Hunted (Reeve Leclaire 2) (35 page)

Quit!

The vehicle makes a sharp turn, forcing her face hard against the interior. It starts to climb, crests a hill, and begins to descend with slow, sweeping turns, again and again, a disorienting distance. She hears no other traffic and wonders if they’re getting close.

Where is he taking her?

He will have to unload her once they arrive.

Will he use the stun gun again? Only if she resists. He’ll threaten to, of course, but he won’t want to haul her limp body. It will be easier for him if she walks. So, with luck, he’ll free her ankles . . . but her hands? Not likely, but at least they are bound in front of her instead of behind. Maybe she can grab something.

Their speed abruptly slows as the vehicle maneuvers over rough terrain. One hard turn and they jolt to a stop.

A
n old pickup truck is waiting just where it’s supposed to be, just inside the gate. Flint puts on his jacket and his camouflage hat, grabs a thick envelope, and climbs out.

A heavyset man in a down jacket and a red knit cap gets out of the pickup and walks toward him, saying, “I was beginning to wonder if you were gonna show.”

“It was a long drive.”

The heavyset man peers over Flint’s shoulder toward the SUV. “Where’s Mr. Wertz?”

“It’s just me.”

“But is Mr. Wertz coming?”

“You have trouble hearing? Wertz isn’t here. I’m the one you’re dealing with.”

The man makes a face as though he’s tasted something sour.

“Listen,” Flint says, “it’s all set up, right? The boat’s ready?”

“I was expecting Mr. Wertz, though.”

“Where’s the boat?”

The man shakes his head, saying, “I don’t like this.”

“Look, Wertz told me to come here. And I called you with the code words, didn’t I? And now I’m here, with cash in hand,” Flint says, waving the envelope in the man’s face.

He squints up at Flint. “Did you do something to Mr. Wertz?”

“What kind of question is that? I’m like a son to him, okay? And I’ve been here before. Not recently, but lots of times.”

“Is that right?” The man kicks the gravel with the toe of his boot. “Well, okay, I guess. But I’ll need some cash up front. Pay me half now.”

Flint scoffs. “Not half.”

“Look, I need to gas her up. Both tanks. That ain’t cheap. Call it good-faith money.”

“Money, money, money.”

“Damn right.”

Flint opens the envelope and counts out ten hundred-dollar bills. “That should be more than enough good faith. I’ll pay you the rest as soon as we’re underway.”

“What? No, I’m not going with you,” the man says, pocketing the cash.

“Are you kidding?”

“No, man, you’re on your own. I ain’t goin’.”

“Well, shit.”

“What? You can’t handle a boat? Forget it, then.”

“That ol’ Grady-White Marlin? I’ll manage.”

“You sure you know how?”

“Like I said, I know the boat, and I know these waters.”

The heavyset man crosses his arms across his chest. “Okay, the most important thing, listen, you gotta get clear of here as fast as you can. Be gone before daylight, got that? Because if anything goes wrong, it’s on you. You screw up, I’ll report the boat stolen. Never seen you before, understand?”

“You think I’m an idiot? I’m just out fishing, is all.” Flint casts a glance up the long driveway. He can barely make out the building’s roofline. “Is there coffee up there?”

The man gives a shrug. “I don’t like that place.”

“If I’m going solo, I need some coffee.”

The man grumbles something, shaking his head, then fetches a backpack from his truck and holds it out to Flint, saying, “Here’s everything you’ll need. There are pills inside. Take one now and two later, that ought to keep you awake till you make Dale’s place.”

“Who’s Dale?”

The man squints at him. “I thought you said Mr. Wertz had you up to speed.”

“Oh, his cousin, right? His cousin in Canada. Plan C. Okay, so how does this work?”

“I’ll get the boat and bring it around. Meet me down at the dock. It won’t take long, an hour, maybe.” The heavyset man cranes his neck to look again at the SUV. “That yours?”

Flint glances over his shoulder. “Why?”

“You can’t leave it here.”

It takes a minute for the men to work out the details. The man in the wool cap will meet him at the dock with the boat and they’ll exchange keys.

Flint nods at the SUV. “You should paint it.”

“You don’t need to tell me how to do my job.” The man holds Flint’s eye for a moment, then looks down the path toward the boat dock. “You’ll need to carry your gear down. There’s a flashlight in the backpack. It’s a little tricky in the dark.”

“Like I said, I’ve been here before.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you down there. Those pills will keep you awake, just pay attention and keep well clear of the islands. And remember, you gotta be gone by sunrise. And I mean plenty gone. Out to sea.”

“So hurry up then, why don’t you?”

The man gives Flint that sour look again. “Just don’t screw up,” he says, before climbing into his pickup and driving out the gate.

S
he listens to the other vehicle drive away, wondering what conversation was swallowed by the howling wind. Then the SUV door opens, and there’s a weight shift as Flint climbs back inside and slams the door.

He drives forward, gravel crunching beneath the tires. It’s not long until the vehicle turns and comes to a halt.

She takes deep breaths, feeling cramped and hot and feverish.

He gets out and comes around to the back. The tailgate opens and cold air rushes in. The tightness loosens, the blanket comes off, and fresh air meets her nostrils.

She squints into the glare of the dome light. He looks different without his beard; the stubble on his cheeks seems almost obscene.

“Hello, my little cricket. Did you miss me?”

His comes so close she smells the stink of his breath.

“Sit up,” he says, and when she does, he grasps her ankles and pulls her roughly toward him. “Are you going to behave?”

She nods, making a noise in her throat.

“You’re not going to scream, are you?”

She shakes her head, thinking she must do as he says and try to lull him into a false sense of security.

“Okay, then.” He grips the back of her head in one hand. “No one can hear you, anyway. But no screaming. You know I don’t like that.”

He rips the duct tape from her mouth in one fast move that makes her eyes water and sets her face burning. Then he looks at her closely, saying, “Mine again. How sweet is that?” and presses his lips hard against hers.

Revulsion rises like bile in her throat.

He quickly shifts his grip to the back of her neck and folds her forward so that he can stroke the scars on her back.

Her gut twists but she tries not to respond.

The next instant, he jerks her toward him and cuts the ties from her ankles, telling her to stand up and walk. Her boots find the ground, and an icy wind turns her skin to gooseflesh.

“You cold?”

She shivers and tries her voice. “Yes, c-cold.”

“Hurry up then.”

He grips her arm tightly, yanking her forward, and she stumbles along the walkway, scanning the moonlit surroundings, desperate to get her bearings. They’re heading toward a concrete building, a two-story box with a metal roof, hard edges, and narrow windows. Ugly as a bunker.

“Where are we?” Her voice sounds small and weak.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re safe and sound.”

Grasping at an idea, she repeats it back to him, “Safe and sound, safe and sound, safe and sound.”

He looks at her sharply, and she smiles in a way that she hopes is disarming. When he looks away, she stretches her fingers, wrenching against the ties toward his pocket, angling for the stun gun, but it stays out of reach.

The building rises before them like a prison, gray and ominous. He ignores the metal front door and steers her around to the back, where the concrete is covered with dark moss.

Her eyes dart left and right, searching for some means of escape, seeing only a ragged field rimmed with forest. “Where is this place?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re only staying here until the boat’s ready.”

“B-boat?”

“A boat for Plan C. Canada. Cricket. Three Cs.” He coughs a dry laugh and grips her arm tighter.

A boat to Canada?
The idea seems chillingly plausible. Puget Sound offers the perfect escape route to the sea. Her knees weaken as she pictures the FBI searching Nikki Keswick’s house for clues while Flint is loading her up and smuggling her out like small cargo.

He forces her toward a metal staircase that zigzags upward. The cold wind whips around them. Clouds scud across the sky and the moonlight falters as they start to climb, their boots ringing on each metal step. She needs to stall, needs to distract him, but her teeth are chattering and she can’t form a single sentence.

Panic rises in her chest as they climb higher into the blackness. They reach the landing, turn, and continue climbing. His grip on her arm is tight as a tourniquet.

Another few steps and they’ve reached the top landing, which seems narrow and perilous as a diving platform. She looks down, suffering a rush of vertigo.

Flint retrieves a ring of keys from his pocket.

Hearing that fateful
clink
of keys, she’s again a child chained in the dark, and the horror of those years howls around her like the wind.

He faces the door, releases her arm, and bends close to the lock, straining to find the keyhole in the dark.

Her heart pounds, and in one fast desperate move she shifts her weight and swings her knee up, smashing it hard against his face.

He grabs his nose and she turns to run but he seizes her hair and she falls, landing hard. He looms over her, but before he can strike, she kicks out, cracking the sole of her boot against his shin. He yelps, bending to grab his leg in pain, and she kicks again, catching his chin with the toe of her boot. He staggers backward as she jumps to her feet and leaps toward the stairs.

Her boot soles beat out a staccato as they carry her down. She reaches the landing, hears Flint behind her, panics, and misses a step. She’s in the air, tumbling, and lands hard, but Flint is coming fast and there’s no time for pain.

She scrambles awkwardly to her feet and runs across the open field, heading for the trees. She races blindly into the night, her hands still bound and her knees pumping. The ground is slick as ice, and her pale skin is like a beacon in the moonlight.

She sets her sights on the dark perimeter, hears him gaining ground behind her, and runs faster. Her feet fly across the ground. The wind snaps and howls, the moon casts shadows that dance with menace.

As she nears the trees, she glances back and nearly runs headlong into a fence.

She stops, gasping, and looks back to see Flint charging on fast. A wail escapes her throat as she clumsily leaps onto the fence, using her bound hands together to shimmy up and over. She falls to the ground on the other side, where she jumps to her feet and runs on.

The terrain turns rocky. She hears Flint scale the fence, thud to the ground, and come charging after her.

She sprints through a clearing without looking back, then dodges through brush and trees, keeping to the shadows. Her heart hammers in her chest. Her lungs are on fire.

The ground suddenly slopes and she’s hurtling downhill, slipping and sliding on wet leaves, trees flashing past. She hears Flint curse behind her, but doesn’t dare look back. She pushes herself to keep running, sucking air, desperate for somewhere to hide.

She catches a toe and stumbles, but stays upright and keeps running.

“Give it up,” he calls in a raspy voice. “You won’t make it far.”

Gasping for breath, she escapes into the brush. Limbs snatch at her hair and scratch her skin. She hurries forward, crouching low until she finds a path.

The moon disappears and the night deepens. She rushes forward, and then the ground abruptly stops and she nearly falls. She latches onto a sapling and teeters on the edge, her heart thudding as moonlight glitters on the water below.

His voice rises from the darkness behind her. “You might as well give up. There’s no way across those rapids.”

She inches away from the steep drop and hurries alongside, searching for a bridge, a log, any means of escape. The noise of the wind and the rushing water cover the sounds of her footfalls.

She glances back to see Flint lurch out of the brush. He stands in the open, eyes shining, as she hunkers down beside a fallen tree, trying to catch her breath.

“There’s no bridge, I’m telling you. There’s no way across. You might as well come out. I know this place, you don’t.”

She hunches lower beside the dead tree, unseen but trapped, with nowhere to go.

Flint steps closer, looking in all directions. “Come on out now. You know I’ll find you. You know it’s hopeless.”

She backs closer to the edge and looks down at the fast water below. Dampness rises to her face, carrying the water’s fresh, metallic scent. The rapids have cut a deep gorge. How far is the drop? She peers down, calculating a jump, but sees only disaster. She cranes her neck, trying to see a way down the cliff face, but knows she couldn’t manage even with her hands free.

Her mind reels as he looms closer. Wind gusts around them. The clouds part, moonlight cuts through the night, and a slice of brightness falls across her pale skin.

He spots her instantly and smiles, showing his foul teeth. “There you are.” He closes the distance. “I knew you’d come back to me. I knew you couldn’t resist. I knew, I knew, I knew.”

Panic knots in her throat.

“We’ll start all over again in Canada,” he says. “There’s a place up there, all set up, all part of the plan, you’ll see.”

She backs away from him, trembling as he lifts the stun gun from his pocket and holds it high.

“Don’t make me use this,” he warns.