A Thousand Yesteryears (31 page)

“What is it?” Caden demanded.

“You better take a look.” Stepping clear, Ryan motioned him inside. “Someone hacked through the kitchen door. Eve isn’t here.”

A torrent of alarm rocketed through Caden. He dashed for the rear of the house, acid bubbling in his gut. The sight of the busted door drew him up short, his sense of dread mushrooming into raw-boned fear. On the porch, he found evidence of a struggle—an overturned chair, a table knocked to the side, a broken lamp. Switching on a light, he stood blinking against the glare.

No blood, thank God.

“Eve?” Even as he yelled her name, he knew it was useless. She wasn’t there.

Returning to the living room, he found Ryan on his handheld radio, talking to the dispatch operator at the sheriff’s office. Caden’s brother had switched on several lights, revealing Eve’s keys and purse on an end table to the left of the door. She must have placed them there when she’d stepped inside, not realizing anything was wrong.

The intruder had probably been waiting for her in the kitchen. He paced off an agitated circle, thoughts firing helter-skelter through his mind. Where had she been taken? Was she hurt? And damn it all to hell, why hadn’t he insisted she stay with him at the sheriff’s office where he could have assured she was safe?

Switching off his radio, Ryan turned to face him. “I’ve requested a crime scene unit and put out an alert she’s missing.”

“It’s Roger.” Caden spat the name like something vulgar. “He has her. I know it’s him.”

Ryan nodded. “He’s the only one that makes sense, but where would he take her?”

Trying to think rationally, Caden scrubbed a hand over his face. “To the TNT. To the place where he killed Amos.”

“You’re guessing.”

“Damn right, but it’s all I’ve got.” Brushing past Ryan, he raced for the door. “I’m taking the car.”

Ryan hurried after him. “Where?”

“Where else?” Caden sprinted across the lawn. “To find Eve.”

He prayed to God when he did, he would find her alive.

* * * *

Roger was a cruel man.

If Eve had any doubt of how cruel, she learned firsthand when he dragged her from the house, through the backyard, and down the creek bed. Despite his threat of harm, she’d known her life depended on breaking free. Once across the water—a trek that had her wobbling in her heels, her feet soaked—he’d pulled her into a gully that ended two streets away where he’d stashed his car. When she spied the sedan, she’d known her only chance for safety was flight. There was no one around to help, no one to hear her scream on the deserted, darkened street. When he’d dragged her toward the car, she’d twisted frantically, fighting his grip despite the lethal threat of the ax at his side.

Her gamble ended when he struck her. Not a slight clip like the one he’d given her on the porch, but a brutal crack of his fist that sent the world plummeting into darkness.

When she awoke, it was to the feel of cool leather pressed to her battered cheek, her body cushioned against the rear seat of his car. He’d dumped her unceremoniously on her side, her feet near the back passenger door, head inches from the rear door on the driver’s side. Shadows, black as nighttime soot, scrolled across the roof spanning above her. Only a glimmer of light pierced the windows. They must have already made the turn onto Potters Creek Road. The deeper Roger drove into the TNT, the less chance she had of ever being found.

She was petrified he would bludgeon her with the axe or pummel her with his fists like he’d done with Amos. Dear God, what had she been thinking going back to the house? Why would Aunt Rosie send her there?

Her brows creased as she digested the horror of her situation. Perhaps the phone call had been a way to alert her where Roger could be found. Yes, that had to be it. She’d been meant to notify Caden and Ryan, not stupidly venture there herself. She’d made a horrible, reactionary mistake and was paying for it now.

Eyes narrowed to slits, she forced her breathing to remain even so as not to warn her captor she was awake. Roger was apparently unconcerned she’d regain consciousness because he hadn’t restrained her in any way. In the darkness, he appeared as a hulking silhouette, his form outlined by a faint glimmer of light from the dash’s instrument panel. The man had killed three people without a flicker of remorse. He’d never spare her after confessing the extent of his crimes. But even if she managed to escape, where would she run? The TNT was an endless hodgepodge of dense woods and scattered ponds, dotted sporadically by igloos and the stark shells of abandoned buildings. With luck on her side, she might be able to hide until daylight. There was a distance chance she’d be able to stumble across a campsite or a hiker roaming the grounds in the morning.

The decision was taken from her when the car rolled to a stop. Not as if Roger had braked or slowed, but as if everything mechanical—headlights, taillights, motor, instrument panel—abruptly died.

“What the—” Roger hunched forward, shoulders bunched as he cranked the key in the ignition. The gas pedal made a hollow sound when he pumped it up and down, but the motor refused to turn over.

Potters Creek Road. Cars inexplicably die here.

The thought pinged through her, exhilarating and equally chilling. If there was any hope of escape, she had to seek it now while he was occupied trying to restart the car. Ducking low behind the seat, she scrunched closer to the passenger side of the vehicle. The pin in the door was pushed to the locked position, a simple metal peg standing between her and freedom. She envisioned wrenching it upright, popping the door handle, and fleeing into the night.

One motion flowing fluidly into the next, a surreal but critical ballet.

Roger cursed and pumped the gas pedal again. When he turned the key in the ignition, there was only a click, not even the feeble attempts of a battery sluggishly trying to chug to life. Eve tried to quell the fluttering of her heart and rummage a shred of courage. For Maggie and Wendy. Even for Amos and her misguided aunt, who through her silence, had let this monster go free.

Praying her legs would support her, she lunged for the door, yanked the lock-pin upward, then swiftly engaged the handle. The barrier gave before her, spilling her unsteadily into the night. Her palms struck the ground and she sprawled to one knee, dizziness crashing over her in a spike of vertigo. Behind her, Roger grunted in surprise.

Panicked, she propelled herself forward, the sound of an opening car door igniting a fresh blaze of terror. She ran clumsily. Into the dark and the trees. Choking on tears, her breath ripped from her lungs in forceful gasps. Her vision swam, the cuff she’d taken when Roger knocked her unconscious leaving her weak-kneed and disoriented.

The cluster of the surrounding trees engulfed her, pulling her deeper into the TNT where darkness blanketed her in a sheltering cloak. Roger shouted threats of retribution and prolonged death behind her, but his footfalls faded, lost in the tangle of intertwined sycamores, oak, and ash. She tripped more than once, her heels catching on clumps of ferns and protruding roots. The air was sticky and clung to her skin with a clammy film. Or maybe it was only fear, pumped through her veins in a toxic cocktail of adrenaline and grief that made it feel that way.

“When I get my hands on you, you’ll wish I’d killed you earlier,” Roger bellowed from the darkness. His voice sounded far away as if she’d increased the distance between them.

Coming to a halt, she bent over, hands on knees, and drank hungry gulps of the night air. She thought about kicking off her shoes, but there were too many roots and rocks on the ground to slice up her feet. She had no idea where she was and no idea of where the car had stopped. Trying to get some sense of bearing, she struck off in what she hoped was a parallel path to the road, heading back toward the entrance to the TNT. If only she had some idea of how long she’d lain unconscious, she might be able to better judge how far he’d driven into the remote area before losing power. She could only hope that enough time had passed for Katie to grow concerned over her absence.

* * * *

Caden didn’t know if he was relieved or panicked by the sight of Roger’s abandoned car on Potters Creek Road. Rolling Ryan’s cruiser to a stop behind the vehicle, he snatched the mic from the dashboard and depressed the call button in one swift motion.

“This is Caden Flynn. I’ve located Roger Layton’s car approximately five miles in on Potters Creek Road. Black Buick Regal, tag number three-Charlie-Victor-nine-four-one. Vehicle looks abandoned, but there’s reason to suspect Layton has abducted Eve Parrish.”

A woman’s voice crackled over the airways with a burst of static. “Say again, Caden.”

Damn reception. Swiftly, he repeated the basics, added a request for back-up, then dropped the mic onto the seat, not bothering to wait for acknowledgment. He didn’t have a sidearm, but the 12-gauge shotgun, standard issue for every police car, would serve. Pocketing several shells, he pulled the gun from its cradle, checked the load, then eased from the car.

He approached Roger’s sedan from the rear, advancing on the driver’s side, the butt of the scatter-gun snug against his shoulder. Both the driver’s door and the rear passenger door hung open as if the occupants had fled in a hurry. He didn’t know if he should be grateful or alarmed Eve wasn’t in the car. It seemed odd Roger would stop here, only five miles into the sprawling wilderness. Caden could only hope Eve had escaped and was hunkered down somewhere in the darkness.

Darting from the road, he wound his way into the knot of trees and leafy undergrowth. He should have grabbed a flashlight from the car, but it was too late for regrets. He wove through the darkness as best he could, zigzagging beneath branches and hoping to spy some telltale signs of passage. Crushed vegetation, broken twigs, a piece of fabric snared by thistles. Anything to indicate Eve had passed this way.

Something rustled behind him, and he immediately turned toward the sound, hoping it was Eve. He didn’t know if Roger was armed and feared forcing a confrontation if she was a hostage. On the flip side, a careless man made careless mistakes.

He was about to shout to Roger—a threat to warn him the police were on their way when the rustling came again. Closer this time, off to his left. He half-turned as someone thrust from the trees in a quick blur of motion. Instinctively, he raised his arm, blocking the blow of an axe as it angled for his chest.

The impact of the hard wooden handle against his forearm nearly shattered the bone, and the force dropped him to his knees. Roger swung again. Driven to the defensive, Caden reeled backward. The deadly blade grazed his cheek, releasing a thin trickle of blood.

Layton grinned manically as though inflamed by the sight. “You’re finished, Flynn.”

“The hell with that.” When Layton swung again, Caden rolled to the side, snapping the gun into firing position. Barrel and axe cracked together and the shotgun spun from Caden’s pain-numbed fingers.

Too late, he kicked out, trying to hook Layton by the ankle. The banker scrambled clear as Caden got his hands under him. The sound he feared most echoed in his ears—Roger Layton engaging the pump on the riot gun.

“Don’t move,” Layton said behind him, “unless you want a shotgun blast to the back.”

* * * *

Eve bit her lip, halting a second to listen. Roger had stopped shouting threats, but a new game had begun—the hunt between predator and prey. She strained her ears for any betraying sound, trying to decipher if he was near. Noise seemed to be sucked up in the TNT like a vacuum that drank in any microscopic disturbance. She heard nothing, not even the hiss of the breeze through the grass.

Cautiously, she started walking again, wincing when a twig cracked beneath her shoe. She needed to move silently, but it was hard to see, and everywhere she turned something obstructed her journey—trees, thistles, clumps of vegetation she couldn’t even name. There was no path, just a snarl of weeds and vines that grasped at her ankles and tangled around her legs with every step she took. Raising her arm, she pushed a low-hanging branch out of the way, its jagged leaves scraping across her cheek. Something wet and filmy brushed against her face, and she fought a knee-jerk urge to scream. Spiders, ticks, and God-only-knew-what had probably dropped into her hair. Frantically, she whisked her fingers over the top of her head in a frenzied attempt to dislodge any creepy-crawlies. She wanted to cry for help, but the only person within hearing distance was the man who intended to kill her. A sob caught in her throat.

Is this how Wendy and Maggie had felt at the end? A soul-sucking hopelessness that whispered death was inevitable?

No, she wouldn’t die like a cornered animal. Maybe she didn’t have a weapon, but she’d fight Roger until the end. Stooping, she felt along the ground for something to use to defend herself—a rock, a stout branch—anything she could wield against him. Her fingers blundered through the wet undergrowth, even as the raspy sound of her breath drowned out any other noise. Focused intently on the task, she reacted with a violent start when Roger’s voice cut unexpectedly across the distance:

“It looks like you have a rescuer, Eve. If you don’t want me to blow Caden Flynn’s head off, you’ll come out where I can see you. Now.”

Eve squeezed her hands into fists, still as a statue in the darkness.

“Do you hear me?” Roger’s voice made her heart pound faster. “If you don’t want me to kill your boyfriend, you’ll come out here now.”

Was it possible? Had Caden tracked her to the TNT?

Her stomach rolled over in a queasy somersault.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to make up your mind,” Roger yelled.

“Eve, don’t listen to him.”

Oh, dear God, it really was Caden. His voice sounded weaker than usual, as though he was hurt. Panicked, she ran toward the voices, unconcerned by the roots that attempted to trip her and the grasping branches that scraped her clothing. It was her fault Caden was in danger. If she’d done as he’d asked and waited at the hotel, none of this would be happening.

“I’m coming,” she shouted, fearful she was already too late.