Winter Break (28 page)

Vivian sat on the bed, legs crossed. God, she was gorgeous. Had legs that went all the way to the ground. A face that he could look at forever, not smooth and blank, but lined, character etched into it. Vivian wasn’t just a woman; she was his counterpart, the female version of him. Just like him, she’d done what she had to in order to survive. Learned to compromise. To protect herself. And despite that, just like him, she still had a heart.

Vivian took out a pack of Camels, lit one. Lou got up, sat beside her on the bed. She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him.

‘I didn’t want to do this.’ He put an arm around her waist.

She exhaled smoke, didn’t look at him. ‘Do what?’

He sat for a moment, thinking, making sure. ‘Vivian. Fact is I’m not a great catch. But I’m nuts about you.’

Her eyes flickered; she turned to face him.

‘Do you love me?’

‘Seriously? You’re leaving and you ask me that?’

‘I need to know, Vivian. Please. Just tell me honestly.’

‘Oh, Lou.’ She put a hand on his face. ‘You know I do. You must know that.’

Lou’s eyes filled. He smeared away a tear. ‘Believe me, Viv. I didn’t want any of this to happen. But you’re going to find things out about me – things I wanted to protect you from. Things I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want to lose you. But now . . .’

‘What?’

‘Things are at a point. I have no choice but to tell you everything. Even if it means you might want nothing to do with me—’

‘That would never happen. Not ever.’ She leaned over, kissing him.

Lou’s chest got warm; his vision blurred with yet more tears. Lord, he loved this woman. His instincts told him to hold back, make up a story. Not reveal the truth. Not risk confiding. But she was too smart; she’d know if he lied. For better or worse, he had to trust her.

Lou picked up her hand, kissed it. ‘Two things. First, if after I’ve finished talking you want me to leave, I will.’

‘I won’t want that. But okay.’ She put out her cigarette.

‘Second. No matter what, even if you throw me out and never want to see me again, promise that you’ll keep what I’m about to tell you secret. Between us.’

Vivian nodded. Lou took a deep breath, avoiding her eyes, and tried to decide where to begin.

Harper was cold. Beyond cold. Her teeth chattered and her body quaked. She’d been lying still for far too long in frigid air, wearing no coat, just a heavy sweater. Tried to remember facts about hypothermia. How to deal with it. But her mind was muddled and slow. Wasn’t that one of the symptoms? Confused thinking? Maybe if she drifted off, took a nap, she’d be clearer when she woke up. But wait – that was part of it, too – yes. Fatigue was a sure sign of hypothermia. She had to remember that, not let herself fall asleep. Probably, she should keep moving, increase her circulation. Get her body temperature up. But moving was tough with her arms and legs bound. No way she could flex them, let alone do jumping jacks. Damn Sty and Evan.

She listened, couldn’t hear them. For a while, they’d been banging and clunking, bickering outside, but now, she heard nothing. Were they gone? Evan had threatened to come back, but maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he was just going to leave her there to freeze to death. Harper wanted to shut her eyes, take a break. Her hands were frozen and painful, craved stillness, but she kept working the nail into her bindings, pulling and twisting her wrists, trying to rip her bindings apart. Her hands were clumsy, though. And her fingers wouldn’t obey, felt dull and swollen. Uncoordinated. She tugged on the bindings but they wouldn’t give. Finally, panting and frustrated, she lay back and rested. Maybe she could sleep for just a few minutes. What would be the harm? She closed her eyes, but the door groaned, rousing her. A light flashed up at the loft. Harper watched, willed herself alert.

The old wooden floor creaked under someone’s steps. Harper yanked her wrists apart as hard as she could, fighting to separate them. She heard a tiny rip, but her hands wouldn’t come free, so she lay still, her eyes open just a crack.

The ladder trembled under someone’s footholds.

Evan emerged slowly. His bandaged hand, then his head, his shoulders, finally his legs. Once he was up on the loft, he squatted beside her. ‘I know you’re awake. Don’t bother pretending.’

Harper opened her eyes, met his. Her eyes were well accustomed to the dark; she could see his smirk. ‘Why don’t we chat?’

‘Untie me.’ Oddly, her mouth didn’t work; her teeth chattered and her words garbled, came out, ‘Nd yme.’

He laughed. ‘Ymago nngawa.’ Mimicking her.

She thought of Hank, how hard he’d worked to speak after his accident. When Evan and Sty knocked her out, maybe she’d suffered a brain injury, too. She was so cold, too cold to think. Maybe her mouth was frozen, her words distorted by the cold. She tried again, more slowly. ‘Un. Tie. Me.’ Her voice quaked with cold.

‘No, see. You don’t get to tell me what to do. In fact, you don’t get to decide anything. You made a big mistake, biting me, so here’s what’s going to happen. Later on, in a little while, you’re going to die.’ He watched her.

Harper shivered but didn’t react.

‘Nothing sudden. You’re going to go little by little.’ He aimed his flashlight at her face. ‘And I’m going to watch.’

Harper didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to waste energy. Slowly, with the ice-cold stumps that were her hands, she worked the nail, felt another tiny rip of fabric. But still couldn’t free her arms.

Evan set the flashlight down in the hay, took out his knife, held it with the hand she’d bitten. The fabric around the wound was bloody, but he held the weapon steadily. The knife was formidable, much like army issue. Harper blinked, straining to stay alert. Her eyes burned, aching to close; her body begged to give in to the cold, to let go and simply fade. But Evan waved the knife in her face. Wouldn’t let her drift. Made her focus on its seven-inch stainless-steel sawback blade.

‘Thing is, I can’t decide where to start.’ He held the blade against Harper’s cheek, then her throat. He lowered it slowly to her belly – oh God, the baby? Harper’s thoughts were slow; she didn’t flinch, didn’t show fear, so he kept it moving down to the thigh, the tendons of her strong leg. Then back up to the right side of her face. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed down, slicing a thin line along her lower jaw. Letting blood ooze. ‘Any preferences?’

Harper slowed her breathing. Had been trained to resist torture. The cold had dulled her sense of pain, but the sting of the knife revived and infuriated her. She refused to let Evan get sick pleasure from hurting her, and deliberately shifted her thoughts away from him and his knife, concentrated instead on working the nail. ‘I want.’ She worked her mouth carefully. ‘To sit up.’

Evan chortled, repeating. ‘You want to sit up?’

‘I don’t want to die lying down.’

Evan held the knife to her ear. Traced its edge down to her earlobe. Dug a small hole in her forehead. ‘Your third eye,’ he grinned.

The pain was almost unnoticeable, thin and shrill. Harper focused on resistance, relaxed her muscles. Refused to flinch. Would not let him see fear. Worked the nail.

‘All right. I don’t see why we can’t grant your final request.’ He stood behind her head, lifted her by the armpits. Helped her sit up.

Harper bent her knees and straightened her back, slowly finding her balance, she rotated toward the ladder. Blinked a trickle of blood out of her eye. Pushed the nail, jabbing her bindings again.

Evan walked around to her face, examined it. Frowned. ‘This won’t do. You’re asymmetrical. Looks like you’ve got half a grin.’ He moved the knife to her chin, where his first cut had ended. He knelt in front of her and pressed the knife to her skin, smiling.

But his smile vanished when Harper swung her torso forward with all the force she could muster, butting him in the head with a harsh crack. Evan flew, arms flailing, off the edge of the loft.

Lou couldn’t meet Vivian’s eyes. Couldn’t bear to see the sadness – or maybe the anger – that would undoubtedly erupt there. But he steeled himself, determined to tell her the truth, even the worst parts, even the parts she might never forgive. He would tell her from the start about his past. About coming up the ranks, being a bagman for Wally. Collecting money, delivering it, lots of it. So much that he figured Wally would never miss a little. And he’d begun to take a little off the top. Then a little more.

He’d stop then to explain about Wally’s temper. How he’d chopped a guy’s hand off because the guy had touched a woman he liked. How he’d thrown a guy off a bridge because he’d left Wally out of a real-estate deal. Blown up a guy’s dad’s house to get him to do business. He’d tell her how Wally had no conscience. How he wanted people to be afraid of him, so he didn’t hesitate to maim, kill, blow things up, smash things – like Harper’s window.

Once Vivian understood the kind of maniac Wally was, Lou would explain that Wally had found out he’d borrowed some money from him. And then he’d have to tell her the worst part, that Wally had taken Harper – and probably those two boys next door – as collateral. And it was his fault.

Lou took Vivian’s hands. How was he supposed to tell her about Harper? How could he tell her that, even if he paid Wally back, Wally was likely to make an example of him by doing something outrageous – killing him or those he loved? So not just Harper, but Vivian herself was in danger. Because of him.

Probably, she’d throw him out, have nothing to do with him after she found out Harper’s disappearance was his fault and her own life was at risk because of him. But he had to tell her. Couldn’t lie any more. Couldn’t ask her to go away with him on false pretenses.

If he was going to make a fresh start, he needed to come clean. And so, as Vivian waited beside him, he let go of her hands. And began.

‘After you hear this, Vivian, you’ll probably want me to get lost. And I won’t blame you.’

‘Ridiculous.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Nothing could be that bad.’

He turned and looked at her. Saw the strain. Looked away. Told himself just to spit it out. Took a breath. ‘First of all. My name. It’s not Lou. It’s Ed. Ed Strunk.’

She didn’t say anything.

‘I’ve had a lot of names over the years. In fact, I have a new one I’m about to start using now—’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Vivian, just hear me out. I’ve done some stuff – worked with some really bad people—’

‘No. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t. The past is over; I don’t care about it. I have a past, too. Do you want to know everything I’ve ever done?’

‘This is different—’

‘It’s not. I promise you. We all have stuff in our pasts. Why would I want to hear every nasty detail of yours?’

‘Because my past – because there are consequences.’

She looked him flat in the eye. ‘So? So why now? Why are you choosing to tell me this now? Can’t you see how much stress I’m already under?’

He couldn’t help it. He needed to look at her. Her face was tired, her skin pale. But even now, with all her anxiety, her eyes were filled with tenderness. Lou reached over, put his hand on her cheek.

‘I’m telling you this now because I want you to go away with me. Marry me. Now. Let’s leave everything behind and start over fresh – we can go anywhere . . .’

Vivian’s mouth opened. Her arms encircled his neck; her body crushed against his. ‘Yes.’ She kissed him again and again. ‘Of course, I’ll marry you, Lou. Or Ed. Or whatever your real name is . . .’ Suddenly she sat back, the sparkle fading from her eyes.

Obviously, she was thinking about Harper. ‘Vivian. That’s part of what I have to tell you. Harper might not be able to come back until I’m gone.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I think I know who took her. It’s because of me.’

And there it was, that look in her eyes. Hurt. Betrayal. Fury. All of it and more.

‘But when I’m gone, I think they’ll let her go.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I have a plan. You and I leave. And then, when we’re gone—’

‘You know who took Harper?’ She stood, facing him. ‘Why didn’t you say something? Why haven’t you told the police? What kind of man are you, Lou – or whatever your name is? I’m calling that policewoman. You can tell her what you told me. And you know what? After you’re done telling her everything you know about my daughter, I want you to leave.’ Her hand went up and came down hard.

Lou felt the slap for a long time after it happened. The sting traveled along his skin like ripples on disturbed water. He sat still, the pain on his face echoing throughout his body and heart, and he stared at the bathroom door behind which Vivian loudly sobbed.

Harper leaned over the edge of the loft, peering through the shadows. Evan’s body sprawled on the barn floor, his head twisted in the wrong direction. His neck broken.

Shivering, she shimmied away from the edge, pushing the nail with wooden fingers, twisting her wrists, ignoring the dull pain of misdirected punctures and strained muscles. ‘Almost,’ she grimaced. ‘Just a few more jabs.’ She spoke out loud, trying to convince both herself and the baby that they would soon be free.

Wind howled, buzzing through loose beams. But otherwise, the barn was silent. Where was Sty? What was he doing? It would have taken both Evan and Sty to unload the armoire. Probably they’d done that while she’d been left alone. But whatever Sty was doing now, he’d be finished soon. He’d come looking for Evan. And for her.

Hurry, she urged herself. The nail got stuck; she must have jammed it into her numb flesh again. Damn. She pulled it back, felt another small warm dribble on her wrists. And lost her breath as a contraction lurched around her middle, choking, refusing to let go. Alone and freezing in the dark empty barn, she forced steady breaths, counting seconds to remind herself that the contraction would pass. Assuring herself and the baby that somehow they would be okay. Straining her ears for sounds of Sty. Clutching the nail.

Gradually, the stranglehold eased. Harper sat for a moment, mind muddled, teeth clenched with cold. How had she managed to get into this mess, putting her baby in danger? What a rotten mother she was, even before she’d given birth. She pictured Hank, holding a squirming newborn in his big calloused hands. Wondered if he’d forgive her. If she’d see him again. But she was wasting time, needed to get back to ripping the bindings. She steadied the nail with freezing fingers and bent her raw and bloodied wrists, shoved the nail up. Oops, too fast – the nail slipped, fell from her grasp. Landed with a soft whoosh in straw. Damn.