Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) Page 14

  Wait. What’s happening to me?

  Why have I become so passive? So subservient? Why am I so damned appreciative of every little thing he gives me?

  Maybe I’m brainwashed.

  A surge of anger flushed through her, and in an instant, she knew what her next move would be.

  She watched him, waving once in a while to make him feel safe and secure. Maybe he even felt loved by her, in his strange and bizarre heart? If he had a heart, that is. Slowly, she lowered the mutt to the porch floor. “Shh, baby. Don’t give me away.”

  She waited until he was almost done, then began to moan. Softly at first, then louder.

  “What’s wrong with you, sugar?” he said, setting his axe on the ground. “You sick?”

  The ash bucket sat in the corner beside her, its square black shovel tucked into a clasp on the side of the pail.

  She lowered her head to her chest, slumping in the chair so she slid down to the floor, her hands still restrained above. Her wrists hurt, but she figured maybe he’d come to her, maybe he’d untie her and…

  Footsteps came up the porch steps. “What the hell’s wrong with you, girl?” He poked her with one foot, but she didn’t respond. Cupcake licked her hands and face.

  He pulled her head up with her hair, and the dog began to bark, snarling around his ankles.

  Damn, that hurt.

  She didn’t flutter an eyelid, let her face stay slack and droopy.

  “Oh, cripes.” He untied her arms and she fell onto the porch, huddled near the bucket.

  When he leaned down to lift her, she grabbed the shovel and jabbed him in the crotch with it, as hard as she could.

  It wasn’t sharp enough to cut him, of course, but she hoped it put him down for a long time.

  He howled in pain, fell to the ground, and released her, cupping his injured parts.

  Like a gazelle, she leapt over the porch railing and for the second time in her long captivity, she began to run toward the lake with Cupcake racing behind her.

  Chapter 40

  At the woodpile, she stopped and stared.

  There was the hatchet, and beside it, a heavy sledgehammer.

  Should I?

  Thoughts raced through her mind like tumbleweeds in a tornado, completely twisted and crazy and running wild with murderous intent.

  Murphy moaned on the porch, and before long, he’d get up and chase her. Again. And he’d probably catch her, unless she did something different this time.

  She stopped mid-flight, grabbed the sledgehammer, and returned to the porch where the monster lay, groaning and swearing at her. Cupcake stopped and sat on the grass at the bottom of the porch, looking confused.

  “God damned loony woman,” Murphy moaned again. “You’ll…pay…for…this, bitch.”

  “Never again,” she said, the words hissing from her lips in a near scream.

  The sledgehammer was so heavy, she could barely lift it. But anger surged through her, giving her power she’d never known possible, and she swung it wide and high, three times.

  Three times it thudded against his skull. Three times she felt the sick, sweet feeling of revenge coursing through her veins. Three times she saw him shudder as it slammed his temple.

  And then he was still.

  And there was blood. Not a lot, but enough to send chills of fear racing down her back.

  Oh, God. Oh, God! What have I done?

  She leaned down to feel his pulse, but couldn’t find it and was afraid to check for too long. He might get up. He might be faking. He might grab her.

  Her father’s voice came into her head again, offering steady council. You’ve done what was necessary to survive. Now get out of there.

  With a start, she realized she should hurry. What if he isn’t dead? What if he wakes up and recaptures me?

  Quickly, with shaking hands, she tied the ropes he’d used for her onto his hairy wrists. At least if he woke up, he wouldn’t get free right away.

  She streaked back into the cabin.

  What do I need?

  The pegboard! Get rid of the articles. If he’s dead, they won’t be able to connect her to the murder. She ripped the articles off the board and jammed them crumpled into her jeans pockets.

  What else?

  She’d only come with the clothes on her back, and had nothing personal to reclaim. Except maybe her fingerprints, which would be impossible to wipe down. They were on every glass, every counter, every surface.

  Screw that.

  Get the keys. Get the dog. And get out.

  The keys were in his jacket pocket, and by shoving and rolling Murphy until his pockets were accessible, she finally fished them out. He flopped onto his side with arms loose and mouth agape. Blood trickled down his forehead, and she felt nausea creeping up inside her. She couldn’t see his chest rising.

  Did that mean…

  NO. Don’t think about it.

  Should I drag him inside? Lock the door?

  No, if he were only stunned, he might wake up and grab her.

  She noticed his wallet bulging in his back pocket, and carefully slid it out. Inside was over two hundred dollars in tens and twenties.

  She took it, folding the money into her jeans pocket. “You owe me a lot more than that,” she said, surprised at the harshness of her tone. “Bastard.” She almost kicked him for good measure, but the dog was watching, and for some reason, she didn’t want Cupcake to see her perform any more violent acts.

  “Come on, honey,” she said, cuddling Cupcake in her arms. “We’re going home.”

  PART III

  Revenge

  Chapter 41

  Boone took a deep breath and knocked on the cabin door.

  Silence.

  “Hello?” He called a second time, then knocked again.

  Anderson pointed to the ropes tied to the porch railing. “Crap. That’s where Portia said she tied him up after she hit him with the sledgehammer.”

  Boone frowned. “Yeah, also where he tied her to the rails the day she escaped.”

  Anderson fingered the ropes. “She’s one brave lady.”

  “Damn right she is. Now. Where’s the sledgehammer she hit him with?” Boone asked, poking around the porch. “There. On the woodpile.”

  Anderson followed his gaze. “That’s not where Portia left it. She said she just dropped it right here.”

  “Which means…he’s probably alive.” Boone’s face pulled into a worried frown.

  “Let’s check out the cabin,” Anderson said.

  Boone pushed on the door, frowning when he noticed the padlock. “It’s locked.”

  “Not for long.” Anderson smashed the lock once with the butt of his rifle, then glanced over his shoulder at Boone. “What?”

  Boone smiled. “Nothin’, go right ahead. You just beat me to it.”

  After four more tries, the lock hasp broke away, and the door swung open.

  Boone entered first. “Let’s just do a quick check, and get out of here.”

  The interior matched Portia’s description, right down to the pegboard on the wall. Boone headed over to it, picking up a crumpled piece of newspaper that had landed in one corner of the room. He unfurled it and saw Portia’s face staring up at him. “Guess she missed this one when she ripped all those clippings off the board.”

  Anderson opened all the cupboards and refrigerator. “No food left, just a little salt, vinegar, and ketchup.” He motioned toward the bedroom, taking pictures as he went on his cell phone. “Look at this.” He opened the closet door. “Empty.”

  Boone noticed the ropes on the headboard and cringed. “That’s where he restrained her, man.” His voice caught, and anger surged through him. “Bastard.”

  Anderson stood on his toes and reached to the very back of the closet shelf. “What’s this?” He pulled a white object from the top and blew dust off it. “Guess he left one of his toys behind.”

  Boone stared at the nurse’s cap. “Jesus. What a sicko.” When Anderson st
arted to put it back, he held up one hand. “Wait. Is that a hair on that bobby pin?”

  Anderson squinted at it, holding it up in the light. “Crap. You’re right. And it’s reddish. Might be Portia’s.”

  “Let’s take a picture of where we found it and bag it. Just in case we need some kind of DNA proof or something.”

  “Well, we’ve probably destroyed the evidence by messing with it already, but hell, you and I could testify to where we found it, right?”

  “Right.”

  Anderson took a few more pictures inside and out, then checked his cell phone. “No signal. And crap, it’s getting late.”

  They left the cabin, closing the door as best as they could by tying one of the ropes to the handle and then to the chair arm beside it. “At least the animals won’t get in,” Boone said, leading the way back to the Jeep. “Come on. We’ve gotta get a signal and warn Dirk. If Murphy’s not here, then he’s gotta be alive. And if he’s alive…”

  “He could be in Vermont.” Anderson nodded. “Let’s hurry. We need to get home.”

  “Amen to that,” Boone said, jumping into the Jeep. He pounded the roof with one hand. “Move it, Jeeves. We’ve got a job to do.”

  ***

  When they reached the Baraboo town limits, Boone’s phone suddenly showed three bars. He dialed the Lamont’s home number, and waited while it rang several times.

  “Hello?” Dirk answered warily, then when he recognized Boone’s voice, he choked with relief. “Oh, thank God it’s you. We’ve been getting calls all afternoon from reporters. Somebody leaked that she’s home.”

  “Damn,” Boone said, rolling up his window to cut down on the road noise. “Listen. We found the cabin.”

  “And?”

  “And he wasn’t there. Nothing on the porch except the ropes he was tied with. And nothing inside. He took the collection of uniforms. No food. Looks pretty deserted, Dirk.”

  “What about the sledgehammer? Was there blood on it?”

  “We didn’t check, but he must’ve moved it back to the wood pile, because it wasn’t where she left it. He’s either alive, or someone found him and kept it quiet.”

  Dirk sighed. “He’s alive all right. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Listen, we’re heading home. Should get there by morning. Tell my brother to hang tight and plan on staying the night, okay? We might need an extra gun there if he shows up.”

  Dirk agreed. “He’s a good boy, your brother. Nice kid.”

  “More important, he’s a helluva shot, Dirk. I trust his hand-eye coordination better ’n my own.”

  “Nice to know. He’s been out back, target practicing on cans all afternoon.”

  “Good. I want anyone who’s watching to be worried about the manpower, or gun power, I should say. I don’t want him to think Portia will be an easy mark.”

  “Good point.”

  Anderson spoke up. “Tell him to keep all the lights on in the house and barn. And to alert the cops. I think it’s safe enough now to fill them in on the details, since she unfortunately didn’t kill the creep.”

  Boone switched the phone to his other ear. “Did you hear that, Dirk?”

  “Got it. We’re on it. Um, there’s somebody here who wants to talk to you.”

  “Okay,” Boone said, expecting it to be his brother. When Portia came on the phone, it took him off guard.

  “Boone?” she said, hesitantly at first. “Are you there?”

  “Right here,” he said, surprised at the intensity of the emotion flaring through him. “It’s good to hear your voice, Peaches.”

  “You, too. Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine, hon. And I’m sure you heard your dad, but we didn’t find Murphy. No body. And it looks like somebody cleaned out the house. Everything’s gone and it was locked up.”

  “Oh, God. That means…”

  “He’s either done a runner, or he’s coming after you. Either way, we’ll find him. And when we do,” he said softly, “I’m gonna kick his sorry ass.”

  A surprised laugh escaped her lips. “Boone!”

  “I mean it. I can’t tell you how pissed I am at this guy. I really want a shot at him.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Um. Thank you. But you might have to wait in line behind me. I want the first punch.”

  “Good for you,” he said with a grin. “You keep up that attitude, and we’ll bring him down. Guaranteed.”

  They hung up, and Boone focused on the striped highway that stretched for miles ahead of them.

  By sunrise, we’ll be home again.

  And good luck to anyone who tried to hurt Portia. As God was his witness, he wouldn’t let that happen, ever again.

  Chapter 42

  Anderson and Boone pulled into the barnyard and parked beside Dirk’s pickup. The place was surprisingly quiet, except for the muted sound of dogs barking in the house.

  “That’s weird,” Anderson said. “I thought I’d get a big hug from Grace.”

  “Or maybe a slap,” Boone said. “Remember, you didn’t tell her you were going until after we left.”

  “True,” he said.

  They lifted their backpacks out of the car and headed up the porch steps.

  Although he’d felt his heart creeping into to his throat with every mile that passed, Boone had just called Dirk ten minutes ago, and knew everything was fine. No need to be nervous. He’d had enough of that on the long ride home, switching off driving and sleeping every three hours, wondering where Murphy was, and picturing him hiding out in the woods near Bittersweet Hollow.

  I need to stop my mind from going into overdrive. This is ridiculous.

  With an inner sigh of relief, Boone saw Dirk open the kitchen door and wave to them.

  Boomer and Cupcake tumbled down the steps, raced toward them, and jumped up on them, whining and kissing the men’s hands. Cupcake even did her circus dance for them, making Anderson laugh.

  “She missed us, I guess,” he said.

  Boone crouched down and gave them both some attention, then straightened and headed for the porch.

  “Welcome back, men.”

  “Thanks, Dirk.” After a round of hugging and backslapping, Boone followed Anderson and Dirk into the living room, where the whole family waited, including his brother.

  Ned stepped up and pulled him into a quick hug. “All’s quiet on the home front.”

  Boone nodded surreptitiously toward Portia. “Everyone okay?”

  Ned shrugged and headed for the coffee pot. “Best as can be expected. Don’t think they’ve been sleeping much. Everyone’s kinda jumpy.” He poured a cup and offered it to Boone. “Want some?”

  Boone passed. “No thanks, I’m all coffee’d out.”

  Grace flew down the stairs and jumped into Anderson’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. “You son of a gun!” she screamed, hugging him. “I’m really mad at you.” She alternately kissed him and pounded his chest.

  He hugged her back, laughing. “Well, I’m glad to see you, too.”

  Portia stood in the corner by the computer, a shy smile on her face.

  Boone headed for her side. “Hey, Portia.”

  She offered a hand to him, an action that made his heart pound like a bull’s hooves thundering toward his matador. He took her hand in his, pressed it, and realized she must’ve had a breakthrough. She no longer seemed to fear him, or shrink from his touch.

  “Hi, Boone.”

  They stood awkwardly for a minute, before Boone realized he still held her hand in his. “Oh, s-sorry.” He felt like a schoolboy, flushing and stammering.

  “Want to go see the horses?” she asked. “I haven’t been given much free rein since you left. Too hard to protect all us lil’ women folk, you know?”

  She actually smiled, and he noticed a light in her eyes that had been missing before.

  “That’d be great,” he said. “Let me hit the facilities, then get my gun from the truck, just in case.”

  “Ok
ay. I’ll cut up some apples. Meet you on the porch?”

  Minutes later, side by side, with the rifle tucked under his left arm, they wandered into the barn.

  “Looks like Pookie is ready to pop,” she said, motioning to the pregnant steel gray mare nosing into her hay bag.

  “She’s due any day now,” Boone said.

  Portia clucked to Pookie, who came to the door and pushed against her chest. “Oh, you’re just a beggar, you are.” She fished in her pockets for the apple she’d diced before they came out. “Here you go, honey.”

  The horse chomped on the apple pieces and asked for more by gently pushing her head against Portia.

  “Okay, okay. I guess you’re eating for two. You deserve seconds.”

  “By the way, what’s Pookie’s official name again?” he asked.

  “Bittersweet Silver Sun Frosty,” she said. “But that was too much of a mouthful. So we nicknamed her Pookie.”

  “That’s right.” He smiled. “Fits her.”

  The horse’s dappled gray coat glowed in the sun streaming through her stall door. Boone watched Portia work her magic with the mare, whispering, and combing her fingers through Pookie’s black mane.

  She really has a way with the animals.

  He watched her, standing back to give her time with the mare, and his heart suddenly squeezed with affection. It dawned on him how much this woman meant to him, and how angry it made him that Murphy had just plucked her from their lives as if she were a flower to steal from someone’s garden.

  How could he do that?

  And how did Portia survive for two long years? She must be made of strong stuff. With a sudden gushing inner realization, it hit him.

  I want to be with this woman. Forever.

  I want to raise horses with her. Have a passel of kids. Surround ourselves with dogs and cats and rabbits and whatever else the kids wanted. Maybe some goats?

  An involuntary laugh escaped him.

  Portia glanced up from kissing Pookie on the muzzle. “What?”

  He noticed today her hair seemed fuller, healthier. It glistened copper in the sun and fell on her shoulders in pretty waves.

  “Boone?” she said. “What’s so funny? You look like you’re in a daze.”