Blind Trust (7 page)

Chapter Six

T
he plane that waited for them was small and didn’t seat more than eight people. Clint pulled Sherry on and made her sit in one of the back seats, hooked her in, and told her not to move. But he knew she would try again. He was all out of threats. Short of actually hurting her, he didn’t know how he would protect her.

He went back to the front of the plane, where the pilot, a woman named Erin, busied herself with her checklist before taking off.

In the seats behind the pilot, Madeline sat with her pantleg rolled up, checking out her knee. “So what do you think?” Clint asked. “Anything broken?”

“Like you really care,” Madeline said. Then under her breath, she added, “I think it’s sprained.”

Sam closed the door and took the seat beside her. “Should keep her from pulling another stupid stunt for a while.”

“Yeah,” Clint mumbled. “But what’s to keep Sherry from it?”

“That lock on the door, for one thing,” Sam said. “And the fact that the first step out of here will be twenty thousand feet down.”

Clint closed his eyes and rubbed them roughly. He hated the look he could still see in her eyes, the look that said, “I loathe you and I’m afraid of you and I’ll do anything in my power to be away from you.” He hated that she didn’t trust him enough to believe him when he said they were in danger, not from each other, but from someone else. But how
could
she trust him?

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
,

“You already have.”

Her words raged in his mind, until he wanted to throw in the towel and walk out into the line of fire and die. She was all that kept him from it, all that had for eight long, agonizing months.

“We need to keep them separated so they don’t cook anything else up,” Clint said in a distant voice. “I’ll ride in the back with her.”

Sam surveyed the pensive lines etching Clint’s face. “All right, I’ll stay with her.”

Color rushed back into Madeline’s cheeks. “I’m not riding with you. I want to stay with Sherry. We’re not going to try anything.”

“Of course you’re not,” Sam said. “You got it all out of your systems, and now you’re just as happy as a lark to go along with us. You’re staying where you are.”

When Sam reached for her seat belt to hook her in, Madeline jerked it away from him and did it herself.

As Clint took his seat beside Sherry, Sam began humming the tune to “Let It Be.”

T
he pilot began to pull down the small runway, and Sherry braced herself. She pulled her feet up onto the edge of her seat and wrapped her trembling arms around her knees. How long would they be in this plane? How far would it take them? She tried to calculate how long it might take for someone to realize she and Madeline were missing. Would Wes realize it today and call the police, or would it take several days? He was so busy with Laney and the kids these days, not to mention his demanding work schedule, that she feared her absence might take too long to notice. Would her father notice, or would he assume she was just busy or depressed, and leave her alone?

But someone at Promised Land would surely notice that Madeline hadn’t shown up in the animation studio. Her managers—Andi or Justin—would surely report her disappearance. Wouldn’t they?

Clint kept looking at her. Angry, she asked, “Why don’t you sit someplace else?”

“There aren’t that many other places to sit.”

“You could sit with the pilot.”

“She doesn’t need my help,” he said. “She’s used to piloting a DC10. This one is a piece of cake.”

“You could sit up there, anyway. I don’t want you near me.”

“Too bad.”

The plane began to pick up speed, bumping and jerking over potholes and rocks.

“Brace yourselves, guys,” Erin called out. “It’s a rough runway.” Finally, they lifted off.

Clint looked over at Sherry. “You okay?”

“Depends. Can she really fly?”

“Of course she can. She’s a commercial pilot.”

“Among other things, apparently. Looks like you’ve picked up a lot of new friends since you left me. Has Erin been with you all this time?”

“Only when I’ve needed a pilot.”

She thought that over for a moment. “You must be making more money than you did as a youth minister.”

“I’m not paying for this, Sherry.”

“Then who is? Some drug lord?”

He gaped at her, hurt. “You really think I’d be on the payroll of a drug lord? You
really
believe that?”

“I’d believe anything about you, Clint. Nothing would surprise me anymore.”

The admission stung him. Angry, he unhooked his belt and moved to the front seat next to Erin. Sherry said nothing as he settled in.

For a while, she watched out the window, trying desperately to gauge where they were going. But all she could see were clouds and small squares of land, and miles and miles of trees. After a while, the clouds grew thicker, and she wasn’t able to see anything below them.

Her eyes drifted back to Clint, sitting next to Erin, staring dismally into space. Some irrational part of her wished he hadn’t moved, that he had stayed here beside her. But that wish made her angry. Her memories tugged up tender feelings, but those memories had no basis in truth. Somehow, she had to keep remembering that.

She was surprised when she felt the plane descending, and she looked out again, expecting to see an airport. All she saw, instead, was a forest of trees below them.

They touched down, and she realized that they had landed on another airstrip out in the middle of nowhere. She closed her eyes and breathed a prayer that God would go with them and protect her from whatever Clint and his new friends had in store for them.

The plane rolled to a stop, and she watched as he and Sam opened the door to the plane and got off. Sherry quickly unhooked her belt and leaned up to Madeline. Erin shifted in her seat to watch them.

Madeline had her leg propped on the seat next to her, but she seemed more worried about Sherry. “Are you okay?”

Sherry shrugged. “Yeah, how about you?”

“Fine except for this,” she said, pointing to her knee. “Sam actually seems like a decent guy.”

Sherry started to protest, but Erin said, “He
is
a decent guy. They both are. The best.”

Sherry and Madeline both looked up at her.

“Are you aware that they kidnapped us?” Madeline asked.

“It was for your own safety,” Erin said. “Trust them.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Sherry said. “She’s in with them.”

“Not really,” Erin said. “I’m actually a full-time pilot for an airline. I only do these flights on a case-by-case basis. I’ve only flown them around a couple of times, but I can tell you that you have nothing to fear. They won’t hurt you.”

The door opened, and Clint and Sam came back in. “Okay, let’s go. Madeline, can you walk okay?”

“Do I have a choice?” Madeline asked as she got up.

Erin winced as Madeline did. “Sam, isn’t there something you can do for her?”

“I’ll try to get her some ice,” he said. “But we don’t have a lot of time to kill.”

“Wait.” Erin reached for a flight bag tucked under one of the seats and withdrew a bottle of Tylenol. “It’s not much, but it’ll help some.” She handed it to Madeline.

Madeline took it suspiciously. “Thanks.”

“Try to keep it propped up if you can.”

Madeline gave a perplexed glance back at Sherry, but Sherry shot her a don’t-trust-any-of-them look.

They all filed off, and Sherry saw the truck and camper parked beside the airstrip, waiting for them. Clint took Sherry to the back of the camper, opened it, and told her to get in. She complied. He locked her in, but she went to the window and watched out as he and Sam made Madeline get in the pickup. Then Clint and Sam stepped aside, talking quietly for a moment.

Seizing the opportunity, she turned around and took a quick inventory of the “luxuries” in the camper. A sink, a small refrigerator, a cabinet. Attached to the wall was a small bed, and above her head was another fold-out bed. Across from the bed was a narrow closet. She opened it and found it empty. She opened the cabinet below the sink and found several cans of food, a loaf of bread, some peanut butter. A light dawned in her mind, and she pulled open the drawer. Among the forks, spoons, butter knives, and can opener lay a paring knife. Quickly, Sherry grabbed it and, following Clint’s example, tucked it under her sock against her leg.

A shudder coursed through her at the thought of using it, and she sank onto the bed again. If it came down to it, would she be able to hurt Clint to get away from him? She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. She wanted to think she could, but for the life of her, she wasn’t sure.

The door of the camper swung open, and she looked up to find Clint hunched in the doorway.

“Wh-where’s Madeline?” she asked when he closed the door behind him.

“She’s riding in front.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to ride with you.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t it absolutely necessary to stop you from killing yourself trying to keep me from saving you?”

“Nobody asked for your protection, Superman.”

Clint stepped further into the camper and reached into the refrigerator for a canned Coke. “You sound pretty sure of yourself for someone who’s never taken a chance in her life until today.”

Sherry lifted her chin at the barb. “I took a chance when I got tangled up with you.”

“I don’t recall that you had any reservations at all.” Clint set one of the drinks on the table in front of her, then popped the top of his own and took a long drink.

Sherry shrugged and looked out the window as the camper started to move. “Who knew what you were underneath? Who had any idea?”

“And maybe I was wrong about you all this time,” he said. “Maybe that heart I kept remembering was nothing but ice and bitterness. Maybe all that ‘for the rest of our lives’stuff was just a line to get what you wanted at the time.”

Some emotion seemed to show in her eyes, but instead of making them softer, it made them harder. “Maybe so,” she agreed.

Clint gave an unconvinced grin. “Maybe you knew all along that you were tangled up with some sort of gangster, and you needed the excitement in your life.” He set down the can, considered it. “There were clues, you know. All those ideas I used to be so engrossed in at church, they weren’t really project plans for the youth group. They were blueprints of banks. You probably thought I didn’t have much money, but the truth is that I have millions stashed away in a Swiss bank account.” He shrugged and looked back at Sherry’s cold eyes. “Remember all those plants I kept in my apartment? They weren’t really plants. They were just clever props where I hid the money. It worked out real well for a while, and I only had to kill a few dozen people. You probably thought I was at home sleeping when I wasn’t with you. In reality, I was flying to distant parts of the globe to launder my money.”

Sherry bit the inside of her cheek in impatience with his outrageous story and looked out the window.

“Don’t know why you never suspected anything,” he said, shaking his head with exaggeration. “When criminal behavior is so deeply ingrained in someone, the way it is in me, it’s really hard not to spot. Unless …” His eyes widened in feigned understanding, and Sherry couldn’t help looking at him again. “Unless you’re a female thug yourself!”

She rolled her eyes and looked out the window again.

“Of course,” Clint said, clutching his head. “Why didn’t I see it before? You and your brother are in this together! That’s how he made his fortune! He didn’t really get it from his wife. In reality, he probably sells used cars to third world nations! I knew there was something fishy about that guy!”

“If you think your flip attitude is going to lighten up this miserable situation, Clint, you’re wrong,” Sherry said. “I don’t find anything about this funny. I think you and your stupid tone-deaf friend are disgusting. As far as I’m concerned, I am a hostage, and you are a kidnapper. And when the police find us after I’m reported missing, I’m going to help them put you away for the rest of your life.”

Clint’s eyes glittered with anger. “I’m not a criminal, Sherry. I’m a victim. And I can’t tell you how good it feels to know the woman I planned to marry has such faith in me.”

“Faith can die, Clint!” she returned. “And I take full responsibility for winding up where I have in this relationship. I should never have loved you, and I should never have believed in you. Sometimes faith is just a flimsy means of self-betrayal, an excuse for not having to depend on yourself. I learned a valuable lesson when you disappeared, Clint. I learned not to believe in much anymore!”

Clint’s eyes were anguished as he tilted his head helplessly. “I did that to you?” he asked in a raw voice.

“I did that to myself,” she said numbly. And then she closed her eyes and banded her arms tighter around her knees, constructing barriers that no one was likely to break down.