Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (72 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

There was no way in. Aroostine banged pointlessly on the padlock with her flashlight, frustration screaming through her veins. Joe and Mrs. Chang were just feet away and she couldn’t get them out.

She caught her breath and said, “I can’t get it open. Call the cops.”

There was no response.

“Franklin?”

Nothing.

Her already-thumping heart went into overdrive. Where the hell was he?

“Franklin!”

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Uh…”

“What is it?”

“A black Mercedes just pulled into the lot. A man got out and started pounding on my door.

I’m kind of surprised you didn’t hear it.”

So was she. She glanced down at the flashlight in her hand.

“Oh. I was doing some pounding of my own. So who’s at your door?”

“It’s
him
.”

Her stomach dropped.

“Are you sure?”

“He just texted me. It says ‘Open the door. You can’t hide from me.’ What do I do?” his voice shook.

She made sure hers was steady when she answered. “Listen to me. Do
not
let him in. Just barricade the door and call the police.”

“Okay.”

“Franklin, I mean it, no matter what he says—if he threatens your mom, whatever—do not open the door. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. It’s a metal door. He can’t get in, right?”

“Right,” she hurried to assure him. “How’d he find you?”

Franklin’s voice was thick with shame and anger. “I think he must have a tracking device on the phone he gave me. I checked it over and didn’t see anything, though.”

“Could be on your car,” she offered. “It doesn’t matter, though, okay? Just hurry up and get the police out here before he gets here.”

If the tracking device had been on the car, then the man would know where Franklin dropped her off. He might not know she was here, but he’d know that his secret spot had been compromised.

She ran around to the window to tell Joe and Mrs. Chang that their morning was about to get eventful.

________

Franklin wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth on the grimy bathroom floor. The cell phone the man had given him a lifetime ago sat on the tile, the text on its display searing itself into his brain:

Congratulations. You just sealed your mother’s fate.

The man was still banging on the door to his room.

“Open this door, Franklin!”

The man’s accented voice was hoarse from yelling but his rage hadn’t abated.

Franklin used the sink to pull himself to standing. He turned on the cold water full blast and splashed his face. Then he lifted the receiver to the phone affixed to the wall beside the light switch and tapped the digits 9-1-1 with shaking fingers.

As the phone rang, he craned his neck through the doorway and yelled toward the outside door. “I’m calling the police right now!”

The man stopped battering the door and let out a guttural roar. A moment later, Franklin heard the squeal of tires as the car sped from the lot.

He stared at the water swirling down the drain and started babbling as soon as the emergency operator answered the call. He seemed to have no control of the stream of words pouring from his mouth. He couldn’t tell if he was coherent, but he just kept talking until the calm voice of the operator assured him she had all the information she needed. Then he let the phone fall, dangling by its spiraling cord, and gripped the edge of the sink while he dredged up a prayer from the recesses of his memory.

________

Joe’s pale, stricken face filled the window.

“He’s coming!” Aroostine shouted. “He’s not far away.”

Joe’s eyes flashed, and he hoisted a black sock into view.

“We’re ready for him.”

If she hadn’t felt so desperate, she would have laughed at the absurdity.

“Is that a sock?”

He smacked it against his hand.

“It’s what I have.”

She held both palms up in a conciliatory gesture.

“Listen, just hang tight. Franklin’s calling 9-1-1. They’ll be here soon. It’s almost over.”

He stared at her silently for a moment then forced a grim smile.

“Right.”

She looked back at him, choking on so many things she wanted to say that she couldn’t manage to say anything. Then the distant rumble of a car engine pierced the air.

Through the trees, she could make out a dark car snaking its way up the gravel road to the cabin. The man was here.

She turned and ran toward the woods, kicking up pebbles in her wake.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Joe and Mrs. Chang were ready for the man when he burst through the door, his shotgun leveled and his eyes blazing with unconcealed rage.

“Get back,” he demanded, gesturing toward Joe, who stood in the threshold of the back room with his hands behind his back. He waited for Joe to comply and didn’t seem to notice Mrs. Chang was nowhere in sight.

Joe rooted himself to the floor and managed to keep his eyes on the man’s face through inhuman effort. If he glanced toward Mrs. Chang’s hiding spot she would be dead almost instantly.

The man glared at his defiance and took a menacing step forward.

Mrs. Chang stepped out from behind the door as it swung shut and wielded the sock like a sledgehammer. It glanced the side of the man’s head.

Whomp.

The blow sent him stumbling sideways. He roared in pain and surprise, then pivoted away from Joe and advanced toward Mrs. Chang with the business end of the gun, blood gushing from his head.

Joe ran toward him. The sock was slippery in his hand, and the weight of the can pulled it sideways. He managed to connect with the man’s head anyway, very near the spot Mrs. Chang had hit.

The man howled and fired a wild round into the wall.

Mrs. Chang threw herself to the ground and covered her head with her arms.

The man was wobbling, but he stayed on his feet.

He lifted the barrel of the gun and aimed it at Joe’s head.

This is it.

Joe tensed and waited for the slug that would destroy his face and end his life. It never came.

Mrs. Chang dropped her sock and popped to her feet. She charged the man from an angle and forced the gun upward, pointing it toward the thick ceiling.

Joe pulled back and struck a third blow on the man’s skull. This one connected solidly and reverberated through his hand.

Rivers of blood poured down the man’s face. His hands slipped from the shotgun, and he crumpled to the ground.

Joe and Mrs. Chang stared at the shotgun as it fell. He felt himself tensing, waiting for a second blast. None came.

The gun rocked against the floor twice, and then was still.

Joe took his eyes off the weapon and saw the man crawling toward the door.

Mrs. Chang hurried toward the shotgun. Joe ran after the man.

As the man used the doorframe to pull himself up to standing, Joe grabbed his arm.

The man wheeled around to face him. Anger blazed in his unfocused eyes.

Without breaking his gaze, the man reached for the door. At the same moment his foot came up and kicked Joe squarely in the groin.

Joe gasped and lost his grip on the man’s slick jacket as he doubled over.

The man opened the door and slipped out before Mrs. Chang could get a shot off.

She dropped the gun and joined Joe at the door.

He was focused on not sinking to the floor. The pain from the kick was radiating out from his groin in white-hot waves. Mrs. Chang grabbed his arm so he wouldn’t fall.

The sound of the padlock swinging against the wood shook them into action. Joe forgot his pain.

They both tugged at the door handle two-handed.

The man was holding it closed on the other side as he fumbled with the lock.

“Harder!” Mrs. Chang cried.

They struggled to pull the heavy door open until a metallic thud confirmed it was no use.

“It’s locked.”

“We got so close,” Mrs. Chang whispered in a defeated tone.

“Don’t give up. Aroostine’s out there. Franklin called the police. We’re gonna get out of here.”

He pushed back his own feelings of helplessness and found himself rubbing the old woman’s arm and murmuring words of reassurance that he didn’t quite believe.

She began to sob softly, her thin shoulders shaking.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Aroostine peered out from between the trees. Dawn had broken over the hill and the morning light threatened to reveal her.

She tried hard not to think about the shotgun blast that had come from the cabin moments before the man staggered out drunkenly.

“Where are the police?” she hissed.

“I called them,” Franklin said in her ear. “They’re on their way. What’s going on?”

“He went in. Joe and your mom had this plan to ambush him and run out, but it looks like it only worked partially.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re still in the cabin. He’s back out but he looks pretty bad. He’s unsteady on his feet, and he’s covered in blood. Pretty sure it’s all his,” she whispered, even though she had no idea if it was true. She didn’t mention the shot that had been fired.

If Franklin had heard it through the radio, he didn’t bring it up.

“What’s he doing?”

She squinted. He rested his forehead against the door and seemed to be holding it shut. She realized he was trying to lock his hostages back in.

“Crap. He’s locking them in. I’m going to talk to him.”

“What? No. Just wait for the cops now.”

“I don’t want him to leave.”

He spluttered something, but she tuned out the noise and stepped out from behind the trees.

The man slapped a hand against the door then stumbled toward his car but, so far, she hadn’t heard the roar of an engine springing to life.

She started along the gravel path.

A car trunk thumped shut.

She stepped into the path, blocking the route to the cabin and planted her feet solidly.

The man came back into view, lugging something heavy, judging by the way whatever it was bumped against his thigh. She narrowed her eyes for a closer look. It was a plastic gallon container. The kind a person would keep in the trunk of a car to fill in case he ran out of gas.

“Oh, no. No.”

Her mind flashed back to the piles of dead leaves and twigs that had ringed the house. She hadn’t given them a second thought when she was trying to get into the house.

Kindling.

“What?”

She ignored the question as the man caught sight of her and stopped short.