Tempestuous Taurus Page 22

  He planned to stop into a Verizon store and get a replacement phone as soon as they opened at nine. He drove slowly toward the town center and turned onto the road beside Mrs. Pocket’s Boarding House. He wondered again why she had locked the place up and wouldn’t allow the residents to go to their rooms. There ahead, he saw Mrs. P’s green Mazda pull into the road. She was back from wherever she’d been, and he wondered if that meant he could go home to his room now.

  Someone else was in the vehicle with her—in the back seat. Looked like a kid. He drove closer to see through the fog. Kaitlyn? That kid looked a heck of a lot like her. He heaved a long sigh. Thank goodness. Mrs. P must have found her. But why was she heading toward the highway? What was Kaitlyn doing? She had turned around to watch him and was making hand and arm movements, like she was waving with both hands. Jared frowned. That was odd. Those were the sort of hand gestures a person who was lost and trying to attract attention might make. Kaitlyn never communicated with anyone in any way. He was sure it was her now, so what in the hell was she doing?

  A cold shiver ran down his spine. Something was off. He hoped Mrs. P hadn’t seen him, and he dropped back so she wouldn’t know he was following her. He was becoming more and more alarmed when she entered the highway and opened up the throttle. He wished he had his fucking phone.

  Chapter 64

  Tara pulled as hard as she could, but the tie was still too tight. Her hand couldn’t fit through it. Damn it to hell. Try again, woman. You can’t allow him to do this to you. Jared loved her and he was waiting out there for her. And Cassie was safe. She set her jaw and pulled and pushed and twisted her hand, ignoring the pain. Nearly there, so close.

  Roderick muttered something and stood up, and she froze.

  He was coming toward her. She gave one more tug and her hand slipped free. She had to distract him. “What’s that? Is that a car?” she said. She could tell she had taken off some of the skin on her knuckles and they were bleeding, but her hand was free. Her heart was beating way too fast. Adrenaline rushed through her, and she hoped he couldn’t hear the breathlessness in her voice.

  “Where?” he asked. Turning back, he crossed the space to the window in three strides and picked up the rifle. He snuffed out the candle and peered through the window.

  “I don’t hear it now, but I thought I did. You know they’ll be here soon.”

  “They’ll never find the place.”

  Her heart beat so hard she was afraid he would hear it.

  She felt for the phone, found it, and thought about turning it on, but it might make a noise and she couldn’t risk that. She tucked it back in its hiding place at the side of the mattress and started to work at the tie binding her right hand, cursing the fact that her left hand was so clumsy.

  He shifted in his chair, making it creak. She jerked and lay still, forcing her breathing to slow down, listening and waiting until his attention turned once more to the window.

  The tie on her right hand was pulled very tight and as she worked on it, she came to the realization that she might not be able to undo it. In the morning, he would see she had gotten her left hand out, and would probably beat her, or worse. She shivered, partly from the cold, and also from the thought of what he might do to her if he caught her. She ran her hand along the edge of the mattress, looking for something, anything that she might be able to use as a tool.

  Something cold and hard was wedged against the side of the bed. She dragged it out. It was too dark for her to see, but it felt like a pocket knife. It must have been here a long time. It felt rough—maybe rusted on the outside. How to open it with one hand? She managed to wedge it so she could get the blade out but the blade was broken off. She wanted to curse out loud. Her teeth hurt from her gritting them. Why is everything against me? What are the odds of finding a knife, and then the blade’s gone? Fuck it!

  She forced the small bit of broken blade under the tight plastic tie on her right hand and sawed with it as best she could with her trembling left hand.

  Is the tie loosening a little or am I imagining it?

  Yes. The knife was all but useless, but she had managed to cut into the edge of the plastic. She had to keep moving it back and forth, back and forth, ignoring the pain in both her hands. I have to hurry. Keep trying. It’s getting looser. Oh God, it’s almost there.

  The chair scraped back on the concrete floor and she jumped. She watched as he stood up, turned toward her, and then shook his head and sat down again. She blew out a long breath. She was shaking all over.

  She waited until he had settled again in the chair, hardly daring to breathe.

  She gritted her teeth and twisted her hand and pulled.

  This time it worked.

  She was able to pull her hand through what was left of the cable tie.

  I’m free. Oh, God, I’m free.

  She rubbed her hands together and tried to still the trembling.

  Now she had to figure out how to get past him.

  Tara watched and waited, forcing herself to breathe slowly. Every time she thought he may have fallen asleep, the chair would creak and she sighed. She dozed off and woke with a start. When her eyes had adjusted to the moonlight chinking through the wooden slats, she could see his silhouette.

  Is he snoring? Hard to be sure, but it sounds like he is. She listened for a while until she was certain. Oh, God, what if he wakes up and sees me? But I have to try. It’s my only chance. It’s now or never.

  Heart racing, she slowly and carefully slid off the bed, trying with every inch of her body not to make a sound. She picked up the phone and held it in her left hand. He stirred and grunted.

  Oh, my God. Oh, my God. She didn’t dare breathe. She was shaking, and her heart was thumping so hard she was sure he would hear her. If he opened his eyes and saw her off the bed, there was no telling what he would do. Please, please.

  She flattened herself against the wall. He grunted again. She stood dead still , a pulse beating in her head and waited until his breathing became slow and steady. She crept slowly, one step at a time, stop, another step, stop. She reached out and grasped the handle of the cast-iron frying pan she had seen hanging from a hook on the roof.

  What if she missed? Maybe she should just slip out without disturbing him. No. She had to be sure he couldn’t follow her.

  She gripped the pan in her right hand and lifted it off the hook. She crept toward him, hardly able to breathe. She set the phone on the table and raised the pan above him with two hands, and hit him as hard as she could on the back of his head.

  He didn’t drop.

  Oh, fuck, oh, fuck.

  He lashed out at her with a fist and connected with her stomach. “You bitch! I’ll kill you.” He started to stand up. She doubled over and tasted blood in her mouth. She couldn’t give up. Ignoring her pain, she yelled as she smashed it down with all her strength across his face. “Fuck you!”

  Something gave and made a crunching sound. He screamed. She whacked him again, and again as he slumped to the floor until she was sure he wasn’t moving, the smell of blood thick in the air.

  She kicked the rifle away and sobbed as she undid the buttons of his flannel shirt, and pulled it off his inert body with some difficulty, her hands were shaking so hard. She moaned as she put the shirt on over her nightgown. Then she went back to get the phone and slip it into the pocket, grabbed the rifle, and slipped out of the door, breathing hard and coughing, tears running down her face. She wished she knew where she was heading. If only she had some shoes. That would make a huge difference. She had no clue where to go, just that she had to keep walking. She was desperate to look at the phone, but she couldn’t risk him catching up with her and she forced herself to keep going until she was sure it was safe to stop.

  Stumps, pine cones, sharp sticks, and even thorns that were virtually invisi
ble in the darkness made her wince and cry out. Bushes and branches clawed at her clothing and whipped across her face.

  A thin mist had started forming as she reached a copse of oak trees that she was certain was hidden from the road, and fighting to catch her breath, she took the phone out of her pocket and accessed the screen with trembling hands. It was still working and turned on. The screen shone so bright it hurt her eyes.

  Wide-eyed, she scrolled through the contacts and found her own name there, and Jules and Christy. Jared’s phone? But how could it be here?

  He’d been searching for her. That was the only explanation. She punched in the number for the Taurus Center and pushed send. Nothing happened. “Damn! No fucking service.”

  She shook it and groaned, and looked at it again. Not one bar. She stuffed it back into her pocket. If she kept walking, she’d find a place where she would get service, and then everything would be all right. She checked it periodically, but nothing appeared on the service icon.

  The mist turned into a thick, soupy fog. Her feet had gone numb, and she could hardly swallow her mouth was so dry. She thought she heard a car. She ducked behind some thick brush, her heart hammering.

  Maybe he was coming to look for her. She looked down at the shirt and saw blood stains, and there was blood on her hands. She must not have hurt him as badly as it had seemed. The phone told her the time was five thirty-seven a.m. She peered out at the road.

  Wasn’t that Mrs. Pocket? Yes, that was the car she’d had for years and years. An old green Mazda. Who could forget it? What was she doing driving around in these woods and at this hour?

  Tara ran out onto the road and waved her hands in the air. Mrs. P. could hardly miss her. She stopped the car and wound down the window.

  “Tara. What in the world? What in God’s name are you doing here dressed like that? And the rifle? You can’t be out hunting, but . . . Is that blood on that shirt? Jump into the car. You’ll catch your death.” She opened the passenger side door. “Hand me the rifle. You can tell me what’s going on once you’re out of the cold.”

  Tara climbed into the passenger side seat and stared in disbelief at Kaitlyn who was sitting in the back seat.

  “What? Why is Kaitlyn with you? You baby-sitting today?” she said in a rasping voice.

  Mrs. P. kept her eyes on the road. “Are you okay, Tara? Everyone’s been worried about you.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here. Can you please take me home? Do you have any water?”

  “No dear, sorry, but I don’t have water.”

  “What are you doing out here?” Tara rasped. She held her throat. “There’s nothing around but hunting cabins.”

  “I own property out here.”

  “Is Jared also searching for me? Are you helping him?”

  Mrs. P. didn’t answer. Where was the rifle? Mrs. P. had it against her door. “Where are you taking me? This is not the way to home.” Tara grabbed the door handle. The door was locked.

  “Mrs. P, what’s going on?”

  “I have the rifle, Tara, and I will shoot you if you don’t do as I say.”

  “What?” Tara’s heart sank. This couldn’t be happening. She must be dreaming. “Why? What the fuck is going on?”

  Tara looked out of the window and saw the thick stand of trees. The vehicle pushed through them and the cabin appeared in front of them.

  “Oh, no.” Tara slid across the seat and rattled the door handle in a frantic panic. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  The door of the cabin opened and Roderick stood there, glaring at her. Blood smeared his face and the horrible smirk on his lips filled her with dread.

  Chapter 65

  Jared stayed back but kept his attention on Mrs. P’s car. Was she was going to the search area—where Tara was suspected to be? Shawn had told him Mrs. P owned a lot out there with a cabin on it, but what was she doing with Kaitlyn?

  “Jesus!” he said as she turned off down the same dirt track he had followed the previous day. He glanced around to see if he could spot any of the Feds. He knew they were around, and they were putting a drone up in stealth mode to try to spot some movement. They would know his truck and had expressly told him to stay away. But everything was different now. Mrs. P was driving around with Kaitlyn and the kid was acting weird. What if the Feds shot at them?

  His heart sank when he came to a roadblock—a Humvee parked across the road. A man with an FBI vest carrying a rifle stood in front of it.

  Jared stopped and the man approached him.

  “Morning, sir. Are you a resident or property owner?”

  “No.”

  “Sorry, sir, but we’re only allowing people who can prove they are property owners to go on.”

  Jared wanted to ask why, but he knew the answer. He also knew the Feds weren’t going to react if he told them a child was acting weird. He sat there for a few moments, then sighed, shook his head, and turned the truck around.

  Instead of turning left onto the highway to go back to Hardship, he turned right and drove a couple of miles until he hoped the Feds weren’t watching him anymore. He found a thicket of trees and parked the truck where it couldn’t be seen. He picked up the aerial map he had printed off the computer and stared at it for a few moments, planning his route. He silently thanked Shawn for marking the location of Mrs. P’s cabin. He folded it and stuffed it into his pocket, locked the truck, and headed into the trees on foot. He’d have liked to have a handgun, but he didn’t have a carry permit and didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than was necessary.

  His heart pounded. The fog dampened and cooled his skin. A faint hint of woodsmoke hung in the air with it. His stomach clenched and he tried to swallow. His mouth was almost too dry. He memorized the last part of the route and crept forward, half bent over, and ready to dive for cover. He half-expected to be stopped by the FBI task force, but they were keeping a low profile. They most likely didn’t want to scare the kidnapper into doing anything crazy and they weren’t one hundred percent sure where he was holding Tara yet as far, as Jared was aware. Also, they probably had him pegged as a suspect and thought he might lead them to Tara. He assumed they had tracked his phone, but anyone could have it.

  He almost didn’t see the cabin until he was ten feet away from it, and he dropped to his knees. In the soupy mist, its brown color blended with the deep shadows from the tall trees that surrounded it. According to the map, this was Mrs. P’s place. He sucked in a deep breath. “Fuck! I almost walked into it.” He swiped at the thin film of moisture on his face—beads of sweat mixed with damp from the fog. He could see the door.

  He crawled around to the other side of the building, hoping to find a window. Jesus! He almost spoke out loud when he saw the car. That’s Ma Pocket’s old Mazda. He would know that car anywhere. It was the only ancient Mazda in the area, and he had fixed mechanical problems in it more times than he could count. Why would she take Kaitlyn, and what had she planned to do with her?

  And who had his phone?

  He edged his way to the single window on this side of the cabin and crouched below it. He didn’t dare look inside, but he could hear the murmur of voices. He looked at his watch. Six fifty-one.

  He would have to hike back to the roadblock and tell the agent there that he needed to speak with Agent Palmer about Kaitlyn again. They’d have to listen to him this time.

  Someone started shouting inside. What? Tara! He would know her voice anywhere.

  She screamed.

  He ran round to the door and charged through it without any thought for his own safety—and stopped.

  A heavy-set man with a beard was struggling with Tara.

  “Get your hands off her, you asshole,” Jared yelled.

  The momentary distraction almost allowed Tara to wrench free of him. Jared s
tared at the man who must be Roderick Passmore. This bearded wonder with blood all over his face and head had to be him.

  “Be careful! Behind you.”

  He swung around to see Mrs. Pocket pointing a rifle at his head. This was madness. Ma Pocket. Was she seriously going to shoot him?

  “Hands where I can see them, Jared. I’ll shoot Tara if you ignore me.”

  Jared stared at her with his mouth open. Kaitlyn was standing in a far corner of the cabin, a terrified look on her face. “I don’t under . . .”

  “Now!”

  Jared held his hands up so she could see them.

  The asshole still had his hands on Tara and Jared wanted to kill him. “I don’t understand any of this,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Ever heard the saying ‘blood is thicker than water?’” Mrs. Pocket asked.

  “Yes, but what . . .?”

  Tara broke free and ran. A shot rang out, loud in the confined space. Tara dived under the bed.

  Jared grabbed the rifle and pulled. Mrs. P couldn’t hold onto it. Jared pointed it at Roderick, but he was too late. Roderick flung his arm around Ma Pocket and yelled, “I’ll kill her!” He held her with her back to him in a stranglehold. He backed away toward the door, a pistol in his hand, aimed at her head.

  “Shoot me and I’ll kill her,” he said.

  He backed out of the door. “Where are your keys?” he asked her.

  Jared could only watch as Roderick threw Mrs. Pocket into the driver’s side seat and followed her on the passenger side. The car burned rubber out of the driveway, leaving a cloud of dust, stones, and dirty exhaust smoke in its wake.

  Jared crossed the room in three strides and flung his arms around Tara, who had come out from under the bed.

  “Don’t trust him, Jared. He’ll come back!” Tara warned.