You Can't Escape (43 page)

“What’s that got to do with . . .” He stopped himself and answered flatly, “Everybody told me.”

“Think back. Try to remember who was adamant that the Treadwells were genetically doomed.” Nate held up his hands and shook his head, as if he thought she’d really gone around the bend. “It’s all a lie,” she told him. “A falsehood. Somebody made it up, and we all believed it.”

“Maybe you ought to talk to Reverend Miles,” he suggested.

“Why? Would he know?”

“I’m thinking that you’re pretty upset. Say what you will about Green Pastures, there’s a lot of good that comes out of talking things over in church.” Then he hurried back to the barn just as the rain began to fall in fat drops.

“Thanks,” Jordanna said drily. He was no help at all.

She left him standing outside the barn and hurried back to her car. She had no plans to talk to Reverend Miles. What could he help her with?

Her wipers were going like mad by the time she reached the road, and then shortly thereafter she came to the entrance to the church. What the hell, she thought, turning in. Nate wanted her to see Reverend Miles because he thought she needed help, and it was true the man knew all the people in town that she did. And church was a good place to find someone who was deep into their religion.

A sheet of rain was pouring as she turned into the long drive that led to the church. She pulled around to the back parking lot and parked next to a battered truck, the only other vehicle in the lot.

While the rain pounded onto her windshield, she sent another text to Dance: Want to know who kara saw in town. Emilys boyfriend?? At gree

She jumped when someone tapped on her window, sending the text too early. “Damn,” she muttered. He made motions for her to roll down the window and she cracked it open a teeny bit, mindful of the rain splashing inside. A man in a cowboy hat was standing beside her car. He’d apparently come from the other vehicle

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said.

“Do I know you?”

“Don’t you?” He smiled.

He looked somewhat familiar, but she wasn’t placing him. “Not really,” she said. He was good-looking with a lean, hard build, and when he tilted the hat back, she saw he had penetrating blue eyes. “It’s raining hard,” she said, wanting to roll the window back up.

“You going to church? Get out and make a run for it.”

She rolled up the window, tossed her cell in her purse, then slid out of the car, ducking her head. She was going to look like a wet dog. “I’m looking for Reverend Miles,” she said, glancing toward the church. The entrance was toward the front. “Do you know if—”

Suddenly he was on her, grabbing her, slamming her body against her car. She squeaked in surprise and slipped against the wet fender. She had no time to react before he was shoving something between her teeth—a vial?—and squeezing something down the back of her throat.

“Uh—uh,” she gasped. What the hell was that?

When he suddenly shifted to pull her away from the car, she doubled over and shoved her fingers down her throat, throwing up bile and coffee into the rivulets of water running across the lot.

Before she knew what was happening, he smacked her hard across the face, hard enough that she saw stars. Then he hit her again, a demon in a cowboy hat with rain pouring off the brim.

That was the last thing she remembered.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jordanna woke slowly, mouth dry, feeling as if her limbs were weighted down. There was a god-awful smell of rotting flesh that brought up her gag reflex again, and she coughed twice. She was in a barn, seated on the wood floor, wisps of straw here and there. Across the way was a fireplace of sorts with a branding iron sticking out of its depths. There was a faint orange glow within, like dying embers.

Somewhere, almost out of earshot, there was shouting going on. Angry tones that faded in and out.

A woman was yelling. “. . . shouldn’t have . . . able . . . and Bernadette was
clean
. . . happens when they foreclose? . . . you dumb bunny, you . . . the law down on all of us!”

A man interrupted. “. . . know what I’m doing . . . not listening to you anymore, you filthy, fucking . . .”

She started screaming back, words Jordanna couldn’t make out.

He said clearly, “Boo was right about you.”

More shrieking from her. “The Treadwell girls! That’s all you were supposed to do! The Treadwells!”

Smack
.

Jordanna shivered, recoiling, squeezing her eyes closed. He’d hit her, too, if it was the same man, and who else would it be? Her head hurt and she felt dizzy, but maybe that was from whatever he’d given her, too.

Smack. Smack.

The woman was sobbing. “. . . God will never forgive . . .”

Then the sudden report of a rifle.

Jordanna’s eyes bolted open.
Oh, God. Oh, no. Oh, my God.
Tears seeped down her cheeks, from fear, from the rank smell that was something dead, something large....

He came striding into the barn, his blue eyes so bright in the slanting afternoon light that they looked lit from within. “Sometimes God sends us exactly what we’re looking for,” he said.

Jordanna had closed her eyes again, but her breathing was rapid. He’d probably seen that she was awake. He came over and she sensed that he’d squatted down in front of her.

“You just stay quiet,” he whispered. “Let the juice do what it’s supposed to.”

The juice? What he’d given her?

Then he walked away and she heard something being dragged. She squinted her eyes open just a thread and saw that he was hauling a body from beneath a tan tarp. Gray-haired, lined face, eyes open and staring, a spread of red across the front of his shirt. Was this his victim, then? She’d heard a woman’s voice.

He hauled up the body and threw it over his shoulders, fireman-carry style. She heard what sounded like a body thrown into a metal container and realized he’d probably tossed it into the back of his truck.

He was out of earshot for a time, but then she heard him again, approaching. She shut her eyes again, waiting, and after a minute he snorted in derision and moved away. Once again she barely lifted her lids and saw that he had a woman’s body over his shoulders. Someone with tight, curly dark hair. Middle-aged.

Her head flopped back and Jordanna jerked as if stung. Margaret Bicknell! What the hell had happened?

He strode out of view again and she heard him grunt as he must’ve tossed her body in the truck as well. Then the engine fired up and it rumbled away.

As soon as she was certain she was alone, she tried to struggle to her feet. Her hands were caught and she realized they were tied behind her back with twine. A short piece of rope extended from a post and was tied to the twine. She wrenched herself around to see the rope was pulled through a hole in the post and back to her hands. The only way to untie herself was at the point where her hands were held together, and her captor had secured her tight enough that her hands were numb from restricted blood flow.

Shit. Who was he? Was he the one Kara had seen? He must be.
The Treadwell girls
, the woman—Margaret?—had screamed.
That’s all you were supposed to do! The Treadwell girls.

She moaned with fear. What had he done?

And then her cell phone started ringing from inside her purse. It was sitting on a bale near a door shut with a wooden bar.
Dance
, she thought, struggling against her bonds.
Dance!

Dance listened to his cell phone ring on and on. He’d really wanted to hear Jordanna’s voice, but she wasn’t picking up. As soon as he’d been free of the federal agents and police, he’d grabbed up his phone to call, but the phone had hesitated. Swearing, he’d jumped into the Highlander and plugged in the car charger. He switched on the engine, but the phone had remained dark and stayed that way until he was about an hour from Rock Springs, when it suddenly flashed on. Immediately, he’d put through the call, but now she wasn’t answering.

He saw there were several texts. Three times she’d written: Cops found my sisters car at the bottom of a cliff. Todd Douglas died in the drivers seat Kara’s not answering texts or calls. Don’t think she ever left for Portland

And the other one read: Want to know who kara saw in town. Emilys boyfriend?? At gree

“Jesus.” He called her number again. It rang about four times, and when her voice mail came on, inviting him to leave a message, he hit speakerphone and yelled, “Jordanna. Pick up! Todd Douglas is the missing friend of Rusty? The one he and Calverson were waiting to play pool with? Are the police sure it was Kara’s car? Call me.” He clicked off, his nerves on edge. Jordanna had said Kara texted Jennie . . . but how had she gotten to Portland if her car was in Rock Springs?

A lot of questions, none with any answers. He settled in to drive, one eye on the rearview mirror because he didn’t give a damn about the speed limit.

He was gone a long time and Jordanna tried everything in her power to get her hands free. She looked around the barn wildly, searching for a tool to aid in her escape, and though she could see a pitchfork, a scythe, and a rifle, none of them were close enough to reach. The scythe was nearest, and it was the tool she wanted most, but it was still out of range.

Who was he? Where was this barn? Oh, God. Why had he killed Margaret and that other man?

Her gaze traveled to the branding iron heating in the fire and she felt ill. She would bet it was a cross, one he could turn upside down.

And then she heard the truck’s engine and the splash of water as the tires bumped through rain puddles. Could she feign more sleep? He seemed to think the juice would help her relax. She felt foggy, but she was fighting it for all she was worth.

He strode into the barn, and she watched him through the haze of her lashes. His denim shirt was damp and mud-spattered now. She shut her eyes completely as he came her way. She could hear the stretch of fabric and his own close breathing, and she was pretty sure he’d crouched in front of her again.

“You’re awake,” he said, sounding a little excited about it. “You hawked it up, you bitch. And now you’re awake.” She gasped when he grabbed her head and dug his thumbs in her eyes. “Open up,” he sang.

“Stop . . . please . . . stop! I’m awake.”

He pulled his thumbs away and Jordanna opened her eyes. They ached but apart from renewed tears, she could see fine. She stared at him. His blue eyes were bright and vacant. She’d always worried she’d lose her mind, but this was what real crazy looked like.

He seemed to be content to watch her.

She licked her lips. “I don’t know who you are,” she said.

“You should. Your sister did.”

“Which sister?” Jordanna asked with dread.

He came even closer, to look her directly in the eye. “Both,” he said, confirming her worst fears. “But I only loved Emily.”

Her cell phone started ringing again and his head whipped around.
No
, she thought, sick with fear. He went over to her purse and dug around for her phone, pulling it out to look at the screen.

“This your crippled boyfriend?” he asked, turning the phone around so she could see it, walking back her way.

“No,” she lied, reading Dance’s name.

“Another one of your studs?”

“I think you have the wrong impression of me.”

He threw the cell on the floor, stomping it with the heel of his boot with a fury that frightened her. “I know you Treadwell girls,” he declared breathing heavily. “She told me.” He threw a dark look back toward the barn door. “You’re all filthy whores.”

She must be Margaret Bicknell. But she asked, “She?”

“She’s dead now, which means I can do whatever I want now. God sent you to me.”

Jordanna’s heart thudded so hard she could see it. She was in real peril.
Keep him talking. Keep him talking.
The only weapon she had was time. If Dance couldn’t reach her, he would find someone who could. She had to believe that.

“If you loved Emily, how can you call her a whore?”

There was a sudden transformation. His eyes suddenly rolled heavenward and his body jerked like it had been shocked. A moment later, he observed her with an entirely different expression, almost a pleading one.

“Buddy’s sorry about Todd. He liked him,” he said.

She drew a shallow breath. What was this? “Did Buddy put Todd in Kara’s car?” she asked carefully.

“Uh-huh. He had to.”

“Do you know what happened to Kara?”

“Buddy saved her. Sent her soul to heaven. Seared out the devil.”

Jordanna’s jaw started to quiver. “Is she dead?”

Tears filled his eyes. “Yes, but she’s with God now. She was Lucifer’s daughter, but Buddy saved her.”

Jordanna’s shoulders sank. Grief filled her so completely she felt like she was going under. She believed him. She didn’t want to, but she did.
Kara was dead.

With an effort, she asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m Boo.”

“Boo?”

“Yeah, like BOO, you’re it!” He suddenly laughed uproariously, causing Jordanna to flinch. “Buddy won’t let me play in the playground anymore. But now you’re here. You can help me talk him into it, okay?”

Jordanna stared blankly at him.
Find me, Dance. Hurry. Please, find me!

Dance reached the outskirts of Rock Springs at four and planned to plow through town directly to the Treadwell homestead, but as soon as that thought coalesced, it seemed wrong. He took his foot off the gas. She wasn’t answering her phone. Something was wrong, and he didn’t think she was at the homestead. What had the last text said? She was at “gree.” Was that some kind of garbled word?

He drove straight to the police station and limped through the rain, pushing through the front door. He spied Rusty almost immediately, waiting near the reception desk. He looked wrung out and half wild, his hair straggling, as if he’d been standing outside for hours. He was demanding the police do something, but no one was paying much attention to him, though they appeared sympathetic. It was grief talking more than anything.