Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (71 page)

She scanned the ridge for animals or humans and saw nothing but the still, dark outline of vegetation and rock outcroppings. She paced a large circle around her campsite, mainly to reassure herself she wasn’t sharing space with any predators. As she walked, she let the tension and anxiety drain from her body.

She wanted to fall asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow of dead leaves. Two or three hours would restore her. She always needed less sleep when she was outside, sleeping under the wide sky with no manmade light or noises to interrupt the world’s nighttime rhythms. Joe once suggested she pitch a tent in the backyard and live there.

Joe
.

She blinked the tears from her eyes.
I’m coming for you, Joe
.

________

Franklin shifted on the hard mattress and punched the stiff pillow into a concave shape with his fist. He flopped onto his side in a futile search for a marginally comfortable spot.

How could Aroostine possibly be sleeping out in the woods, on the freezing ground?

He started counting backwards from one hundred but the hum of the motel’s heating system buzzed so loudly he lost count. Through the thin wall, he heard a toilet flush in the room next door.

He pulled the pillow over his head, jamming it down over his ears.

Bright halogen lights painted his room in a slow arc as a vehicle pulled into the parking lot. So much for the room-darkening curtain.

A car door slammed, and laughing voices drifted across the lot.

He huffed. This was pointless. He was amped up on adrenaline and anticipation. Between his racing brain and the noisy motel, sleep was out of the question. He tossed the pillow aside and peered at the illuminated clock:
Three-forty a.m.

He reached over and switched on the bedside lamp bolted to the particle board nightstand. Then, just in case Aroostine woke up and tried to reach him, he popped in his earpiece. After he’d gotten it into place, he fired up the laptop, and started surfing the Internet.

CHAPTER FORTY

Friday morning, before dawn

Aroostine stretched to her full length, then rose, brushing her blanket of debris from her clothes. The leaves and sticks had done their job. She was warm, dry, and rested.

She checked the illuminated face on the watch Franklin had provided: It was quarter to six. She’d slept longer than she’d intended.

She looked up at the dark sky and estimated she still had an hour and a half before sunrise.

She glided over the frozen earth, ghost-like and silent. Although her pulse was rushing in her ears, urging her to
hurry, hurry
, she forced herself to keep a slow, deliberate pace. She had plenty of time to find the cabin, and she knew if she simply paid attention to the forest surrounding her, it would reveal its secrets.

She walked due east, toward the stream she remembered from the maps. As she passed a copse of small trees, a flutter announced the departure of a bird. She squinted at the shape: tufted titmouse.

The next sound she heard was the hushed whisper of water moving. She turned toward the noise. After a short while, it grew louder. She scrabbled up a small incline. As she crested it, she spotted the glint of the moon off the surface of a stream,
the
stream.

The stream cut through the woods and she hewed to its curve, picking her way through the tall, brown grass drooping over the bank. Perfect cover for voles and mice as they raced through the forest for water out of the sight of larger predators.

She followed the water around a bend and then stopped short, struck by a powerful wave of
déjà vu
. This was the spot from her vision. Just a foot away, the hulking gray boulder where the beaver had sat rose from the earth. She let her eyes travel down the hillside, across the water, and then through the tall trees uphill on the opposite bank. She squinted and could just make out a dark square squatting among the dense trees. The cabin. A yellow point of light winked in the darkness.

Her breath came in shaky, shallow gasps. She’d had visions her entire life. Everyone in her family had visions. Once she’d gone to live with the Higginses, though, she’d worked hard to ignore them and push them down. In response, they’d grown opaque and hazy, more dream-like than real.

But the beaver’s visit in her bedroom back in D.C. had been crisp and true. Standing in the spot he’d shown her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been there,
exactly there
, before—or the conviction that Joe and Mrs. Chang were just over the hill.

“You okay?”

Franklin’s sleepy voice in her ear startled her.

“What? I’m fine.”

“Okay, your breath got all choppy and stuff. Just checking.”

“Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep. I’ve been messing around online. I heard you rustling around a while ago.”

“I think I found the cabin,” she whispered

“Already?!”

He shouted so loudly she thought his voice would echo off the bank.

“Shh.”

“Sorry. Wow. How’d you do that?”

She didn’t have time to explain her animal spirit guide to a computer geek. “Ancient Indian secret,” she deadpanned.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to check out the cabin.”

“Now?”

“Yes. I want to see if I can get them out. Stay handy and be ready to call the police when I say.”

“Why don’t I just call now?”

“Let’s make sure they’re actually in there, first.”

“Oh, right. Good point. Be careful.”

“I will.”

She stepped up onto the boulder and stared hard at the pinprick of light.

Would she find Joe awake inside, waiting for her? Or something unspeakably bad? Or, perhaps worst of all, would she find absolutely nothing inside?

She forced herself to move off the rock and toward the water. As frightened as she was of what she might find in the cabin, there was no other way forward. She had to know.

She waded into the icy water and sloshed across to the bank.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Joe started awake in the hard kitchen chair and blinked into the light.

“Wha?”

Mrs. Chang stood over him and peered down at his face, a worried frown creasing her lips. She was clutching her sock weapon two-handed.

“I hear something.”

The urgency in her voice cleared the whiskey-coated cobwebs from his brain and he sat up straight to listen, expecting to hear the low purr of the engine of the man’s car or the crunching of footsteps over gravel. He heard neither.

He cocked his head. He thought he might detect a faint rustling or scratching against the wall near the window.

“That?”

She nodded, wide-eyed.

“It’s probably just a tree branch,” he soothed. He glanced out the window. “The sky’s still gray. He never comes before sunrise.”

The man had never come to back to the cabin after he’d left for the night, but they’d agreed to sleep in shifts, just in case he deviated this time. They couldn’t risk losing what might be their final chance to get the jump on him.

She shook her head. “No. It’s not a branch. There’s no wind.”

“How can you tell?”

“No breeze around the window frame.”

He reached down beside the chair and retrieved his sock from the floor then pushed himself to his feet. The floor planks were cold under his bare feet.

He crossed the small space and entered the back room, trailed by Mrs. Chang. He pressed his free hand against the wall under the small window. She was right. There was no wind coming through.

He peered through the window out into the dense woods. A full moon hung on one side of the sky. On the other, the horizon was growing light. It was nearly daybreak. He saw nothing but trees.

He was about to turn to tell Mrs. Chang as much, when a spray of loose rocks hit the window. He jumped back and bumped into the old woman.

He leaned forward and squinted out into the night. A flashlight beam hit him square in the face and he shielded his eyes.

“There’s someone out there,” he said, forcing the words out. His pulse was thumping so hard in his throat that it was almost impossible to speak.

“Oh, thank you, God!” Mrs. Chang murmured, sagging with relief.

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautioned, although his entire body was shaking with excitement.

He pressed his head against the window. The flashlight arced away and focused on the side of the house. Between the diffuse light and the moon, he could see an illuminated figure, tall and straight, covered in black from head-to-toe. He’d recognize that regal bearing anywhere.

Aroostine.

“Aroostine?” he shouted through the thick glass.

The shape bobbed its head. She mimicked tossing a ball or rock toward him and motioned for him to move away from the window.

He raised a hand, palm up, to stop her. “Don’t. It’s too small to get through. And it’ll be too cold in here if you break it.”

She nodded understanding and strained on her toes to see through the high, square window.

“Are you hurt?” she called.

“We’re both fine.” He spoke loudly, glancing beside him at Mrs. Chang, who was too short to see through the window.

Aroostine muttered something too low for him to make out. Then she yelled, “Tell Mrs. Chang she’ll see her son soon.”

Mrs. Chang burst into tears.

“How’d you find us—the wood?” he asked.

“The wood,” she confirmed. “We can talk about it later. Mrs. Chang can’t fit through that window?”

“Not a chance. It’s way too small.”

It was true. They had idly contemplated breaking the window, but it measured less than twelve inches square.

Aroostine looked up at him. Even in the dim light, he recognized the frustrated, determined way she held her jaw.

“There’s got to be a way out. The only door is the one in front, with the padlock?”

“Yeah.”

His adrenaline was draining away, chased by resignation and despair. He sneaked another glance at Mrs. Chang. Her shoulders slumped.

“Okay. Hang tight. I’ll try to bust it open. If I can’t, we’ll call the police. I’m going to get you out of there.”

She smiled her reassurance and turned to go.

He felt his heart crack open.

“Wait—”

She pivoted back toward the window.

The words he wanted to say were lodged in his throat. Beside him, Mrs. Chang jabbed him in the side with a bony elbow.

“Uh … thank you,” he managed weakly.

Mrs. Chang
tsked
, and Aroostine’s expectant face flashed disappointment. Then her smile returned, and she gave him a thumb’s up sign before jogging out of view.