Stalking Death (41 page)

"You know this is never going to work, Woody. Getting rid of the car is only a small piece of it. That boy's less reliable and trustworthy than a 2-year old. It's only a matter of time before he's drunk or drugged out and starts bragging to his buddies about how he killed someone once and got away with it."

"Or he'll forget about his new name and say, oh, man, you know who I really am? I'm Alasdair MacGregor and I'm supposed to be dead," Woodson agreed. "Any idea what arrangements MacGregor has made, anticipating this kind of thing?"

"As far as Gregor MacGregor is concerned, Alasdair is a high spirited boy who got into some trouble at school."

"You mean he doesn't know..." Woodson trailed off. "Come on, Todd. He has to know. The call that brought him running was about a body, for Chrissake."

"Some people have an amazing ability to only see what they want to see."

I thought Chambers ought to be held down, screaming, while someone tattooed that on his ass, so it would be right there, ready to read, whenever he was about to stick his head up there.

They were both silent, then Chambers said, "We both know MacGregor didn't hand over that money because of some boyish hi-jinks. So, you got any ideas?"

"Same as you. That maybe we can kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of our too-curious consultant, kidnapped and killed by Alasdair, and..."

"Why would Alasdair bother to kidnap her? Or kill her?"

"Because she asks too many questions. Because she found Alasdair—so he killed her and took her body up to the camp to dump it, but when he was driving away, he was so crazy and high that he drove into the lake. Which still leaves Shondra so distraught at all the trouble she's caused, she takes an overdose."

"That's already been done, Woody."

"Yes, well, her last attempt was thwarted by the quick action of the St. Matthews staff, but this time, alas, she succeeds."

"But we can't find her."

"Don't worry. We'll find her. Eventually she'll turn up and we'll get that camera. You've got Sidaris and Adams buttoned up, worrying about their contracts, and who else is there?"

"Not just their contracts," Chambers said smugly.

"You mean their tawdry little affair?" Woodson said. "Who'd care about that?"

"Al's wife, for one. So you don't think Shondra will head for home?"

"She hasn't got any money. Her family hasn't got a pot to piss in. Besides, big brother's in jail up here, so she'll stick around for him. She might even show up to play basketball. She does love it, you know."

"Ah, yes," Chambers said. "I'm seeing the press release even now. St. Matthews community mourns the tragic loss of star basketball player. Until personal problems derailed her, Shondra Jones appeared headed for star billing in women's college basketball. School struggles to rise about series of tragedies. Et cetera. I'm going to have fun writing that one. I wonder..."

I could see some holes in their plan, like what to do about Jamison Jones and how to explain the body in the fire. Like wouldn't Grandpa MacGregor demand his money back? More were popping into my head all the time. Once again, Chambers was being arrogant and overconfident without thinking things through. This time, though, I didn't have the slightest desire to set him straight.

I thought they'd forgotten about me, there in the trunk, but someone patted the metal with a firm hand, and Chambers said, "Do you think I can get EDGE Consulting to help me write those press releases?" He laughed. "I'm sure, if she's listening, that our holier-than-thou consultant is having a fit in there. She thinks I'm shockingly inattentive to the needs of my students. Most of my students." He patted the metal again and their voices moved away. Perhaps to discuss the details of
my
death.

He couldn't have known he was doing me a favor. Nothing cures a wallow of pain and self-pity like getting good and mad. And when I get mad, I don't get fuzzy-minded or impulsive, I get focused. His bit of nastiness was just what I needed. I formulated the first part of my plan—to be as limp and uncooperative as possible when they opened the trunk. If they had to drag me out, their hands would be busy. I was no small woman, it would take both of them to do it, and that would give me a chance to get on my feet.

After that, I'd see what my options were. But one thing I knew for sure—Alasdair was going to know that both of us were marked for death. That they weren't just disposing of me—they were double-crossing him. He was such a wild card who knew how he'd react? Maybe he'd hit
them
with shovels.

Plan or no plan, I was scared. My teeth were chattering and periodically, the ball of fear in the pit of my stomach sent out flashes that zinged through me like electric shocks. The odds—three against one—weren't good. Especially when one of them had a gun. But hope is what keeps people going. I was hoping that Alasdair could be persuaded to turn on them, and that Chambers, despite his fundamental corruption and flashes of bravado, would prove as weak as he seemed. That would leave Woodson.

Eventually, the car door slammed and we were off again. I could only hope this part of the ride would be shorter. So far, it had been miserable and would only get worse as the night grew colder and the road rougher.

By the time we finally bumped to a stop, I felt like a kernel of corn in a popper. I'd never thought of popcorn as bruised before, but I was bruised. When the trunk lid lifted, the rush of cold air was almost intoxicating after stifling in the fug of my own blood and fear. The air smelled woodsy and earthy with nuances of the rustling lake water I could hear in the distance. There was no moon, no stars, no flashlights. Only the trunk bulb. But after an hour in the rocking darkness, even that dim light was jarring.

"All right," Woodson commanded, "sit up now so we can get you out of there."

I didn't move.

"I said, sit up!"

I moaned weakly and curled into a tighter ball.

"Do as I say, or I'll hurt you."

Like what they'd done already was a tender caress? I waited, trying not to tense up, to see what nasty thing he'd do. He reached in, grabbed my hands, and squeezed the wounded one. Tears filled my eyes. I screamed. A good, loud, long scream, just in case there was someone within hearing distance, and because it feels better if you yell. I was going to make this as hard for him as possible. He wasn't a sadist, like Alasdair. His was a more practical cruelty. He had a goal to achieve. So did I. He released my hand and I flopped protectively onto my stomach.

"Jesus. I've got blood all over my... Todd, come help me get her out of the trunk."

"You've got a gun, haven't you?" Alasdair said. "A real freakin' gun. Haven't you? Why don't you just shoot her? Wouldn't that be the easiest thing?" He giggled and his busy feet shuffled on the gravel. "Come on, Woody... let's see you shoot her."

"Alasdair, you know anything about cars?"

"Sure."

"Okay. Then tell me this. What's underneath the car's trunk?"

"Rear tires?"

"And?"

Alasdair didn't answer.

"I'll give you a clue," Woodson said. "What makes a car go?"

"You mean you shoot the bitch and the whole car blows up? Man. That would be so cool. Body parts everywhere and a big fuckin' explosion? Do it, man. Do it."

I could picture him jumping around, that look of sick excitement on his face. Go on, Mr. Woodson, entertain me with flying body parts. Do it, man. Do it. A ripple of fear and disgust ran up my back, tightening the skin like an invisible tailor was at work.

More feet crunching on the gravel. Chambers coming closer. I felt his breath as he leaned in and looked at me. Stale old coffee breath with a mint overlay. In the distance, a car engine sounded briefly and then died away. Not close enough to be the cavalry coming to my rescue, but then, I hadn't expected them.

"Hold on," Woodson said. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, there's a road on the other side of the lake," Alasdair said. "You can hear the cars sometimes."

"I thought you said these people owned all the way around the lake."

"Did I? I meant they owned a lot of land up here. You know... like they seriously own this whole side. But there's no one around. You can see that. No houses. No lights. No nothing. I've been up here lots and never seen anyone."

"Can we get on with this? I don't like to leave Miriam alone so long... she's very nervous." Chambers sounded peevish, like these menial tasks of killing people and disposing of bodies and stolen cars interfered with more important things.

"Thea." Woodson's voice was low and close to my ear. "If you cooperate, this will all go much easier." His logic escaped me. Why would I want to make it easier for him to kill me? He squeezed my shoulder, as if he meant to be reassuring. The same hand that had just deliberately hurt me.

"You going to tell Alasdair that, too, Frank? That if he'll just be a nice boy and cooperate, killing him will be much easier for you and Todd?"

"You shut up." His hand touched the back of my neck, the fingers tightening. I'd seen what he'd done to that guard. Didn't want to become unconscious, helpless as a sack of potatoes. I squirmed away from him, burying my head and shoulders deeper in the trunk where he'd have a harder time reaching me.

"You're crazy if you think Alasdair and I are going to cooperate in our own deaths. We're not idiots, you know. I mean, look... he didn't get away with everything he's gotten away with and then fake his own death just so you two bozos could bring him up here and really kill him... leaving you with clean hands, your Alasdair problem solved and Grandpa MacGregor's money in the bank. Right, Alasdair?" With my head buried in the trunk, I had to shout to be heard.

"The fuck she talking about?" Alasdair said.

"Trying to postpone the inevitable by distracting us," Woodson said. He grabbed my arm. "Come on, Todd. You get her legs."

Chambers grabbed my legs, which they hadn't bothered to tape. I jerked free and kicked. He swore and grabbed again. I kicked harder. "Help me, dammit!" he said. "Where's that tape? Alasdair? It's there in the bag." He let go.

If they tied my feet, I wouldn't be able to run. Tie my feet and hands, cover my mouth and then kill me. Was it time for a new survival strategy? Cooperate and maybe they wouldn't bother with my feet? Maybe the only person I was fooling was myself. "Sure, Alasdair, help them out," I said. "Just remember. You've run out of hall passes, too. You're next."

"You shut up."

With a shoulder-wrenching jerk, Woodson pulled me toward him and landed a hard, open-handed slap on the side of my head. He might as well have grabbed the loose flap of skin and jerked. The pain level went to code red and my head started gushing blood again. I curled up inside myself, trying not to cry, losing heart suddenly at the enormous task of trying to survive. It would be so much easier and less painful just to give in.

Out in the woods, there was a loud rustling, then a crash and a snap. "Just a branch falling," Woodson said.

Scuffling feet and Chamber's mumbled 'thanks' told me Alasdair had handed over the tape.

I rolled over on my back and opened my eyes. Was this it? My last vision of life on earth was to be the underside of a dingy trunk lid, the determined faces of two men meaning to kill me and a manic little sadist against the backdrop of a bit of night sky?

I pushed the fear that threatened to overwhelm me out of my head and pulled up a vision of Andre, earlier tonight, sitting on the couch before the fire, fingering his wedding band. Heard his voice saying, "Look how far hope has brought us."

I must not lose hope now. I owed it to my husband, to myself, to Shondra and Jamison Jones and all the students at St. Matthews. I was leaving here alive. I was going to watch the sun come up. I was not letting Frank Woodson and Todd Chambers win.

Chapter 32

"Morituri te salutamus
." In my romantic, novel-reading childhood, it was something I'd always thought I wanted to say. It had never been something I'd wanted to mean. I didn't mean it now, either.

"Do I detect a note of resignation?" The shadow of a smile touched Woodson's mouth. Then his thin lips drew back into a hard line. "Put your feet together and don't try kicking again or you'll be sorry." There was a ripping sound as he tore off a long silver strip of tape.