Gull Harbor (23 page)

****

Something unusual caught Max’s eye as he drove his bike down Mill Pond Road. He slowed as his brain registered the sight that had triggered an internal warning bell. There was an unfamiliar car parked in the Donaldsons’ driveway. Max made a wide U-turn and doubled back to the vacant house.

All the locals knew that the Donaldsons spent July with their children and grandchildren in Maine every year. It had been that way as long as Max had lived in Gull Harbor, and in this small town, everyone was aware of the habits of the year-round residents. And it was not the Donaldsons’ habit to rent their house out during the month they were away.

He pulled the motorcycle up to the car, noting the plates. Connecticut. It could belong to a tourist, looking for a parking spot. But that didn’t make a whole lot of sense—a tourist wouldn’t know that the Donaldsons were away. And on a day like today, he thought as he glanced up at the heavy clouds, there would be plenty of parking available down at the beach lot.

His unease intensified as he peered into the car’s interior. The ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, food wrappers were strewn on the floor, and a small duffle bag sat on the back seat. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what bothered him so much about the mess, but he couldn’t deny the sudden overwhelming feeling that this car did not belong here.

Claire. Was she okay? Adrenaline flooded his veins as he jumped back on his bike. He could call in the suspicious car to the police later—right now, his only concern was checking to make sure Claire was all right. Gripping the handlebars, he tore out of the Donaldsons’ driveway and back onto the road.

She wasn’t expecting him, but he’d decided to take advantage of the afternoon lull and surprise her with a visit. He’d assumed she would be at home, diligently working on translations with the aid of her new Internet connection. Now he pulled up behind her car, praying that he was right, and that he would find her inside, safe and sound.

He knocked on the door quickly, not waiting for an answer as he shoved his key into the lock. “Claire?” he called, pushing the door open. “Are you here?” Only silence answered him as he strode through the rooms on the first floor. Not finding her, he ran up the stairs, the steps shuddering and moaning under his weight.

“Claire!” Somehow he knew the house was empty, but he continued yelling as he checked the two bedrooms and the bathroom. He hurried back down the stairs, pausing in the living room as his gaze fell on the notebook lying on the couch.

He snatched the notebook up, his heart thundering in his chest. His eyes raced across the crowded page, taking in all the horrifying words.
Body. Grave. Family
. He shook his head forcefully. “No,” he said aloud. Claire would not have gone looking for a possible murder victim’s remains on her own. The woods were too vast—she wouldn’t even know where to start.

His stomach seized as he read one of the last phrases on the page.
I’ll lead you there
. “No, no, no,” he repeated. “God damn it, no.” He clenched his fist, fighting the urge to drop the notebook and run out the back door. He scanned the page again, looking for clues as to which direction she may have headed.

There. There it was. The word
rocks
was written in the margin. And the only significant rocks he could think of around the pond were near the Cliff. It was an enormous area, filled with acres of stony hills and ancient trees, but at least it was a place to start.

He tore the page from its spiral wires and jammed it in his pocket, checking to make sure his cell phone was in there as well. How could she have gone off into the woods by herself with no cell phone? He ground his teeth together as he let himself out the back door. Tomorrow he was buying her a cell phone, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Maybe she couldn’t afford it, but he could. It was a small price to pay to never feel like this again.

He called her name a few more times as he crossed the backyard, just in case she had changed her mind and was on her way back. Walking backwards toward the woods, he tried again, aiming his voice toward the road. His gaze swept over the back of the house, landing on a bright-red gas can that rested by the rusty bulkhead doors.

The crimson container pierced the thick gray air like a warning signal. His blood went cold, and he turned around and broke into a jog. Claire could have put it there, he told himself as he ran along the trail that led to the pond. But the savage twisting in his gut told him otherwise.

Chapter 31

Gary watched her slow down, turning uncertainly in the small clearing off the trail. He shrunk behind a tree, but her head was down, her mind on her task as she studied the ground. Mumbling incoherently, she finally shrugged off her backpack and removed the shovel.

How had she found the spot so easily? Sweat poured off him as he crept through the woods, memories of that night filling his thoughts. He had waited until 3:00 in the morning before he’d set out to bury her body—too late to encounter partying kids, he’d hoped, and too early to come across any morning hikers. Still, he’d been careful to stay away from the main pathways as he’d wheeled the barrow with its grim contents through the darkness. And now, despite his precautions, this woman had led him straight back to the hidden grave.

The shovel concerned him. It was short—she had to bend over to use it—but it was still a potential weapon. He would circle around and sneak up on her from behind. The element of surprise, along with his knife, would bring her search to a quick end.

Mosquitoes whined around him, thirsty for a meal, but he ignored them.
No sudden moves
, he reminded himself. Treading lightly, he picked his way through the undergrowth, slipping soundlessly from tree to tree.

****

She dug the shovel into the floor of the forest, her lips pressed together in determination. Maria had told her
aquí
—
here
—but the years had covered any sign that the earth had once been disturbed. A wave of nausea rippled through her as her mind conjured up grisly images of what she might find.

How far down would he have buried the body? At least far enough to prevent animals from digging up the remains, she decided with a shudder. Her skin was growing sticky, attracting the mosquitoes in droves. She slapped at them and wiped her arm across her forehead. In her hasty packing job, she’d neglected to think of bug spray. Stupid, especially for a walk in the woods on an overcast afternoon.

She massaged her lower back, pressing her thumbs along the base of her spine. Her muscles were beginning to tremble, and physical exertion was only partly to blame, she suspected. Curling her fingers around the spade’s handle, she bent over and resumed her task.

The blade hit something solid, sending a jolt through her arm that reverberated in her bones. She froze, her breath hitching in her chest. Gingerly, she scraped dirt off the object underneath.

A rock. She closed her eyes, the air trapped in her lungs escaping with a rush. Relief and disappointment warred within her, leaving her feeling drained. “It’s just a rock,” she murmured aloud.

Bad man!
The words rang out inside Claire’s head, and she jumped.
Bad man,
Maria insisted again. Pain, like a quick ice-pick stab to the temple, accompanied the message, and Claire sagged against the shovel wearily. She rubbed her forehead while Maria repeated the phrase—
bad man, bad man, bad man
—in a silent, frantic loop.

“I know,” Claire replied softly. “I know he put you here, and I’m going to find you. Maybe I’m just not digging in the right spot.”

Behind her, a twig snapped. She released her grip on the shovel, whirling around. A man stood there, the man from her visions. He held his hands out in a placating gesture, but a knife extended from his right fist. The blade shone dully against the murky wooded background.

Their gazes locked for a terrifying moment, his left eye staring at her from a hideously swollen pocket of bruised flesh. Then he glanced down at the shovel lying on the ground, and his expression betrayed his thoughts.

She dove for the shovel seconds before he charged her. Grabbing the wooden handle, she swung the tool upward, a scream tearing from her lips. The metal edge connected with his knees, and he grunted as he collided with her. She fell onto her back, her breath rushing out with the impact. Tangled together, they rolled across the clearing.

He regained control first, sprawling over her to stop their momentum. He glared down at her, his body covering hers in an obscene embrace. With another scream, she slammed the heel of her hand into his injured eye. His head snapped up as he roared in pain, and she flipped herself over. Clawing at the dirt, she squirmed away on her belly, fighting to free herself from his hold.

She wrenched her hips, gaining enough room to bend her left knee. Pushing off of it, she lurched forward. Her right leg was still pinned under his weight. She flailed wildly, swinging her other leg in an ineffectual kick.

Suddenly her vision went gray as the back of her thigh exploded in agony. The blade of the knife sliced through skin and nerves, plunging deep into her hamstring muscle. Her arms gave out, and she collapsed face-down onto the ground.

****

A scream shattered the still air of the woods. Claire. Max slowed to a stop, his heart turning icy in his chest. He clenched his fists, fighting the instinct to crash blindly through the trees, shouting her name at the top of his lungs. Instead, he forced himself to stay motionless and listen. He would get to her faster if he could pinpoint her location, and if someone had her, there was no reason to warn that person that Max was coming.

Still, his muscles tightened painfully, burning to get to her. Another scream rang out, the sound ripping him apart. He took off like a runner out of the gate, praying his sense of direction wouldn’t fail him. Ignoring the trails, he sprinted through the tangled undergrowth. Vines and brambles tore at his skin, but he felt no pain. His mind was filled only with the overwhelming fear that he would be too late.

He heard the sounds of a struggle seconds before he caught sight of two forms in the distance. There was a man on top of Claire. He pushed his legs harder, forgoing caution for speed.

Claire cried out as the man withdrew a knife from the back of her thigh. Max burst into the clearing in time to see a momentary look of shock on the man’s bruised face. But he recovered quickly, grabbing a fistful of Claire’s hair and dragging her head back.

“Stop!” the man commanded, pressing the knife against the exposed skin of her neck.

Max slid to a halt, his gaze fixed on the blade’s sharp edge. He slowly moved his arms out to the side in a placating gesture as his glance darted to meet Claire’s. Her eyes were dark with agony, the dull green color an alarming contrast against her pale flesh. “Are you okay?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she whispered back, but the sounds she made as the man shifted her body in front of his told a different story.

“Shut up,” the man instructed, digging the tip of the knife into her throat.

Max nodded carefully.
Think
. This man had to be Gary Williams. Somehow he’d found out what Claire was up to, and he’d returned to Gull Harbor to make sure his secrets stayed buried. The knife—and the gas can—were evidence enough of his plans. Rage and fear pounded through Max’s veins, heating his blood to boiling.

Gary wrapped his free arm around her chest. “Get up,” he said, pulling her with him as he struggled to stand. She tried to comply, but her injured leg buckled. With a low moan, she staggered back against her captor.

“Claire!” Max took a step forward before he could stop himself.

“Back off!” Gary twisted the blade, and Claire gasped. Blood welled up in bright-crimson drops that dribbled down her neck.

“Okay.” He eased backward, staring at the red ribbon of blood in horror. “Okay. Just don’t hurt her.”

“The way I see it, you’re not in any position to give orders,” commented Gary. His voice was cool and gruff, but his expression betrayed his underlying panic.

Stay calm
. He took a deep breath. “Right,” Max agreed. His mind felt hazy, full of violent emotions. He needed to focus. Gary’s options were limited now that his initial plans were ruined. There was no way he could flee with Claire as a hostage—her wounded leg would never hold up. But he continued to hold her body in front of his like some kind of shield, the knife digging into her skin.

“Just let her go,” Max said quietly. “We won’t follow you.”

“Right,” answered Gary with a harsh, humorless laugh. He tugged her back a step, and she groaned as his knee bumped against the back of her thigh.

Max’s muscles tensed at the sound. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could bear to stand by and watch Claire suffer. And yet the weapon at her throat reminded him that any move he made could put her in more danger. A scared, desperate man literally held Claire’s life in his hands, and Max was completely powerless.

The rock came out of nowhere, flying from the shadows of the forest with lightning speed. It connected with Gary’s temple and he stumbled, drawing the knife across Claire’s neck as he staggered sideways. A thin red line opened along the blade’s path. Then her leg gave out under their combined weight, and she collapsed to the ground.

“No!” Max yelled, rushing toward her. He was vaguely aware of the sounds of Gary’s footsteps battering the undergrowth as he escaped into the woods. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except Claire.

He fell to his knees beside her, his mind spinning with silent prayers. She stared at him with huge, glassy eyes. Her hand was clamped over the wound, and he gently pulled it away. “How bad?” he asked in a choked voice.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He cradled her head in his palm and tipped her chin back. Her pale skin was smeared with blood, flowing freely but not gushing in dangerous pulses. There were two wounds—a deep gauge under her chin and a long slice running up along her jaw—but thankfully neither one seemed life-threatening. He exhaled a shaky breath.