was...overwhelmed. It was what I’d wanted for so long, but when it actually happened...” She could feel his confused gaze on her. Tell him the truth. She’d only made things worse the other night. “It’s the hormones,” she heard herself say. “I’m not myself.”
He stepped to her and took her left hand in his. The too-large ring had slid around her finger. He straightened it so the diamond was up. “We’ll get it sized,” he said. “I got the smallest size they had. But it will be all right.” He met her gaze. “We’re going to be a family, you and me and the baby.”
She nodded, unable to speak around the huge lump in her throat. Tell him the truth.
“We should set a date,” he said. “You know, to get married. We’ll keep it small because I’ve heard weddings are real expensive. But you should get a nice dress. Maybe not white,” he said with a laugh and quickly sobered. “Unless you want white because you can have whatever you want.” He drew her into a hug.
She couldn’t breathe. Her tongue seemed rooted to the top of her mouth.
“I love you, Vicki, as nuts as you make me.”
* * *
THE WIND WHIRLED the freshly fallen snow, obliterating everything in front of the pickup. Flint gripped the wheel, swearing silently as he tried to see the highway. He’d been driving too fast, feeling an urgency born of knowing now who he believed had Maggie. Clark Terwilliger was a criminal with a rap sheet as long as Flint’s arm, not to mention the man was apparently out for revenge.
He caught glimpses of the highway through what he called “snow snakes” as the wind blew the snow across the pavement in hypnotizing stripes. Speeding up, he glanced at his navigation system. He was still some miles from Sheridan, but he wanted to take the back road in, starting with a place called Decker, Montana.
The exit came up fast. He hit his brakes, skidding a little on the icy road, but getting the pickup back into control as he turned off. The snow had frozen to the pavement, making it more slick than it looked.
Now that he was off the interstate and driving along the Tongue River, the wind wasn’t quite as bad. The narrow road was snow covered and icy, and he drove slowly so he could look for whatever it was he thought he’d know when he found it. An old barn with tracks into it? An abandoned house? Any place out here away from everything where a man could hold two women and not be heard or seen, for that matter.
From the snow on this road, it was clear that it got little use. But he reminded himself that there could be a dozen roads like it around Sheridan. Except this one was still in Montana. For a man like Terwilliger, who’d spent most of his adult life behind bars, he would know that taking Maggie across state lines would be a federal offense. Not that it might make a difference to him at this point.
Flint saw one old building after another, but no tracks in the snow indicating that anyone had been in or out of the property since winter had begun. He reminded himself that Terwilliger hadn’t been on the move in the van or he would have been spotted. But out here in the boonies, he doubted anyone even knew he was wanted by the law.
The man would only get caught if he went into town. It was afternoon and he would be losing light soon. Flint was thinking he was wrong about Terwilliger staying in Montana when he saw a building ahead through the blowing snow. The old roadhouse looked as if it had long since been closed. Most of the windows, as well as an old loading-dock entry at basement level, had been boarded up.
He slowed, seeing what appeared to be an old two-car garage in the back. His heart began to pound even before he saw the vehicle tracks through the snow into the out-of-the-way property. It was all he could do not to go racing in, guns blazing. As he drove by, he noticed the tracks in front of the garage where someone had been using it. To hide a brown van?
He drove on up the road to a spot where he could turn around, his heart in his throat. All his instincts told him that Maggie was in that building. Maggie and Jenna? And Clark Terwilliger? Or was he in Gilt Edge collecting the fifty-thousand-dollar ransom?
* * *
“MAGGIE?” JENNA WHISPERED through the vent. “I heard a vehicle but it wasn’t him coming back again.”
She quickly lay down on the bed beside the old heat vent. “I’m here.” It gave her comfort, the sound of Jenna’s voice through the vent and knowing she wasn’t alone.
Clark had come back earlier with a burger and fries for her. He’d allowed her to use the bathroom under the stairs. It was small and there was no window, no way to escape. But then, he’d known that, hadn’t he?
“Daddy has something he has to do. I want you and Mommy to be very good while I’m gone,” he’d said. “When I come back I might have another surprise for you.”
Maggie had already decided that she didn’t like his brand of surprises. “What kind of surprise?” she’d dared ask.
“We might be leaving here,” he’d said, but had avoided her gaze.
She’d felt a tremor move through her. Had he already gotten tired of playing house with them? Surely he wasn’t so crazy not to realize that she was a grown woman, not the child he’d lost. Or had this act been merely to torture Jenna?
After he’d left her alone, she’d gobbled down the burger and fries. Neither was from a fast-food restaurant, so she suspected, given that he hadn’t been gone long the last time he’d left, that the burgers and fries had come from a café or bar close by.
At least it was a clue to where they were. Help might not be that far away. Not that she had any idea where she was. She wasn’t even sure she was still in Montana.
“Are you all right?” Jenna asked now through the vent.
“I’ve been better, but the food helped. Did he bring some for you?”
“I’m fine. I don’t want you worrying about me.”
But she was worried. “He said we might be leaving here.”
There was no sound from Jenna. Apparently she too worried that the news wasn’t good.
Now she lay listening to the sound of her heart. Clark had turned off the lights again, pitching them into blackness. She had no idea if it was day or night. It was disorienting if she let herself think about it. Instead she thought about her...parents. “Did you want to keep me?” The words were out before she could stop them.
“Oh yes. Even with the way it had happened, me getting pregnant, I wanted you. But I was fourteen and there was no way my parents were going to let that happen. I’m so sorry. Was your childhood...awful?”
“No. Just strange. I understand now why I would catch the woman I thought was my aunt watching me as if she thought I might grow two heads at any moment.” But this wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. “Jenna, you said you had a plan to get us out of here.”
“It’s dangerous.”
Maggie almost laughed. “Compared to being here with Clark.” She didn’t know him, yet even she could tell that he was going to lose it at some point. Because of that, she could see only one way this would end and it wasn’t with him moving them to somewhere nicer. “Tell me. I’ll do whatever I have to to get out of here.”
* * *
FLINT PARKED DOWN the road and quickly dressed in a warm coat, taking the weapons he’d brought but leaving behind the rifle. It would be too cumbersome. Also, if he ran into Clark Terwilliger on the property, it wouldn’t be at a distance.
As the light began to fade, he walked back up the road and dropped down, trudging through the deep snow as he approached the back of the garage. His breath came out in icy white puffs as he busted through one drift after another. He’d thought about staying on the road longer, but he couldn’t chance that he might be spotted.
Even with the whirling snow, he figured Terwilliger could be watching. If the man wasn’t in Gilt Edge collecting the ransom, then he could be inside the old roadhouse. It was impossible to know until he reached the garage to see if his van was in there.
Even as he thought it, he reminded himself that this might be a wet and cold wild-goose chase that would only leave him exhausted and horribly disappointed. A rancher could be using the garage to store his tractor. And yet, when he thought of the tracks into the roadhouse, he felt that shiver of anticipation. Someone had come out several times in the last few days. Not a rancher checking his tractor.
The wind whirled snow into his face and for a moment he was blinded. He tucked his head down, stopping to let it pass, before he looked up again. He was almost to the garage. Just a few more yards.
He had the sudden impulse to run in his need to hurry, but it would be a waste of energy in the deep snow. He felt the day slipping away. But he could still see well because of the brightness of the white snow at his feet.
When he reached the back of the garage, he pulled out his flashlight to peer in through one of the broken windows. He’d hoped to find a brown van sitting in the freezing-cold garage. Instead he saw that it was empty. But it had been used. He could see the tracks in and out. And it had been driven into more than a few times.
With a burst of hope, he realized that if he was right, Terwilliger wasn’t here now. If Maggie and Jenna were in the old roadhouse alone... Moving with even more purpose, he headed for the back of the building, following fresh tracks in the snow where someone had come and gone numerous times during the storm.
As he neared the back, he saw that someone had put a new padlock and latch on it. His heart raced. Maggie is in there.
Flint almost called out her name but it would have been quickly stolen by the wind. Instead, he took out his pocketknife and went to work on the new latch. He could feel time slipping through his fingers. Terwilliger could come back at any time. He could have sent someone else to pick up the ransom. Or maybe worse, had no plan to ever come back. Maggie and Jenna could have been left somewhere inside this building to die. Or already be dead.
The latch broke. He tossed the lock aside, reminding himself that if Terwilliger did come back, there would be no surprising him. He would see the tracks. He would see the broken latch. He would know he’d been found.
Flint opened the door and peered in, seeing nothing but cold darkness. He listened. Hearing nothing, he turned on his flashlight and stepped inside.
* * *
THE UNDERSHERIFF STARED through his binoculars at the ransom drop spot, worrying it would soon be getting too dark for him to see. He’d tried to call Flint earlier only to find out that he’d left town. Again.
Where had he gone this time? The DCI had put him on paid leave. He wasn’t supposed to be investigating even though it had become pretty clear who probably had Maggie—and why.
Still... Worse, this whole ransom demand seemed to be a bust. He lowered the binoculars long enough to glance at the time. The alleged kidnapper was late.
The drop site was in a city park that had a lot of pine trees. He assumed that was why the alleged kidnapper had chosen it. But it was a rookie move since getting out of the park would be a problem. Right now, there were people watching from houses on all sides. There was no way the person could get away with the money—unless he was somehow missed in the darkness.
Flint’s brothers Hawk and Cyrus had shown up with the fifty thousand dollars. Mark hadn’t wanted to use that much, but they’d argued.
“Let’s not take any chances,” Cyrus had said. “My brother is in love with Maggie. He’s planning to ask her to marry him. If this money might save her...”
Giving up, Mark had taken it, thanked them and started to send them on their way.
“Look, we know you’re short staffed,” Hawk had said. “Let us help.”
He’d started to explain that he couldn’t do that, when Cyrus had said, “You need us. I know you go by the book just like my brother, but this is Maggie we’re talking about.”
Hawk had agreed. “You need to deputize us. Just for tonight.”
Mark knew what he was saying made sense. “I’ll tell you what. The drop site is such that I could use eyes and ears from one of the houses across the way. However, I can’t have any heroic crap going down. I can deputize the two of you. But if you see something tonight at the drop site, you call me, understood? No playing heroes.” They’d both agreed, maybe a little too readily.
But it had all been for nothing, Mark thought as he stared through his binoculars at the bag of money he’d left by the park bench as darkness descended. The alleged kidnapper wasn’t going to show.
He was about to call it, when he saw movement. He focused in as a person dressed in dark clothing came out of the trees, grabbed the bag and ran.
* * *
FLINT TOOK TWO steps inside the old roadhouse, let the door close quietly behind him and stood listening. He heard nothing but his own racing heart thundering in his chest. He let the beam of his flashlight skitter over the worn linoleum floor and saw that he appeared to have entered the back side of the kitchen. Off to his right he could see what was left of an old commercial dishwasher. There were some plates and cups, most of them broken on the floor, and what looked like a menu stuck to the floor under layers of grime.
To the left was a hallway that led to the dining room. The place was huge, but he’d seen that from the outside. If Maggie was here, she could be anywhere. He moved down the hallway, telling himself he couldn’t be sure that Terwilliger hadn’t parked his van somewhere else. If he was in the building and heard him coming... Or Terwilliger could have gone to collect the ransom and left someone with Maggie and Jenna. Someone who had already heard Flint break the lock to get into the building.
Flint couldn’t bear the thought of getting this close only to have Maggie and Jenna be killed now. He slowed his footsteps, noticing a women’s bathroom, then a men’s. Someone had left a chair by the women’s bathroom door.
As he shone his flashlight beam toward the front of the building, he saw an even larger dining room with some random furniture.
Turning, he almost missed it. There was a third door. He had thought it was a storage room, but as his flashlight beam skittered over the worn floor, he noticed footprints in the dust. His—and someone else’s. The second set of prints had come and gone numerous times. The prints stopped at the third door.
He tried the knob.