somewhere, waiting for my signal.”
“How do you know?”
He didn’t answer. “You can warm up and I’ll give you some clothes. I’ll take you to the police when it’s safe.”
“So you won’t help me yourself?”
He tossed another twig into the fire. “We’ll leave it burning. If Wade is watching, might be a diversion.”
“Do you think Wade’s given up by now?”
“Do you?”
Her gaze became uncertain, dropped away. “No.” She paused. “Soon after we were married, a couple of teenage boys snuck onto our property and had a little party. They didn’t damage anything, just left some bottles and a bag from their snacks. Wade hid there every night for five weeks until they came back, and then he scared them so badly they never returned.” She shivered, and he suspected it wasn’t from the cold. “Every single night for five weeks.”
She knew just as well as he.
Wade hadn’t given up, and he never would. Their best and only chance was to use darkness to conceal their escape.
But Wade knew how to use the darkness, too.
Like the monster hiding in the shadows, waiting for the kill.
* * *
They crawled out of the cave, and every inch of Jane’s body screamed in protest. Cold air whipped her mercilessly and she felt powerless against the elements, to the threat that was waiting out there. Mitch startled her by gripping her shoulder. His hands were massive, but his touch was surprisingly light.
“Stay low. Keep a couple of feet back from me so you have time to get away if he starts shooting.”
And what was she supposed to do if Mitch got shot again? She decided to keep that thought to herself. One foot in front of the other, Jane. It took her feet and her clawed fingers to cling to the slippery rocks. Mitch tried to keep them in cover as best he could, and she hoped the fog was enough to conceal them further. Still, her skin prickled both from the cold and the knowledge that Wade was out there.
Did he know it was her?
Who’s that shooting at me?
He probably did not blame her for her testimony—she had in fact known nothing about his crimes—but the divorce papers he’d been served in prison had been another matter. He’d never signed, and she’d had to withstand the interminable statutory waiting period before the marriage was dissolved without his consent.
I’ll never let you go.
She thought for the millionth time about what kind of a man he’d seemed to be, charming, sweet, thoughtful, intelligent. And he’d used those charms to lure young women, abduct them and force them to deplete their bank accounts. Then he’d imprisoned each for some sick, twisted thrill only he understood before he killed them. How had she not known? Not seen? Not heard anything from the underground bunker in the woods where he’d kept them chained?
And why hadn’t he done the same to her?
As soon as he discovered she’d gone to his brother, he’d come after her with the full force of his evil. And if somehow he found out about Ben... The thought made her move quicker, edging closer to Mitch as they climbed up the cliff side.
When she thought she could stand no more, when her palms were shredded and her muscles aching, they made it over the top. They lay panting in a grassy field, peppered with clumps of trees and scrubby bushes.
Mitch got to his feet first, put his fingers to his lips and whistled. It barely carried over the sound of the wind. She struggled to her feet and looked for any sign of Mitch’s horse. Seconds ticked into minutes.
“Which way is your place?” She found she had to bend over to continue sucking in deep lungfuls of air. “We’ll have to hike.”
The ground vibrated under her feet, and a big mare trotted up, reins trailing.
For the first time, she saw Mitch Whitehorse smile. He ran his hands over the animal’s sides. “You were scared, weren’t you, Rosie girl? It’s okay now. I’m here.”
What tender words from a man who had about as much give as granite. Nonetheless, she was so happy to see that horse show up, she might have kissed both of them on the spot.
He leaned his forehead against the horse’s neck and she thought at first it was a sign of affection, until she realized Mitch looked unsteady on his feet.
“Are you okay?”
He straightened. “Yeah.” But as he heaved himself onto the horse, he had to grip the saddle hard, face pale in the moonlight. He bent and extended his palm. “Climb up.”
“Uh...” It was not the time to tell him she knew precisely nothing about riding. As she clutched his forearm, he swung her so she landed just behind the saddle. “Hold on to the cantle and keep your feet away from her flanks.”
She had no idea what either “cantle” or “flanks” meant, but she tucked up her legs and grabbed on to the leather seat back where Mitch sat. There was no way she would wrap her arms around him, that was for sure.
She wondered if the horse had the strength to carry both of them after wandering loose for hours, but Rosie seemed to respond quickly to Mitch’s click of the tongue.
“How far?”
“What?” he called over his shoulder.
“I said, ‘How far?’” she started to shout when a gunshot broke the night. Jane felt the movement of air as the shot went past, and then the horse was running full out.
She grabbed Mitch around the waist to keep from falling, and they galloped into the trees. Was Wade on foot? Horseback? On a motorcycle? She didn’t hear an engine, but the sound of her own frightened breathing and the pounding of the horse’s hooves would probably have drowned it out anyway.
Rosie kept to the trees, slowing only enough to dodge branches and piles of rocks. No more bullets followed. Rosie slackened her pace. The woods fell into silence, broken only by the creak of the leather saddle and Rosie’s soft whinny. Jane began to believe, to hope, that Wade had not followed them into the woods, until his voice carried over the night noise.
“Hey, Mitch. Who’s that with you? Have you got yourself a girl?” Wade asked in that singsong way that prickled her skin. Then his tone went hard and lethal.
“Or have you taken mine?”
The high trill of Wade’s voice brought back all the horror in one flash of skin-rippling nausea. Though Mitch had desperately wanted to deny the accusations against his brother, he’d known deep down that every terrible detail was true. Wade Whitehorse was a psychopath, capable of unspeakable evil.
In
