Cold Silence (A High Stakes Thriller) (39 page)

She kept an eye on how far she was from the pebbled shore while also watching for the headlight in the distance.

She cut her engine and listened to the silence. Only the wind and the water broke the stillness. Panic tightening in her chest, she started the engine and moved on again. She drew her gun from the edge of her pants and tucked it between her legs.

She circled a small group of trees and studied the darkness for shadows. She had the sensation of being followed and yet she saw no evidence of anyone else. She crossed her own path and made another circle and still she saw nothing.

No one was behind her, she told herself. She pressed on and moved more quickly, bouncing along at a pace that she knew would be impossible for someone on foot. When she reached the far corner of the lake, she made the turn and looked up ahead. She was within one hundred yards or so of where she had seen the other snowmobile. But now, looking into the distance, she saw nothing.

She scanned the hills, searching for a sign of where the other vehicle had gone. The tracks, though somewhat scattered by the wind, were still in front of her. She followed them, then halted, seeing the trail turn and then what looked like more tracks crossing back on themselves.

She turned back to look for an alternate trail in the other direction but saw none. She continued along, noticing how there appeared to be two sets of tracks together. Although they continued, she couldn't tell if the two sets were from two different vehicles or the same one crossing back on itself.

"Damn," she cursed.

The path turned a corner and then disappeared. She searched for a new set of tracks, but the snow in front of her looked untouched.

She shut the engine off again and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Ryan!"

Breathless, she stood in the dark, panting and on the verge of tears.

"Mommy!" The voice came from behind her, but she recognized it. It was Ryan.

She almost ran toward it. "Ryan, Mommy's coming," she screamed, not caring who heard her. "I'm coming." Ecstatic, she actually choked out a laugh. He was alive; her baby was alive!

She twisted the key and hit the accelerator as fast as her frozen fingers would move. She ran the snowmobile in a tight circle and pointed it back toward the cabin.

"Ryan!" she screamed again.

And as she waited for the response, the dark night was filled with the unmistakable crack of a gunshot and the almost simultaneous scream of an eight-year-old boy.

Chapter 38

His blood was like brilliant rubies against the whiteness of the snow. It caught a reflection off the headlight, and he could see the sparkle of the snow beneath the red. Even in the dark, the color was vibrant. All the colors were. The light glowed amber against the brown of the tree trunks. The green of the pines was as rich as he imagined an Irish field would be. She was there. He'd heard her yell and she was close. He would have them both.

He felt like an ox and a lion and a tiger all mixed together. He was strong and fierce and cunning. He'd done it all on his own.

He slapped his thigh and felt his belly shake as he laughed. What amazed him most was that he didn't ache. For the first time in months, he could sit up straight and not hurt. He wasn't nauseous. He felt magnificent. What a perfect way to go. He was ready.

Only one thing left to do. And that was entirely within his power. There were things he would have changed. There were always things that one would change. But overall, he had it good. He'd had strong blood—fierce blood—and he'd never let it be jeopardized. He would go to the grave with his power and his dignity. He would not soon be forgotten.

Oskar thought about blood—his own. It seeped down his hand. But he was used to spilled blood. He had lived that way. And he knew he would die that way. His blood had been spilled through Viktor, then Feliks, and finally Dmitri. Now his time had come. But Megan and the boy had to be first.

He watched the outline of her snowmobile make its way closer. He had nothing to lose. Let her get close. Let her get close enough to watch.

Oskar lifted the gun and aimed it again, just for practice. The first shot had only been for show. He'd wanted Megan Riggs to know the danger. And he'd wanted the boy to be scared. He'd succeeded at both.

His wound wasn't lethal. He'd caught his hand on a tree limb. The blood was like borscht, the thick beet soup his mother had made, and he savored the texture of it on his fingers. When he'd been young, he had eaten the soup with his fingers. But only when his mother wasn't watching.

Still, the blood was exciting. He imagined himself a great warrior, coming to the final battle. And then it would be off to heaven. His father had always told him he would go to heaven. "Why, Papa?" he'd asked.

"Because even God wouldn't put a Kirov in hell," his father had answered with the slur of vodka on his tongue. Kirov took another swig of his own supply. He tipped the flask back and felt the liquid burn against the back of his tongue and smolder a path to his gut.

He pressed the accelerator and moved the snowmobile toward the boy, who had only made it ten steps before sinking into the snow. When he was close, he reached down and pulled him up by the back of his collar.

The boy swung his hands and Kirov drew his gun and smacked it hard against the boy's head. "Stop it or I'll shoot you here."

The boy sobbed louder, collapsing into the snow. His limp body was even harder to lift-than when he was struggling, and Kirov considered for a moment that it had been a mistake not to go for the woman. At least her, he could have enjoyed. The kid was like killing a puppy. It wouldn't feel good until it was over and he could admire his handiwork.

"Get on," Kirov commanded when the boy's face finally emerged from the snow.

The boy hesitated but Kirov lifted the gun as though to smack him again.

"You getting on?"

The boy nodded, his eyes crumpled, his bottom lip pushed out. Leaning forward, the boy moved close, keeping his head low as though searching for something in the snow.

Kirov reached out and smacked him. "Keep your head up," he yelled in Russian.

The boy began to sob again.

The urge to strike had reminded him momentarily of his boys, and Oskar scolded himself for getting soft. He reached around with his bloodied hand and grabbed the boy's face. "Stop crying," he screamed.

The boy saw the blood and began to shake, fighting not to cry despite the fright.

Then, reaching for the boy's hand, he jerked him back and forced him onto the machine. Cutting his headlight, Kirov listened in the dark for the hum of the other machine.

The boy made a high-pitched whimpering noise and Kirov warned him to shut up. Over the boy's struggles to be quiet, Kirov could hear Megan Riggs's snowmobile approach.

"That's your mommy," Kirov whispered. "She's coming to save you."

The boy met his gaze, his expression fierce.

Kirov laughed until the pain was too much. "Shall we go and meet her?" He restarted his engine softly and pulled forward without turning on his headlight.

"Mommy, it's a trap," the boy yelled.

Kirov slapped the butt of the gun into the boy's head and started toward the far end of the lake.

"I'm coming," he heard Megan yell for Ryan.

But the boy was sobbing too hard to respond.

"Oh, yes, Ryan. Mommy's coming, but she's not going to be able to help you. By the time she sees you, it'll be too late."

The boy put his head down in the space between the handlebars and was coughing in choked attempts to stop his crying. Oskar watched up ahead and tried to decide how best to do it. The end should be dramatic—clean and final but dramatic.

He heard Megan Riggs call again and started to veer toward the lake. But he had second thoughts. Maybe he'd try something else first—just a little more play before the end.

He saw a thick tree about a hundred yards up. In the darkness, he couldn't tell clearly if there were obstacles in his path or not.

Megan Riggs was getting closer. He could hear her calling out.

"Keep quiet, if you want to live," he warned the boy. Though, of course, he would not live. He paused, moving slowly until he was sure Megan was close enough to see them.

Then he revved the throttle and pointed the snowmobile toward the tree. With a deep laugh that shot agony through him, he pushed the accelerator as far as it would go and swayed backward as the snowmobile headed straight for the tree.

Ryan's head popped up and he let out a piercing scream as the tree drew close.

Oskar hadn't felt this good in months.

Chapter 39

All that mattered was Ryan. His scream punctured her like a sharp blade, and she pressed the accelerator flat to the handlebar and felt the machine jolt forward beneath her.

She saw Kirov's snowmobile veer sideways, and for a moment she thought they were headed into the lake. She hunkered down over her own machine and kept her eyes straight ahead, squinting in the dark. She thought she heard the wail of sirens in the distance, but couldn't be sure. Get there. Get to him. She could overtake Oskar Kirov, but she needed to get close enough. And she wouldn't aim a gun until Ryan was out of the way.

She was gaining on them. The moon reflected on the lake and from her angle, the light made them momentarily visible. She called out to Ryan and he peered back at her. He started to lift his arm to wave, but Oskar smacked him.

His face crumpled in fear as he sank back out of her sight.

Anger rose like hot air until she could have taken off like a rocket. She tightened her legs around the snowmobile, steeling herself to go as fast as it could.

Oskar and Ryan were less than ten yards ahead, but Oskar was picking up the pace. He made a sharp left turn around a tree and headed straight up the hill.

Cody had to brake hard to keep from missing the turn herself. The snowmobile skidded right. She punched the gas and it slipped left. She let out a tiny gasp as she slid toward the water. It was still a few feet away, but she hated the thought of it.

She flashed her headlight back on for a moment and sped up the hill after them. What could she tell Oskar to stop him? There was nothing. If he didn't already know that Jennifer had killed Dmitri, she didn't want to bring it up now. She had no leverage. According to what she knew about him, Oskar Kirov had nothing to live for but revenge. And he probably thought he was about to get it. Her fists clenched with impatience.

She drew a deep icy breath and blew it out in a rush of white steam. All she could do now was keep up.

Even after less than a half hour, Cody's back ached from hovering down to block off the cold. Oskar had to be uncomfortable, too, she told herself.

"Come on," she whispered. Her thoughts shifted to Ryan's light shirt and jeans. He had to be freezing. She crossed it from her mind. He had body heat. He'd be fine. "Just hang in there, buddy."

Oskar spun the snowmobile around a bush and she heard it scrape as it hit something. The engine made a choking noise and something else crunched. But it picked back up again. He turned hard and Ryan let out a scream.