Winter Break (29 page)

Wailing in anger and desperation, she swung around to search for the nail, straining her back and shoulders, reaching down behind her body into the hay.

Hearing a rip as her hands separated.

Harper pulled her arms forward, stretching in delight. She wiggled her deadened fingers, quickly assessed the oozing punctures on her wrists, touched the crusty bump on her skull. Decided that her injuries weren’t life-threatening. Then, hurrying, she bent her legs, peeled duct tape off her ankles with fingers she couldn’t feel. Then, unsteadily, she stood, balancing on the heavy stumps that were her feet. And realized how close she was to the edge of the loft.

Harper backed away, steadying herself, wobbled over to the ladder and lowered a numb foot onto a rung, shifted her weight onto it, holding on with numb hands. Watching the door for Sty, she carefully climbed down, stepped around Evan’s broken body. And ran out the open door of the barn.

Sty threw the last of the branches over the armoire, climbed halfway up the hill and looked down. Couldn’t see the thing at all, even when he flashed his light on it. The snow around it was trampled, but the next storm would come in a day or two. Would cover it completely. Besides, nobody ever came out here. The place was abandoned; when they’d arrived, except for their own tire marks, the snow had been undisturbed.

He took a breath, looking over at the car they’d smashed against a tree. The body in the driver’s seat. Damn Evan. He’d been so proud of his solo kill. Defiant, even. He didn’t seem to comprehend the consequences of carelessness. Or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he was out of control. Clearly, Sty was going to have to assert himself before Evan inadvertently led the police to them. He recalled the frames of designer glasses that unraveled Leopold and Loeb.

Meantime, they had their neighbor to dispense with. Sty grimaced, displeased at the thought. Evan had insisted they could use her in their studies, but frankly, Evan had zero depth when it came to science. If he had, he would realize that a woman could not be substituted for a man; in research, members of the test group had to share a basic profile, including age and gender. The subjects had to have similar characteristics to Sty himself; they had to be male, in good health, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, when they would least expect to face death. Sty had no interest whatever in studying the death of a woman – let alone a pregnant one. That experience was irrelevant; he could extrapolate nothing from it. No, the motorcycle lady’s death was merely pragmatic. With all she knew, they simply couldn’t let her live. But it was a nuisance, best accomplished quickly. Evan would simply have to control himself.

Speaking of which, he hadn’t seen Evan for too long. Where was he? Oh no – had he gone ahead, begun carving up the neighbor? Damn it. Sty turned, heading for the barn. Hurried up the hill, stepping carefully over fallen trees and snow-covered brush, envisioning what he might find. The door was open; he stepped in and flashed the light up at the loft. Saw no Evan. No woman.

‘Evan?’ His voice sounded hollow. ‘Are you up there?’

Nobody answered. He lowered the flashlight, aiming it across the floor toward the ladder. Froze for a moment when he saw what looked like Evan’s bandaged hand. Evan’s jacket. Evan’s face. Sty ran across the barn, screaming Evan’s name. Knelt beside the body, holding his head.

Sty scanned the area for Harper, but didn’t see her. Cursing, he got to his feet and headed out of the barn, catching sight of the woman as she stumbled down the hill.

The bathroom door finally opened. Vivian stepped out, her eyes red and swollen, her face and neck blotchy. She wore her silk robe, tightened the sash.

‘I’ve been thinking.’ She stepped over to the bed where he’d been sitting, waiting for her to emerge.

‘Sit down.’ He patted the mattress beside him.

Vivian sat. Dabbed her nose. ‘Harper is my daughter. My blood.’

Lou nodded. She was going to send him packing. He deserved it, too, after everything he’d done.

‘And, from what you’ve said, she wouldn’t be in trouble if not for you. The people who took her were really trying to send you a message, am I right?’

He nodded again. ‘Vivian. I’m so sorry. If I could take it back, in a heartbeat, I would. I’d do anything—’

‘I know that. Like I said, I’ve been thinking. You say that paying this guy back won’t help. He might not let Harper go anyway?’

‘It’s fifty-fifty.’

‘But if you take off, he might let her go?’

‘I’m not going to lie, Vivian. He might. He might not. He’d have no reason to hold her, but that’s no guarantee.’

Vivian folded her hands. ‘Then, no matter what we do, it sounds like there’s a fifty-fifty chance of Harper coming home. Which means you ought to take off. You should split while you can. Lou, I mean it. Do whatever you can, but get away from that sonofabitch and start fresh someplace else.’

Lou’s eyes filled. Was she really sending him away? Without her? What was the point of starting a new life if Vivian weren’t going to be with him?

‘Go, Lou. I mean it.’ She faced him, her eyes clear and loving. She touched his chest.

He covered her hand with his, squeezed. ‘But, Vivian. I don’t – I can’t leave without you.’ His voice broke. His shoulders slumped.

‘Get real, Lou. I can’t go anywhere while Harper’s missing.’

‘I understand.’ He understood why they called it a broken heart. His chest hurt; his heart felt as if it had been chopped in half.

‘She’s my blood, like I said. That’s why I’m here for her.’ Vivian reached for the Camels, lit one. ‘But honestly, Lou, I can’t make the guy who took her let her go. I can’t make her pregnancy go smoothly. I can’t control any goddamned thing for her.’ She inhaled. Exhaled smoke.

Lou waited, unable to speak or move. Afraid he’d crumble.

When Vivian continued, her voice was deep and ragged. ‘Truth is, I’m getting up in years. I can’t base my life on what my daughter needs. At some point, Harper’s got to fend for herself – and it’s not like she’s alone in the world. She’s got Hank. She’s got her fancy education. It’s me I need to worry about. I have needs, too, and I have to do what’s right for me; I deserve some happiness, too, don’t I?’

Lou didn’t understand at first. He gazed at her, uncertain.

‘So go, Lou. Set things up. I’ll stay here and see what happens with Harper. I’ll be here in case she comes home. And when you’ve got things together, I’ll follow as soon as I can. How does—?’

Vivian couldn’t say any more. Lou grabbed her so tightly, she could barely breathe.

Harper’s weak left leg kept caving in; her head hurt, her body felt sluggish, and she was shuddering from the cold, but she had to keep going. Had to get to the pickup truck. Had to remember where it was. She looked around, thought she saw it parked in a clearing down the hill. But Sty – had he seen her? Was he chasing her? She looked over her shoulder, slipped on an icy patch and went down, breaking the fall with unfeeling hands. Panting, pushing herself back onto her feet, she noticed a dark stain in the snow. Glanced at her hands, saw bloody gouges in her wrist, recalled her accidental thrusts of the nail. She felt no pain. Never mind. Shivering, panting, she looked again for Sty, saw no one, nothing moving, and started again for the truck. With any luck, the keys would still be in it. Otherwise, she’d have to mess with the wires.

Harper’s legs dragged. Unable to feel her feet, she had to test each step so she wouldn’t slip again. Her lungs burned with the cold as she grabbed onto tree trunks, pushed away low branches with hands that sensed nothing. Maybe she should sit a minute, catch her breath. She stopped and looked for a spot, saw one under a pine. Headed for it, but remembered she couldn’t sit; she had to get to the truck. She was almost there – it was only about fifty yards down the hill. But maybe that wasn’t right; maybe she wasn’t seeing things right. Because the truck had seemed only about fifty yards away when she’d started out, hadn’t it? Her body quaked as the wind gusted, passing through her, rattling her ribs. Searing her eyes. Why hadn’t she worn a coat? Her sweater was useless. In fact, she might as well take it off, leave it in the snow. And lie down for a minute. The ground looked soft, invited her to stretch out and rest. She knew she shouldn’t. But why again? She tried to remember. In fact, why was she outside? Where was she going? She stopped, looked ahead. Saw a truck down the hill. Yes, she was going to the truck. Not real sure why. She was tired, needed to sit.

‘No.’ Whose voice was that? Was someone there?

‘Keep going,’ it said. Harper didn’t have strength to argue. She pressed on, tottering on frozen stumpy feet toward a truck that seemed unreachable. She wrapped numb arms around her belly to keep the baby warm, vaguely remembering something about extreme temperatures. About freezing to death, how the limbs slowed down, became uncoordinated. How the body pulled all its heat to its core. She thought about that, how she couldn’t really feel her arms or most of her legs. But she wouldn’t freeze to death; she was Army, had been trained to survive in all kinds of conditions.

She slogged on, trying to recall what she was supposed to do. One step, another. She was so tired, tried to focus – couldn’t. Her mind was slow. She had all the symptoms, must be freezing. Actually, it wasn’t so bad; didn’t hurt. Seemed gentle. Easy. The snowy blanket, the huddled trees, the blank night sky would watch over her while she slept. She stopped, selecting a spot to curl onto.

Hypothermia, she remembered the name. ‘Hythemi.’ Even though her mouth wouldn’t work, she made herself say the word. Her voice sounded thin and fragile as she sank into the snow.

Suddenly, the baby kicked. Delivered a punt, right to her gut.

The baby? Was it strong enough to kick so hard? Why wouldn’t it let her rest? Harper stumbled back onto her feet and pressed on. One step. Two. She focused on the truck, counting steps to make sure she was moving.

Finally, limping and hunched, she came to the clearing, had maybe twenty more steps to the truck when her iced-up mind reminded her to look for Sty. Harper hesitated, glanced around, saw Sty running down the hill. Crouching low, she dashed toward the cab. By the time Sty got to the clearing, she was an arm’s length from the truck. With a final effort, she flew forward, grabbed the handle with numb fingers, pulled it open. Climbed in and, clumsily, violently, slammed the door. Looked out and saw Sty racing, just seconds away. The keys . . .

The keys were there. With fingers too frozen to hurt, Harper turned them, started the ignition. Put the truck in gear and stepped on the gas.

The truck lurched; the engine burped and stalled. Damn. She tried to think. What was she doing here? Whose truck was this? And why was she running?

‘Never mind.’ The voice was back. ‘Just go.’

Harper followed orders, shifted back to first gear, pushed the clutch and started over, turned the key again. Checking the windows and rear-view mirror, she stepped carefully on the gas, crawled up the hill, shifted into second. Accelerated slowly but steadily, looking around for Sty. Wondering where he’d gone. Finally, when she’d rolled past the abandoned house, she exhaled.

That’s when she heard a thump, felt the truck bounce, checked the rear-view mirror. And saw Sty, standing in the truck bed, right behind her.

Damn. Harper pressed her foot down, shifted to third. Steered the truck to the left, veered sharply to the right, trying to shake him off. Watching the mirror, seeing him holding the side of the truck, swaying as she turned.

The ground was steep and snowy. Harper aimed for bumps and rocks. Sped up. Skidded off the property onto an unplowed but single-lane road. Saw Sty in the truck bed, hanging on. She raced ahead, slid into fourth, doing fifty, sixty. Suddenly, jamming on the brakes, hoping to send Sty flying.

The truck screeched and zigzagged, spun around. When it stopped, she checked the rear-view. Didn’t see Sty. She looked out at the road behind her, in the side mirrors. No Sty. She grabbed the steering wheel and boosted herself up so she could see into the back of the truck. From what she could see, it was empty. Maybe he’d been thrown off the road, into the woods?

Still shaking, she reached over, restarted the ignition, turned on the heat. Maybe she should climb out of the cab, make sure he wasn’t crouching in the blind spot below the window.

But warm air was blowing from the heater. Her hands burned, beginning to thaw out. Her mind was beginning to function, deciding not to go back out into the cold for any reason. She stepped on the gas, shifted into second, steered the truck past wooded areas and vacant lots, empty farmhouses, hoping to find a main road. Nothing outside looked familiar or even occupied. Where the hell was she? Why wasn’t there a gas station or a mini-market anywhere? Harper was lost, had no idea what time – even what day it was. Christmas Eve? Or maybe Christmas? She pictured the ugly tree her mother had bought, the flashing lights. And all those gifts. And then she realized that Hank would call – he’d find out she was missing and contact the police. In fact, maybe he’d done that. And the FBI, too. Maybe they were already searching . . .

Something popped, then whooshed. Harper turned and saw Sty reaching through an open space where the rear window had been. He’d taken out the window? She swerved, but Sty grabbed the back of her seat, steadying himself. She veered the other way, pushing the gas. Gaining speed, trying to knock him over. Sty’s arm went out, snaked around her throat and squeezed, choking her. Harper steered with one hand, grabbed and scratched his arm with the other. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get leverage to fight him. She floored the pedal, felt the pickup zoom ahead, jammed her foot on the brake, then the gas again. The truck slammed forward, then back. The force made Sty lose his grip, sent him flying backwards into the truck bed, slamming his head against steel.

This time, Harper climbed out and into the back of the pickup. Sty’s eyes rolled and he struggled to get up, but she lunged, cold-cocking him, watching to make sure he was going to stay down. Noticed blood pouring from the back of his head. Even so, Harper waited a moment to see if he’d stir. Finally, when she was sure he wasn’t going to come after her, she got back in the cab, turned the heat up, and somehow found her way to a main road. As the sun peeked over the horizon, she headed home.