Cold Ridge

Twenty-Eight

It wasn't much of a picnic area. Val edged forward in her seat, peering out at the rocks, the birch trees and evergreens, the two unpainted picnic tables in a small clearing. A sign said there were no facilities, meaning, she assumed, no rest rooms. No trash cans, either. She didn't know why she noticed such details, except it gave her something to do, something to focus on. She didn't want to think.

The mountains, every inch of them visible on such a clear day, rose up on both sides of the road-a notch, Hank had told her, was basically a pass in the mountains. Yet even with the perfect visibility, she felt claustrophobic, enveloped by the mountains, hemmed in. Probably, she thought, she wouldn't have made a good astronaut, after all.

She was done. Spent. I'm in over my head…Eric…

She handed Hank the phone. "Call the police." Even to herself, she sounded exhausted, past the point of coherency, never mind logic. "I'm just playing into this bastard's hands."

He glanced at the readout. "There's no service here. I remember last fall we had trouble getting through- Carine and Ty stopped at a lake down the road."

"That's why the bastard picked this spot. In case I changed my mind, I wouldn't be able to call for help." She shoved the Glock at him. "Here, take it. You make the decisions. It's not loaded, but I think there's a clip in the glove compartment."

He shook his head. "You hang on to it." He pushed her hand back with the gun, then thrust the phone at her. "I'll wait here. You get to a house or a place where you can call."

"No! Hank, he wants you."

"Exactly. Val-"

"You can't, Hank. This guy's not going to keep his word."

But Hank was determined-and very clear about his intentions. "I have to try to make the exchange. If there's a chance he'll let Eric go and take me in his place, I have to at least give it a shot. If nothing else, perhaps I can buy the authorities more time."

Val noticed how quiet it was around her. "I wish he wanted me. I can't-Hank, I can't let you do this."

"If you'd go, then let me go."

"He's not your son."

"Does it matter? He's an innocent fourteen-year-old boy who's caught up in something not of his own making." He brushed her cheek gently with the back of his hand. "Trust me, Val."

It was as if she was on a treetop, looking down at herself, a small, dark-eyed, stupid-assed woman who'd made too many mistakes in the past twenty-four hours. The past year.

She pushed open her door and climbed out,composed, as if she'd disassociated herself from her fear. "I'll call the police as soon as I can," she said. "Just stall for time, okay? Oh, listen to me, like I'm the combat veteran."

But something had diverted Hank's attention, and he leaned forward, looking out the windshield, then lunged across the seat at her. "Val-behind you! Get down!"

She dove onto the front seat, but she felt a burning pain in her left side even as she heard the shot. Hank reached for the Glock, but a white-haired man had his door open, a gun to Hank's head. "On your feet, Senator. My car's parked on the other side of the rocks. If you want the boy to live, you will do as I say."

Val could hear Hank's voice. "Understood."

"I won't have to kill him. Time and the elements will. He's a very sick kid."

"Eric…" Val tried to yell but nothing came out. She tried again. "Don't hurt-"

But she didn't know if she'd made a sound. She held her side, remembering that Manny had told her to apply pressure to a wound-and it hurt. God, it hurt. She could feel her own blood warm on her hands. She was collapsed face first on the car seat, could hear Hank getting out of the car. She couldn't think, couldn't really see.

"Val-"

Hank's voice. She held her side, unable to move but knowing she couldn't just pass out and die out here in the cold. Not yet.

The man with the white hair snorted. "Val Carrera is dead."