Tymber Dalton (45 page)

The barn was empty.

She raced through the barn into the pasture, scanning, desperate. They were nowhere to be seen. Across the field, she spotted the open gate.

“Dammit!”

“Sami, I’m coming for you! Why doncha let me give it to you? You told him you been wantin’ it!”

George’s maniacal laugh goaded her into flight. She couldn’t stay and fight. He was strong enough he might be able to overpower her, and she still felt groggy from whatever he’d doped them with. It would take every ounce of her strength to run, much less fight.

And Steve moved fast.

She threw the frying pan and lead rope at him and sprinted through the rain to the open gate at the north corner. It was hard to run through the mud, but she followed the trail into the trees. Without the sun to cast shadows she couldn’t be sure she headed the right way. Maybe she could lose him and make it to the ranger office at the campground. They’d have a phone.

More importantly, maybe they’d have guns.

George stumbled, close on her heels and gaining ground. She tripped over a tree root, fell, and scrambled to her feet again, covered in mud.

She didn’t dare look behind her. The sound of George’s hoarse, ragged breathing was enough keep her moving.

Matt opened his eyes to darkness. He hurt all over. When he tried to lift his head, agonizing pain made him cry out. He was lying in a weird position and managed to roll over.

He was at the bottom of the cellar stairs.

The room slowly came into focus as his eyes adjusted to the dim light trickling through the basement windows.

Sam!

He felt his pockets. Steve had his cell phone.

Matt crawled up the basement stairs, every breath a burning agony. It felt like he’d been kicked in the ribs. At the top of the stairs he pulled himself to a standing position and tried the basement door.

Locked.

“Sam!” he yelled. “Julie!”

Silence.

He pounded on the door and found the act too painful. He fumbled for the light switch and looked around for anything to open the door with. The hinges were on the kitchen side, so he couldn’t even pry them off.

Not that he’d have the strength to do it anyway. All he knew was he had to get out and save Sam and Julie.

If it wasn’t too late.

* * * *

Tom Jenkins hated days like this. Weren’t good for anything but paperwork.

And he despised paperwork.

Bob Gardner, his second-in-command, stood at the office door and nursed a cup of coffee. “God, it’s storming out there.”

“Be glad you only have to walk a few feet home.”

“Yeah. Hey, what’s that?”

Tom looked up as Bob set down his mug and walked out to the porch. “Hey, boy. Come here, boy.”

Tom stood while Bob reappeared with a soaking wet and mud-caked yellow Lab. “Must be from the campground,” Tom said, rounding his desk. “I’ll get a towel.”

He knelt while Bob held the leash. “Weird he’s got a leash on him,” Bob said.

Tom nodded. “Must have escaped.” He started toweling the dog dry. He looked familiar.

Mud caked the collar. He had to wipe the tags clean to read them.

His radio crackled, interrupting him. “Boss, it’s Scott. You there?”

He dropped the tags and reached for his radio. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“There’s two horses running loose up here at the front gate. A buckskin and an appaloosa. Aren’t those the Coreys’ horses?”

Tom’s blood ran cold. “Yeah. How they look?”

“Scared to death. They’ve got halters on, but I can’t get close enough to catch them. I don’t see anything wrong with them except they look terrified.”

“Close the front gate. See if you can lock them into the ATV rental corral.”

“Roger.”

“And Scott? Don’t let any civilians in or out of the park.”

“Out?”

“You heard me. When you get the horses rounded up, wait for the sheriff’s office. Let them in, lock the gate behind them, and then meet us on the main road at the Coreys’ driveway.” He dropped his radio and read the tags on the dog’s collar, already knowing its identity.

“Bob,” he said, tossing his keys to him, “go open the gun locker. Get the shotguns. Load them, and grab extra ammo.”

“What?”

“Do it!” he ordered, unable to pull his eyes from the name on the tags. “Get one for Scott, too.”

He released the dog and grabbed the phone.

* * * *

Matt’s ribs hurt like hell. He might be able to make it out one of the basement windows, if he could find something to climb on. The stepladder wasn’t there. He looked around, then realized he could barely walk, much less climb. And he couldn’t move any of the furniture in his condition.

Where was Sam? And Julie? What had Steve done to them?

If he pulled himself up by the window ledge and stood on his toes, he could see out the window facing the front yard. It was agony, every movement an effort. The vehicles were still there.

“
Help
!” he screamed.

No one.

He slid down the wall, fighting to stay conscious against the pain.

* * * *

Sami headed northwest, toward the campground and ranger headquarters.

“Gonna make you pay, Sami.” George grunted behind her. She thought she might have pulled further ahead, but with the rain and wind she couldn’t tell. She didn’t dare look back.

She recognized one of the trails and veered left, toward the ridge overlooking the lake and main pit. If she skirted around to the top, she could take a shortcut trail down the far end of the ridge, ford the small stream fed by the lake, and end up at the campground. It was too steep and crumbly for the horses, but possible on foot.

Sami tripped over another root, falling face-first into the mud again. As she scrambled to her feet, she heard George’s triumphant cry behind her as he gained a few yards.

She struggled up the ridge, realizing it was a lot steeper to climb on foot than on horseback. She spotted the ruins and used pine saplings for leverage to pull her way to the top.

George quickly gained ground, practically running on all fours. “Gonna get you, Sami. Can’t wait to fuck ya, bitch!”

Sami cried out, climbing harder. How could he move so fast when he was hurt so bad? Steve always was quick on his feet, and George apparently took full advantage of it. At the top of the ridge, she stumbled and almost lost her footing, tripping on the cable partially hidden in the thick muck.

Nearly a hundred feet below, the lake lay waiting. Storm runoff had turned it creamy orange at the edges, with the center a dark, milky greenish tinge.

George crested the top of the ridge and slowly advanced, cutting off her escape. He knew she was trapped.

“Quit runnin’. It just makes me want to fuck you more.” He stopped, stumbled, and dropped to his knees as he rubbed his side. Sami spotted the blood on his shirt and realized at some point he’d yanked out his IV port. She waited for him to move. He looked down and fell still.

A moment later he looked up, crying.

Steve.

“Sami, I love you,” he sobbed.

She forced herself not to go to him, worried it was a trick. “Steve? I love you, too.” She’d tell George anything if it would get her out of this alive.

Sami tried to maintain her footing. She stood on the cable, rain turning the clay dirt into slippery goo beneath her feet. About ten feet down the nearly vertical slope behind her, a small stand of pine saplings grew in the muck. Other than that, nothing to stop her from going into the lake.

Sami forced herself to remain still despite her precarious footing. “Steve, you need to stop what you’re doing. You’re sick. You need help. Tell me what you did to Matt.”

She knew where Julie was.

He sobbed harder, clutching his side. “Oh God, Matt! I didn’t want to do it. George made me. I killed him. He told me I had to hit him. George kept showing me all these things. Oh, God, what have I done?”

“Steve, you can stop this. Fight him!”

He shook his head, the red blossom under his shirt rapidly spreading. He must have ripped out a bunch of stitches. “I can’t. I’ve tried, Sami, but he’s too strong. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” He screamed, clutching his side. “Sami, please run! Run now!”

Before she could, Steve’s face lifted, his mouth set into a fierce snarling grimace.

“Gonna make you pay, bitch.”

Steve was gone.

George lunged.

* * * *

Tom slid the truck to a stop on the main road at the end of the Coreys’ driveway. Scott corralled the horses and admitted the deputies before joining them.

“I don’t know what we’re going to find,” Tom said, handing Scott a shotgun. “Be prepared.” He hadn’t told the 911 dispatcher exactly what the problem was at the Corey house, but indicated there was a violent domestic dispute in progress.

The truth was, he didn’t know exactly what the problem was. Only that he suspected there would be blood and bodies involved, if his intuition and past history served him correctly.

Tom led the way. A small tree had blown down across the drive, but four of them were able to drag it far enough out of the way vehicles could pass.

Lights shone in the house. When Tom killed the ignition he heard the diesel generator somewhere out back.

Rain beat against his hat, splashing in cold rivulets along his neck and down his raincoat.

“Hello? Mrs. Corey? Mr. Corey?”

They advanced, weapons ready. The front door stood wide open. With guns drawn, the deputies took point and led the way, clearing the first floor.

* * * *

Matt realized he’d passed out again. He thought he heard footsteps upstairs, several people moving slowly. He crawled and strained to get to the window, hurting worse now than before.

Two green Forestry trucks and three sheriff’s cruisers were parked in the front yard.

“
Help!”
he screamed. “I’m down here! Help!”

The men froze. Two deputies went outside to investigate while the rest of the men crept up the stairs. The deputy in the lead spotted Julie first and radioed for an ambulance.

Scott tripped backward and saw the bathroom, making the toilet before he vomited.

Outside, the deputies advanced around the house, guns drawn. They saw Matt through the basement window and one yelled, “Hands in the air where I can see them!”

Matt tried to lift his hands, barely clearing the window sill. “Help, please! Steve locked me down here. You’ve got to save Sam and Julie, he’s going to kill them!”

The deputy motioned to his partner, who returned to the house and unlocked the basement door. He kept his weapon trained on Matt until the other deputy got downstairs and cleared him.

“It’s okay,” the deputy yelled from the basement. “Call an ambulance. He’s hurt pretty bad.”

Matt slowly turned to face the deputy, closing his eyes when he saw the drawn weapon. He slid down the wall, in agony—his ribs, his head. “Please,” Matt gasped, “you’ve got to find them. Steve’s going to kill them!”

The deputy holstered his gun and went to Matt. “What happened?”

“Steve, he went crazy. He doped the iced tea, knocked us out. Sam, Julie—you’ve got to stop him before he hurts them!”

The other deputy appeared at the top of the stairs, looking grim. “There’s a female DOA upstairs.” Then he saw Matt’s anguished look.

“No!” Matt sobbed, lurching unsteadily to his feet. The deputy tried to calm him, restrain him, then gave up and slung Matt’s arm around his shoulders and half carried him up the stairs to the kitchen.

The second deputy took Matt’s other arm and they helped him to the couch. Matt wanted to go upstairs, but they wouldn’t let him.

“There’s nothing you can do for her,” Tom Jenkins said, kneeling in front of him.

Matt collapsed on the couch. “Oh God, he killed Sam.”

Tom put out a hand and touched Matt’s arm. “It’s not Mrs. Corey.”

Matt’s eyes flew open. “Julie?”

“I don’t know her.”

Matt pointed to Julie’s purse spilled on the floor at the base of the stairs. One of the deputies went through it and found her wallet.

Matt felt sick hope. He didn’t want Julie to be dead, but please, please, not his Sam.

The deputy found her ID and showed it to Tom Jenkins, who nodded. “That’s her. Julie Prescott.”

* * * *

Sami glanced behind her but held her ground. She offered a silent prayer and touched the black onyx pendant, hoping Julie was right about its protective powers.

She’d need all the help she could get.

George charged, stumbling, roaring with rage. Waiting until the absolute last second, Sami dove sideways off the ridge, launching herself at the stand of saplings. If she missed, she’d be in the lake and it wouldn’t matter.