Vicious

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As she pulled onto Birch Way, Susan couldn’t help hoping she’d find Allen’s black BMW parked at the end of the driveway. She took one curve after another on the long, winding tree-lined drive. She couldn’t see the house yet.

“Where’s Allen gone?” Mattie asked, kicking at the back of the passenger seat.

“That’s what your dear old mother would like to know,” Susan muttered, eyes on the road.

She was thinking about her visit with Jordan Prewitt and his friend. At least she knew Allen had headed for town after leaving Rosie’s. Maybe he’d gone to meet someone after all. She still couldn’t dismiss the notion that he’d had some secret agenda for this trip.

Jordan and his friend had acted a bit strange. Why was he asking all those questions about Allen? And his pal had seemed so nervous and fidgety. Then again, they were teenagers. Acting weird came with the territory. Besides, next to Sheriff Fischer—pilfering her panties—they’d come off as downright normal and nice.

Taking the last turn in the road, Susan saw the house ahead and the empty driveway. She figured there was always the chance Allen had come and gone. Maybe he’d left a note—alongside the one she’d written to him.

Susan had hoped not to come back to an empty house. But now as she took Mattie by the hand and headed for the front door, Susan prayed the place was indeed empty. She was terrified of running into that hunter again. She didn’t care what the sheriff had said; that man had seemed far more interested in the house than he’d been in the woodlands surrounding it. Stepping inside, she didn’t let go of Mattie’s hand until she’d circled through the entire first floor. Then she parked him in the sunroom with his bin of toys so she could keep an eye on him.

Checking the dining room table, she found her note just where she’d left it. There was nothing from Allen. A weird thought suddenly occurred to her. What if Allen’s hidden reason for this trip had been to meet up with another woman? What if he was with this woman right now?

Well, that would certainly let me off the hook, Susan thought, plopping down on a dining room chair. Then she immediately felt horrible for letting that notion creep into her head. Allen was so good to her and Mattie. And everybody liked him. Her parents were crazy for him.

Yet she remembered something that had happened on the last day of their visit down in Florida a few weeks back—before the engagement. While she’d been packing for the return flight, her mother had come into the guest room. “That Allen is a real charmer,” she’d said with a smile and a hushed voice. “I think your father has just found a new best friend, and all the neighbors just adore him, dear. But I want you to know…” The smile had disappeared from her mother’s still-pretty, lined face. “You shouldn’t feel any pressure to make a commitment. Take your time, Suzy. It won’t be the end of the world if he’s not the one.”

Susan had been rushing around to get packed and make their plane that afternoon. She hadn’t had time to let her mother’s words sink in. Besides, her mom had loved Walt so much; any man after him would fall short in comparison. So it had been easy to shrug off what her mother had said about Allen that last day in Vero Beach.

But maybe her mother had known then what Susan was just recently figuring out.

Perhaps that was why she felt so tempted to pack up their things right now, leave Allen another note, and drive home. But she felt duty-bound to stay—just as she’d felt duty-bound to accept his proposal of marriage.

Where the hell was he anyway?

Frowning, Susan stared out the sunroom’s sliding glass door at The Seaworthy, tied to the dock. She wondered—once again—why he’d had to have that particular boat. And why had he allotted a specific time for sailing it this afternoon?

Susan opened up the leather-bound folder on the dining room table and glanced at the printout from Bayside Rentals. She folded it up and slipped it into her purse alongside the flare gun. Glancing at her wristwatch, she scratched out the time at the bottom of her note to Allen from forty minutes ago, and then wrote in: 3:05.

“Sweetie?” she called to Mattie. “Better take a potty break. We’re going right out again.”

In the corner of the trench was a pile of broken plastic, metal, duct tape, and a battery. Moira had found a rock and smashed the SPY-TELL 300 Motion Sensor to pieces.

Until she’d destroyed the damn Weatherproof-Waterproof thing, its blinking red light had seemed like part of a time bomb. Each second that ticked away had her closer to meeting the creep who had set this trap.

Good luck picking up a signal now, asshole, Moira thought, with another glance at the mess of plastic and metal in the corner. One shard of plastic was particularly sharp, and she held on to it—just in case he showed up.

She’d been in this stinking pit for over two hours now. In the opposite corner from the broken sensor device, she’d finally succumbed to the call of nature and peed. So, basically, she was trapped in her own toilet now. Swell.

Weren’t Leo and Jordan at all concerned? She’d thought by now she’d hear them calling for her. Was it possible that she’d been so awful to Leo that he didn’t give a damn about her right now? Would he start to worry about her by sunset?

Moira didn’t think she could stand it much longer. She was so cold, hungry, and scared.

She’d had only two more drive-bys, and had screamed and screamed—to no avail. She’d made another attempt to scale the wall, but hadn’t even gotten a foot off the ground. There wasn’t anything to hold on to—just loose dirt and mud. She felt so frustrated, only five feet away from freedom. It might as well have been fifty feet.

“SOMEBODY?” she yelled out—for the umpteenth time. She didn’t need any car or forest noise to trigger her call for help, just frustration and panic. Somehow, screaming for help seemed more productive than sitting there crying. “SOMEBODY?” she repeated—a bit frail this time.

Then she heard something in the distance—a bass beat. Music again, someone in a car with their window rolled down.

“HELP ME! HELP!” she screamed, her head tilted back. She dropped the shard of plastic, then gazed up at the light above. “PLEASE, HELP ME, SOMEBODY!”

The music was louder and clearer now: “Rock the boat…. Don’t rock the boat, baby…. Rock the boat…. Don’t tip the boat over….” A man was singing along with it. She could hear the car’s motor purring, too.

“OH, GOD, HELP ME!” she screeched. “HELP ME!”

The music suddenly shut off.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, he heard me,” Moira whispered. “Thank you, God.” Her throat hurt from screaming, but she let out several more shrieks for help. She stopped for a moment and listened. She heard what sounded like a car door shutting.

“HELP ME! HELP!” She leaned against the dirt wall. “Help me, please!” she croaked. Her voice was giving out. Her throat felt raw, and her mouth was so dry.

“Somebody out there?” she heard the man call in the distance.

“YES!” she yelled. “I NEED HELP! I’VE FALLEN IN THIS HOLE. I’M TRAPPED DOWN HERE!”

“I hear you!” the man replied, his voice a little closer now. “Keep talking! I’m trying to find you….”

Moira rubbed her neck. It hurt to swallow. “I’M HERE!” she managed to yell. “I SCREWED UP MY ANKLE WHEN I FELL! I’M STUCK IN THIS STUPID HOLE!” She pulled her sweater over her head, and then tried to toss it up and out of the pit. It missed the edge and fell back in the trench. Moira caught it. She tried again, and it sailed over the top and disappeared from her view. “LOOK FOR MY GREY SWEATER!” she yelled, wincing. She coughed to clear her sore throat. “CAN YOU SEE IT?”

“Keep talking!” the man called, but his voice sounded farther away now. “You’re fading out….”

Oh, no, she thought, slumping against the pit’s dirt wall. “I’M HERE!” she screamed. “LOOK FOR A GREY SWEATER ON THE GROUND! IT’S RIGHT BY THE HOLE….”

“Grey sweater?” he repeated. He seemed closer now.

“That’s right,” Moira said. She just couldn’t scream any more. “I’m here….” She glanced over at the smashed sensor device in the corner of the pit. She couldn’t eliminate the possibility that the man now about to rescue her was the same person who had set this trap. Biting her lip, she searched around for that sharp piece of plastic.

“Keep talking! I—” he hesitated. Suddenly, his voice seemed closer. “Wait! I see the sweater now! Hold on!”

Moira found the shard of plastic and snatched it up. She couldn’t take any chances. She took a deep breath and looked up at the edge of the pit. She half expected to see a rifle barrel pointed down at her—instead of a friendly face.

She heard bushes rustling, and the ground vibrated slightly as he zeroed in on her. A bit of soot shook loose from between the old, rotting boards at the top of the pit. Moira put her hand up to cover her eyes.

When she took her hand away, she could see a handsome man gazing down at her. “Oh, my God,” he murmured. “Here I was thinking somebody was playing a prank on me. Are you hurt?”

Shivering, Moira smiled. He seemed nice. “I might have sprained my ankle when I fell in here,” she said. “I didn’t think anyone was ever going to come by. I’ve been stuck down here for two hours.”

He cleared some branches away and then took off his navy corduroy jacket. Bending over the pit, he lowered the jacket down to her. “Grab on to the sleeve,” he said. “I’ll try to pull you up.”

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Moira said in a raspy voice. She dropped the plastic shard and then reached for the sleeve.

He let out a grunt as he tried to pull her up. More dirt came loose at the edge of the trench and fell onto her face. She kept her head turned away and held on. Her feet had just left the ground when she heard a tearing noise. “The sleeve!” she cried. “It’s ripping!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, gently lowering her back down.

Moira let go of the jacket, and he hoisted it back up. He examined the torn seam at the shoulder. “Goddamn cheap J. Crew!” he muttered. He glanced down at her again. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Moira,” she said.

“I’m Jake. Listen, I’m going to get you out of there, Moira. I have some rope in the car. I’ll be right back. Stay there, okay?”

“Stay here?” she repeated. “Yeah, I’ll try not to wander off.”

He laughed. “Hey, cut me a break. I’ve never rescued a damsel in distress before. Sorry if I suck at it.” He lowered the jacket back down to her. “Here, you look cold. The sleeve’s torn, but at least it’s warm. I’m keeping your sweater out here for a marker.” He let go of his end of the jacket, and it fell on top of her. “If you’re hungry, there’s a Twix bar in one of the pockets. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Moira put on the oversized jacket. She glanced up—just as he started to move away. “Jake?” she called.

He peered down at her again. “Yeah?”

She smiled up at him. “I think you’re a very good rescuer.”

He smiled back at her and then ducked away. She could feel the ground shaking a bit as he ran off.

He was right. The corduroy jacket was warm—and it smelled of a musky, spicy men’s cologne. And yes, there was a Twix bar in the pocket. She ate it slowly, savoring every bite. The smooth chocolate seemed to help coat her sore throat.

Moira glanced over at what was left of the SPY-TELL 300 Motion Sensor—the shattered plastic pieces and metal parts in the corner of the pit. She felt the lump in the pocket of her jeans, where she’d stashed the tortoiseshell barrette. If her theory was right about whoever had set up this trap, the son of a bitch wouldn’t be hunting after today.

Once Jake got her to a hospital, she’d call the police. And while she was at it, she’d get word to Leo and Jordan that she was okay—if they even cared.

Moira glanced at her wristwatch. He’d been gone at least ten minutes. Every second dragged—now that she was so close to getting out of there. “Jake?” she called anxiously.

But there was no answer. Had he driven off? No, she would have heard his car. Maybe he’d run into the demented person who had set this trap. Or maybe there were other concealed pits around here, and he’d fallen in one and broken his neck.

“JAKE, ARE YOU THERE?” she cried out.

“Moira?” she heard him respond in the distance. “You didn’t wander off, did you? Took me a while to—” He let out an abbreviated yell.

Moira heard a thud. She held a hand to her throat and listened to the silence.

“Jake, are you okay?” she nervously asked.

There was no answer, but she could hear a rustling noise, and the ground shook as someone approached the trench. Moira shrank against the dirt wall and gazed up.

“Jake, is that you?”

“I tripped over the stupid rope,” she heard him say.

She let out a sigh and laughed.

He peeked down at her. “I figured you were thirsty—if you don’t mind my germs. Here, catch….” He tossed her a bottle of Evian.

She gratefully guzzled half of it while he lowered the rope down to her.

He told her to tie it around her waist and hold on. It was a struggle, but with her one good foot she got some leverage and pushed up while he tugged at the rope. Even with the cool breeze, she felt warmer as she got closer to the surface. The air was fresh. She could take a deep breath and not taste dirt.

Once he’d hoisted her up past the edge of the pit, they both collapsed on the ground. Moira lay there for a minute, half laughing, half crying. “Thank you,” she gasped. “Thank you so much….”

He helped her to her feet, but her ankle gave out. So she held on to her sweater and the rope while he carried her piggyback-style down the trail along the hill. Moira realized how horrible she must look—and smell. She was so embarrassed, yet she fiercely clung to him. “I’m not too heavy, am I?” she asked.

“I’ve gone hiking with backpacks that are a lot heavier than you—and not nearly as pretty,” he replied.

He told her he was from Everett. He’d come up to Cullen to tour the winery and camp out for the night. He was supposed to meet some friends up here. “I think they’re waiting for me,” he said, out of breath, as they neared his car. His black Jetta was parked on the shoulder of a two-lane road. “My pals can wait a little longer. Let’s get you to a hospital first—or at least the local country doctor.”

He opened the back door and then gently set her down.

“I can ride up front with you,” Moira said.

“With that bum ankle, you’re better off stretching out in the back here,” he advised. He took the rope from her and tossed it on the floor of the backseat. Then he put his arm around her.

Moira leaned on him as she hobbled the few steps to the backseat. It smelled like stale McDonald’s French fries in his car.

“Let’s take a look at that ankle,” he said, crouching down beside her. He untied her tennis shoe and then carefully pulled it off. He rolled down her sock. “Does this hurt?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted.

“Sorry.” He pulled off her sock and then handed it to her—along with the shoe.

Moira was more concerned—and embarrassed—about her foot odor. This guy really was getting her at her worst.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Can you wiggle your foot a little?”

She tried, but it hurt. “Ouch,” she said, forcing a laugh.

He rubbed her shoulder. “Feels like you’re wearing a bra. Are you wearing a bra?”

Baffled, Moira gazed at him. “What?”

He glanced down at her foot again. “God, that looks really horrible….”

Moira wondered what the hell her bra had to do with anything. Was he planning to make some kind of sling device for her leg or something? She let out a puzzled laugh.

He straightened up and pointed to her foot. “Take a look at it,” he sighed. “That ankle is bad news.”

Leaning forward, she gazed down at her ankle. It appeared slightly swollen, but not nearly as awful as he’d made out.

“I can’t believe it,” she heard him say. “You smashed up my motion detector, you bitch.”

Moira looked up in time to see him raising a blackjack in the air.

“Wait!” she screamed.

He slammed it down on her skull.

Moira flopped across the backseat, unconscious.

On the floor in front of her was the rope he’d used to save her. He would use it again to tie her up.

But first, he pulled up the bottom of her T-shirt until it was bunched up over her breasts. He stared at her bra. It was pink.

“Pretty,” he murmured.