Forever Man (33 page)

She had lost them.

*   *   *

The Lexus RX rolled east along M-28 toward Kinsey. The ride was smooth enough, the woman thought. But it couldn’t compare to the feel of her favorite set of wheels, a fully-loaded Porsche 911 Carrera she’d picked up a few months ago. Driving that was like having a love affair with the road. Then again, spend over a quarter million dollars for a car and it had better drive like a dream.

No, she’d chosen the Lexus for practical reasons. The weather report had called for a snow storm to roll across this rural slice of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. So prior to leaving Dulles International Airport, she’d called ahead to the car rental counter at the airport in Marquette and arranged to have the SUV waiting for her when she arrived. Its wide tires and solid handling were perfect for traversing snowy roads. For now, function trumped form.

Just past a small town called Munising, the road banked left, following the shoreline of Lake Superior. The woman eased up on the accelerator. The Lexus’s handling in the snow had been excellent, but there was no need to take chances. She would arrive in Kinsey in due time.

Working her way deeper into the heated seat, she pondered her current dilemma. Darryl Webber had disappointed her. She had sent him up here to collect the boy and bring him to her. That had been almost two weeks ago, and she still didn’t have Kevin Sallinen.

One long, immaculately lacquered fingernail began tapping the leather-wrapped steering wheel. The current situation was unacceptable. She should have gone with her first instinct. Send Webber in and have him take the boy; the less complicated a plan, the better it worked. But she had allowed Webber to talk her into a more detailed operation. And, she had to admit, he’d had a point. She could secure the boy and rid herself of Bartholomew, all at the same time.

The operation hadn't been a disaster, but it certainly hadn't been a success, either.

She had last spoken to Webber thirty-six hours ago. Since then, she’d heard nothing.

There could be a couple reasons for that. Webber had noted that Kinsey’s Chief of Police was more formidable than he’d expected. Not surprising, given that Darryl Webber was a misogynistic fool. Underestimating women was something she’d had to address with him in the past. It didn’t look like the lesson had sunk in.

And then there was Bartholomew. While she had expected his involvement—had counted on it—he had the frustrating habit of throwing up all kinds of barriers. And he had twice beat Webber at his own game.

All in all, it was enough to irritate her.

She didn’t fully trust Darryl with phone calls. In the past, he’d tried to explain away his failures, then go on doing what he was doing. So for this operation, she’d decided to delay her other obligations and stay close to the Midwest. Good thing she did. Once events in Kinsey had started going awry, she’d been able to come up here. Personally see to things. It wasn’t something she liked to do. But if Kevin Sallinen had half the potential she suspected, it would be worth the inconvenience.

And if she could not secure the boy, she would make
damn
sure Bartholomew and his cadre didn’t get him either.

Turning her attention to the GPS attached to the Lexus’s dashboard, she saw it wouldn’t be much longer.

Close enough? Probably.

She reached for her cell, but something made her pause.

Oh my, she thought, bringing her hand up to her face. Webber’s antics must have upset me more that I’d believed.

Her perfectly manicured fingernails were gone.

She smiled at the hooked, razor-sharp claws that now extended from the tips of her fingers.

Darryl Webber maneuvered his Silverado down the snow-slicked road. He checked the rear-view mirror. No sign of Morris.

Huddled in the back seat, Jack held his son; the gunfire had set the boy off on another crying jag. Denny Cain sat next to Webber, the rifle propped between his long legs. Adrenaline seemed to have burned away some of Denny’s hangover. That, and the chance to take a shot at the man he thought had killed his son. Revenge was an excellent tonic for a tormented soul.

As they approached an intersection, he called out, “Jack. Directions.”

“Left,” replied Jack. “That’ll take you out of town.”

Denny looked over at Webber. “What do you mean, ‘out of town’? I ain’t leaving. Maddie’s at home waiting for me.”

“Seriously? You just shot at the Chief of Police. Blew out her car window. You think she’s going to take kindly to that?”

Denny’s face screwed into a frown. “But—but I don’t wanna leave. What’ll Maddie do without me?”

“Here,” Webber offered, pulling the car over to the curb. “Let me drop you off. You can go back and apologize. Maybe Morris will understand.”

“You know she ain’t gonna do that.”

“See what I mean?” Webber eased back out into what little traffic there was. “Buckle up, hoss. You’re in it for the long haul.”

“I—but—”

“No ‘buts’.”

Webber took the left. When his cell began playing “Black Hole Sun,” he checked the display. He was tempted to ignore the call—he’d screwed up by not checking in. But he also knew he could stretch his luck only so far.

He clicked on and said, “It’s me.”

“Nice of you to pick up,” came her voice over the phone, sounding uncomfortably close.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Busy?” she said archly.

“I said I was sorry.”

“Keep me out of the loop again and you will be.”

“Understood.”
Bitch
.

“Have you managed to get the boy yet?”

“Just now. I ran into a couple problems.”

“Spare me your excuses.” Her sarcasm was sharp enough to draw blood. “And Bartholomew?”

“He was one of the problems. We just managed to get away from him.”

There was a pause on the other end. “You’re saying Bartholomew got
that
close to the boy? Before everything was in place?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Near the end.”

“I gave you every advantage, and still he dogged your steps. Unbelievable. Makes me wonder.”

“Yet I’m the one who ended up with the boy.”

“More by luck,” she replied. “What about my pet?”

Damn. He’d
hoped not to go there. “Well, that’s a different problem.” Webber recounted his decision to send the creature after Morris. And how it had returned, injured, with Morris still alive.

The pause was longer this time. “How is that possible?”

“She got a shot off. It took a bullet in the chest.”

“We both know it would take more than that.”

“I told you she was resourceful. She—”

“What are you not telling me, Darryl?”

His mind churned as he tried to think of an effective lie.

“And don’t try lying to me.”

Webber let out a sigh. “Owens was with her at the time.”

When she spoke next, her words were clipped and harsh. “You sent my favorite pet after someone protected by Bartholomew?”

“Yes,” Webber said, thankful for the distance between here and Maryland.

“He saved her?”

“That’s the theory.”

“Don’t be cute. It’s annoying.”

“Look,” he said, desperate to change the subject. “I’ve
got
the boy. I did what you asked.”

“I’ll take that under consideration.”

“One more thing.”

“Now what?”

“The boy,” Webber said. “He spoke to me.”

“Spoke…how?”

“In complete sentences.
Coherently
.” He could almost hear her chewing on that one.

“You’re sure about this?”

“He’s not supposed to do that yet.” Webber glanced at Kevin in the mirror. “What kind of danger am I in here?”

“No more than when he’s speaking his gibberish.”

“Wait a minute,” Webber said, alarmed. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Whatever made you think I’d tell you everything?”

“But my control over the Fek?”

“I’m still not sure about the extent of the boy’s abilities, so I’d be careful if I were you.”

Webber was stunned. “That would have been nice to know from the start.”

“Life’s full of little surprises,” she said sweetly. “Now, where are you?”

Biting back his irritation, he replied, “I’m almost out of town. Give me a couple more days.”

“Don’t bother. I’m coming to you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Webber said in a panic. “Seriously, I’ve got everything under control.”

“Yes, I do,” she replied. “And no, you don’t. Besides, I’m already here.”

Oh, fuck. Not good. Not good at all. “Where?”

“About an hour or so from Kinsey.”

He swallowed. “All right. I understand. What do you want me to do?”

“Where were you keeping my pet?”

“A cave outside of town.” He gave her directions.

“Make your way there.”

“Of course,” he said stiffly. “I’m on my way.”

“This had better work,” she said. “I won’t tolerate another failure.” Then she hung up on him.

Webber shut his phone. It was amazing how fast things can go down the shitter.

Looking into the rear view mirror, he asked: “How’s everyone feel about a walk in the woods?”

*   *   *

Deke Frenz picked his way through the woods. A hard wind blew the snow around, creating drifts and generally making the walk difficult. In one hand he carried a burlap bag filled with apples. The other rested on the strap of a rifle slung over his shoulder.

Earlier, after the ambulance had left with the kid found in Room 7, Deke had decided to flip on the NO VACANCY sign, close up shop and go check on his bait piles. There were no other customers, and he was unlikely to see more that day. Fishing season was winding down, and even though you could get some good steelies in the nearby trout streams, most people weren’t willing to make the long drive just for that. Bow season for deer started next week. That might pull in a few people. But the major influx of customers started around November 15
th
. That was when firearm season opened. He already had enough reservations to fill the Hiawatha Trails for three weeks.

He stepped between two trees and approached his third and final bait pile. Despite the snow, he knew exactly where he was going. He’d lived his whole life up here, hunted from the age of fifteen. This was like his second home.

The last pile was in a shallow indentation in the ground marked by three trees, two large pines and a smaller aspen. He dropped the bag of apples and leaned his rifle against a tree trunk. Kneeling down, he began brushing away the snow. He frowned at what he saw.

Like the other two piles he had visited, the apples here were untouched.

He recalled the rubs he’d seen on the trees. The bark had been scraped away by the antlers of some huge buck. It had likely marked its territory, pissing all over the place and keeping the other deer away. But why hadn't it eaten the apples?

He thought he heard something moving in the woods. He stood and looked around, his ears straining against the crystalline stillness of the forest. The overcast sky had rendered the woods into a stark landscape of whites and dark grays. He didn’t see anything. But still, there was something not…quite…right….

Sticks broke in another direction. He spun, eyes darting back and forth, his breath coming in shallow, quick gasps. Blood rushed through his veins, pounded loudly in his ears.

He wasn’t one to panic in the woods. Nothing spooked him, really. But now he was afraid—unreasonably afraid.

He reached for the rifle. Before coming out here, he’d loaded the gun, chambered a round, and engaged the safety. He never wandered around the forest unarmed. It was a good thing, too.

Because he was certain something was out there.

And he got the feeling it was watching him.

*   *   *

Webber turned off the road and onto a small trail leading deep into the woods.

The drive had taken him back toward the Hiawatha Trails Motel. He would have preferred using less-traveled side roads—Morris had likely put the word out about them over the police band—but the cave was located near the motel, and M-28 was the only way he knew to get there. So he had sped along as fast as he could on the slick roads, keeping one eye out for the cops and the other for his turn-off.

Driving slower now, he continued down the trail for a few hundred feet, wanting to make sure the Silverado couldn’t be seen from the main road. When he saw a beat-up, dark-green Ford pickup parked about thirty yards up ahead, he shook his head in disbelief.

“Who comes out here in a snowstorm?” he said.

“Baiting,” replied Denny.

“What?”

“Deer baiting,” Denny explained. “Someone’s laying bait for deer season.”

“That’s just fucking peachy,” snapped Webber. “Go see if that lunatic’s in his truck. Jack, come on. We got some walking to do.”

“What if he’s there?” asked Denny while Jack bundled up Kevin. “In the truck?”

“Keep him distracted while we head out into the woods. Tell him—I don’t know—tell him you’re baiting too. So long as he doesn’t follow us. Then catch up. We won’t be that far ahead.”

Everyone piled out of the truck. Denny slung his rifle over one shoulder and plodded toward the pickup. Webber, with Jack trailing close behind holding Kevin in his arms, left the trail and began hiking into the woods.

Deke Frenz stepped quietly to one side, his heavy boots crunching in the snow. One step. Another. A third. Once he’d cleared the trees, he brought his Remington .700 bolt-action up and placed the stock firmly against his shoulder. The rifle had been fitted with a Leupold Gold-Ring scope, which gave him excellent magnification up to two hundred yards. Squinting into the lens, he turned, letting the barrel skim the horizon.

Trees leapt into focus, only to dart back as he continued turning. The effect was unsettling, almost as if the forest were moving, creeping closer, hemming him in. He blinked the sweat from his eyes. Shook his head to clear his thoughts. Peered back down the scope.