Midnight Sacrifice (5 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Mandy blinked sleep-heavy eyelids and stared across the dark bedroom. The sudden surge of blood and the prickling of her senses sharpened her focus. Shadows shifted on the hardwood. Just branches moving outside. Sweating under the heavy comforter, she flung off the covers and padded barefoot across the floor. She undressed, then tossed her flannel pajamas into the hamper and pulled out a pair of cozy yoga pants and an oversize hoodie. The chill swept across her damp skin. She tugged her clothes on.

Crossing to the window, she stopped behind the curtain and peered around it. Outside, the clouds had dissipated, and the sky was dotted with stars. Moonlight flooded the yard. Tree branches and their shadows shifted in the wind at the rear of the property.

Her gaze searched the yard. Anything could hide out there.

Mandy shivered. The tingle on the back of her neck that had woken her drifted down her spine. Eyes. She could feel them on her through the glass. Was someone watching her, or was her imagination working overtime thanks to Danny Sullivan’s suggestion? She pulled away from the window. Returning to the bed, she reached between the headboard and the mattress and slid her gun from the holster she’d secured there.

She grabbed a pair of thick socks from her drawer and tugged them on. Treading softly, she emerged from the family quarters and checked the windows and doors on the first floor. All was secure. She put her weapon in the front pocket of her hoodie.

In the kitchen, she bypassed the light switch and stared out into the moonlit yard. The wind kicked up, blowing against the glass. The inn creaked like old bones. Empty and cold, Mandy filled the kettle and set it on the stove with shaky hands. There was no way she was going back to bed tonight. A few more hours of sleep wasn’t worth the risk of a return visit from her nightmare.

She scooped loose green tea into a mesh ball and dropped it into a china pot. Steam, fragrant with jasmine, rose as she poured the hot water. Leaving the tea to steep, she closed the blinds, shutting out the memories and the darkness that sparked them.

She needed Danny and his curiosity to stay away. Nathan couldn’t be out there. No way. Anger slid over her, warm as a blanket. Despite Nathan’s illness, she had no room for pity. Nathan had stabbed her best friend. He’d lied to her, killed two other people, and put her family at risk. If he showed up at the inn, she’d put him down like a rabid animal.

Unless he killed her first.

Sacrifice and survival were inseparable. In order for life to continue, something had to die, and Kevin sincerely hoped a nice fat trout gave itself up for breakfast. That wasn’t looking likely, though. In previous years, this section of the Long River had been in no particular rush. The waterway meandered through the Maine forest and spilled out into Lake Walker about a hundred yards downstream. But this week, while not white water, recent storms swelled its banks, and the current was likely stronger than the surface indicated.

He glanced over at his ten-year-old son. Twenty feet away, just far enough that they wouldn’t hook each other when casting, Hunter held his fly rod over the riverbank.

“Not too close to the edge, Hunter.”

“OK, Dad.” Drawing his rod back to cast, Hunter answered without turning away from his task. Under his dark-blue Yankees cap, the boy’s freckled face was locked deep in concentration. His tongue poked out between his front teeth. The line flowed back and forth smoothly and sailed out over the water.

Pride swelled in Kevin’s chest. Teaching his son to connect with his primitive self on their annual fishing trip always put Kevin in a philosophical mood. Even on a windy morning, it sure beat sitting in his cubicle at the insurance company headquarters in New Jersey. He loved his wife and daughters immensely, but this manly-man time alone with his boy was precious.

Kevin let out a foot of line and whisked his arm back over his shoulder. With a gentle forward movement, he cast the rod toward the river. The fly soared, and he laid the line down on the water with one smooth motion. The bug touched down with a gentle plop.

“Man, you’re good at that.”

Kevin looked over his shoulder. His brother, Tony, emerged from the woods. He crossed the strip of weeds to the riverbank.

“When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.” Kevin was
not
telling Tony how many hours he practiced casting in his backyard. Fly-fishing lessons, two hundred dollars. Besting his younger brother? Priceless.

“Morning, Uncle Tony,” Hunter said with a happy grin.

“Morning, Little Man,” Tony answered, scratching his belly through his sweatshirt. He tucked his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and hunched his shoulders against the chill. April nights were still cold this far north, and the wind that had blown the rains away overnight persisted.

After a quick check to make sure Hunter wasn’t any closer to the water’s edge, Kevin turned his attention back to his line. Keeping the tip of the rod down, he lifted the line from the water.

Tony sipped from a travel mug. “Do you actually like getting up this early?”

“I have four kids. My house is chaos. I haven’t slept past six in more years than I want to count.” Kevin flipped the line back and cast again. Satisfaction welled as the fly set down like the real thing. Still, the trout were MIA this morning. “You’ll see. When’s Jenna due? September, right?”

“Yeah. Honeymoon’s over, I guess.” Tony grimaced. “Is it really going to be that bad?”

Kevin laughed and smiled as Hunter sent another fly out over the water. “Kids are great. They just think sleeping is a waste of time.”

“Fish get up early, right, Dad?” Hunter added.

“Right.” Kevin played the fly across the river’s surface. “And if you hadn’t tried to keep up with Paul tossing back the Heineys last night, that gong wouldn’t be ringing in your head right now. You’d be enjoying the morning with me and Hunter.”

Tony bowed his head in mock shame. “I let Paul lead me astray. It’s his fault.”

“You’re too old to keep up with our baby brother.” Kevin laughed. Just twenty-one, Paul was still in spring-break-no-real-job mode. “Is college boy still sleeping?”

“Like a dead man.” Tony drained his cup.

“More like a single man.”

“No sh—kidding.” Tony corrected himself with a glance at Hunter. “I’m getting out of the cold. I’ll start breakfast and brew a fresh pot.”

“Cool. I’m starving,” Hunter said.

Tony grinned. “OK, kid. Coming right up. How does bacon and eggs sound?”

“Awesome.” Hunter popped his fly across the water like a champ. He stopped suddenly and gave his uncle a pointed stare. “Do I have to eat fruit?”

“Nope,” Uncle Tony answered. “This is Man Week, a vacation from balanced meals, personal hygiene, and all things pink.”

“Woo hoo.” Hunter pumped a fist in the air and grinned.

Kevin winced. His boy was going to smell like a sewer by the end of the week. But he’d be happy. With three younger sisters, Hunter often complained their house looked like the inside of the Pepto-Bismol bottle. They lived in Barbieland. “Since my superior angling skills have failed to land a trout, bacon and eggs sound great to me, too.”

“I’m on it.” Laughing, Tony headed back toward the cabin.

The breeze picked up and rustled through nearby trees. Kevin zipped his nylon jacket to his chin. His stomach rumbled. Coffee and bacon would hit the spot. Maybe when the wind died down, they’d land a few fish. They still had five more days of Man Week, but Kevin wanted his son to land a trout. This week was special to the Dougherty men. “Come on, Hunter. Let’s get some food.”

“Can we try again later?”

“Of course. We have nothing else to do all day.” Kevin packed up their stuff. Hunter led the way, heading up the narrow trail that serpentined back to the cabin. A shiver swept over Kevin as they walked into the shadow of the forest. A dozen yards into the woods, an itchy sensation between his shoulder blades pulled his eyes to the path behind him. Empty.

Something splashed in the river. Probably the trout mocking them.

A scraping sound, like metal over rock, lifted the hairs on his arms. He glanced backed again. Nothing. But he moved closer to his son.

They continued up the trail. What was his deal? Sure, upstate Maine was a hell of a lot different than the North Jersey suburbs. That’s why they drove all the way up here, to get away from the
horns and the exhaust fumes and the cell phone that buzzed 24/7. To relax. To bond with his son. Usually, Kevin loved the solitude of the deep woods, but this morning it didn’t feel as empty as usual.

Or as empty as it should.

Something moved in the underbrush.

Putting a hand on his son’s shoulder, he quickened his pace. What kind of predators lived up here? Bears? Wolves? A figure stepped out from behind a tree.

“Tony?” Kevin squinted.

The man moved forward, closer to Hunter, out of the tree’s shadow. Not Tony. This guy was tall and wiry. His khakis and jacket were new, at odds with the scraggly blond hair and beard. His piercing blue eyes had this weird look in them. Fanatical? Or feral.

“Can I help you?” Kevin pulled Hunter behind him. His spine tingled with inexplicable discomfort. The guy was probably just a lost fisherman or camper. It happened, especially to guys not accustomed to the wilderness, like Kevin and his brothers.

He glanced up the trail. The stranger was between them and the cabin.

“Yes, I think that you can.” The stranger pulled something out of his pocket. Oh, shit. A gun! Kevin blocked Hunter’s body with his own. No, wait. It was black and yellow. What the—? Something buzzed. Tiny darts flew from the point. Every muscle in Kevin’s body went rigid at once. Paralyzed, he fell over like a downed tree. Unable to fling a hand out to break his fall, his body crashed to the hard earth.

“Dad!”

In Kevin’s mind he yelled at Hunter to run. But the air whooshed from his lungs, and his throat refused to obey his command. His limbs wouldn’t respond either. Hunter was no dummy and took off down the trail, yelling, “Uncle Tony, help!”

But he was no match for the stranger’s longer legs. The tall man had the boy around the waist in seconds. One hand clamped over Hunter’s mouth, silencing his shrieks.

All Kevin could do was twitch and watch in agony as the stranger hauled his kicking and writhing son toward the water. His soul screamed as they disappeared from sight. The stranger returned in a few seconds. He pulled a sack over Kevin’s head and tied his hands together. Blinded and bound, panic rose in his chest. Where was his son? Hands grabbed his ankles, and his helpless body was dragged through the dirt. His torso bounced off rocks and exposed roots. The ground smoothed out, then water lapped at his clothes. He was lifted, and his body landed on something hard. Metal echoed, and the scents of river water and fish flooded his nostrils. A canoe or kayak? He managed a slight roll and came up against a small body. Hunter?

The vessel rocked as his captor pushed off and climbed in.

Kevin moved his feet. The connection between his brain and body seemed to be recovering. Had he been Tased?

A rope encircled his ankles and went tight.

“Hold still unless you want your boy to go for a swim right now.” His captor’s voice was flat, and the lack of emotion sent a new wave of terror crawling through Kevin’s bowels. “The way he’s trussed, he’ll drown in seconds.”

Despair filled him as he obediently stopped moving. Whatever this crazy man’s plan was, Kevin and his son were completely helpless.

CHAPTER FIVE

Danny steered onto the ramp and followed the directions into the town of Northton. After passing a Walmart, a few strip centers, and an army/navy surplus store, Danny cruised up to the one-story gray clapboard Maine State Police Barracks. The cop who was handling his sister’s case, Detective Rossi, was part of the Major Crimes Unit, a handful of detectives sprinkled over a huge expanse of territory.

The morning sun hit Danny’s back as he crossed the parking lot, but inside, the station was chilly and damp. Danny gave his name to the secretary behind the counter. Ignoring the plastic chairs, he paced the dingy linoleum while he waited. The cold and early morning drive time had left his muscles cramped. The fingers of his left hand had gone twitchy again. He shoved it in his jacket pocket.