Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) Page 16

  “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, Dad. And I’m pretty sure he’s got other women stashed away somewhere.” She turned in the direction of the door, gesturing for Boone to come closer. “Boone, we need to capture Murphy, and make him tell us about the other girls he’s taken. Someone’s got to save them.”

  Boone nodded. “I’m with you there, Peaches. If the cops ferret him out of the woods, he can be questioned by the experts.”

  She spat the next words. “I’d like to question him.”

  Dirk stood. “Listen, Portia. I don’t want you getting any weird ideas, okay? You just do what we tell you to. We know how to keep you safe. Okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Okay?”

  She rose and walked to Boone’s side. “How many officers are coming?”

  Boone shrugged. “I’m not sure. Sheriff Dunne and Deputy Mills, I think. Maybe more.”

  She pulled the curtain aside and peeked out. “It’s not enough.”

  Anderson, Grace, and Daisy came down the stairs. Anderson went for his weapon hanging in a holster on the coat rack. Gracie stumbled toward the coffee machine. And Daisy stopped at the kitchen table, taking in the closed curtains and shades.

  “What’s going on?” she said, her voice trembling. “Dirk?”

  Chapter 46

  Daisy felt exhaustion ripple through her body. She toppled forward, as if her legs had lost their muscles, as if they’d been pulled right out from under her.

  She landed in a heap on the kitchen floor, her cheek and shoulder jarred by the impact, throbbing painfully.

  Around her, the family erupted into shouts and a flurry of movements that dizzied her.

  She closed her eyes. Everything hurt.

  “Daisy!” Dirk’s voice came from far away, urgent, compelling her to answer. “Daisy, can you hear me?”

  In spite of the muddiness in her brain, she recognized his tone of voice. Beneath the deep rumble, she sensed his fear.

  What was he afraid of?

  “Mom?” Portia and Grace both called to her, and someone lifted her from the floor to place on the couch.

  Dirk’s voice sounded stronger this time. “Call 911.”

  Someone in the background, maybe Boone, said he’d already called the police.

  “We need an ambulance,” Dirk said.

  Who got hurt?

  In a flash she realized they thought she needed to go to the hospital, but she didn’t want to. She just wanted to be in her own bed, in her own bedroom, with her family around her.

  Am I dying?

  She shook herself mentally, with all the farm-wife strength she’d cultivated over the years.

  No. I’m strong. I’m not giving in. Dirk, Portia, and Grace need me.

  I’m not going anywhere.

  Something flashed outside, and the rumble of thunder shook the house. She heard the sweet rain hitting the roof, dripping down the gutter spouts.

  Summer storm, she thought. “We need the rain,” she mumbled, then drifted away.

  ***

  Boone punched in Sheriff Dunne’s cell phone, glad Dunne had given it to him before he headed out to Bittersweet Hollow.

  Dunne picked up immediately. “Dunne here.”

  “Sheriff? It’s Boone Hawke. We’ve got another problem here.”

  “What’s up, Boone?”

  “It’s Mrs. Lamont, Daisy. She’s collapsed. Dirk thinks it’s her cancer again. We need an ambulance.”

  Outside, the storm raged, winds wild now. Boone wondered if they were getting some kind of freak tornado or hurricane, because he saw a wheelbarrow topple over and one of the doors on the barn slammed open and shut, over and over again.

  “Well, we’ve got another problem, Boone.” The Sheriff sounded muffled, as if he were outside, holding the phone under his coat or something. “Wait a minute. Let me get back in the cruiser.”

  Boone stiffened. What else could go wrong? He heard the sound of a car door shutting, then the buzz of a radio and loud chatter.

  “Okay, you there Boone? We’ve got an obstacle. The Bittersweet Hollow sign’s come down. You know those two trees that it’s strung between, the one with all the grape vines overhead?”

  “Yeah, sure. Can’t you just move it?”

  “No. One of the trees has fallen across the road. It’s a honking big one, Boone. We’ll need a heavy-duty chainsaw. I’ve called for a truck, but it’s about a half hour out. Trees are down everywhere. The Peterson’s barn roof flew off. Looks like we had some kind of mini-tornado come through here. It’s crazy.”

  Boone’s insides tightened. “What about a helicopter? Do you think they could fly one in? We need help fast. Daisy’s down for the count, and that bastard’s shooting at anyone who goes outside.”

  “I’ll call for a chopper. But I don’t think they could fly in this. Not yet, anyway. And I’ve got more men coming by car.”

  Boone heard the sound of sirens through Dunne’s phone. “I hear them.”

  “We’ll come in on foot. The farm’s about two miles from here. Should take us twenty or thirty minutes if we jog.”

  “Some of your guys need to circle up behind the twisted spruce trees on the ridge. You know where I mean?”

  “I think so. Where the lightning hit in ’07?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s where he’s shooting from?”

  “Best as I can tell. Unless he’s moved.”

  “Okay. Keep everyone inside and don’t let them stand near the windows. I’ll call an ambulance and tell them to pick up a chainsaw on the way. That might be the fastest.”

  “Better yet,” Boone said. “Let me call my father. He’s closer and has a big Husqvarna that’ll do the trick. He can clear it for the EMTs.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Call me when you’re close, so we don’t shoot any of your men by mistake. We’re all armed and pretty trigger happy here, Sheriff.”

  “It’s a promise. Talk to you soon.”

  They hung up, and Boone returned to the family crowded by Daisy’s side.

  “Ambulance is called and—”

  The lights snapped off and darkness filled the living room.

  Grace screamed.

  Anderson shushed her. “Baby. Quiet.” He ran to the kitchen door and listened, then pulled back the curtain in the window a fraction of an inch and looked outside. “I don’t see anything. I think it’s just the storm.”

  Portia knelt by her mother, whispering to her and holding her hand. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s just the storm. We’re safe.”

  Daisy lay unresponsive on the couch beside her.

  Boone punched in the number for his family farm, relieved his father answered on the first ring.

  “Son?”

  “Yeah, Dad. It’s me.”

  “You okay?”

  “No. We’ve got some big trouble here. And I need you. You and your chainsaw, Dad.”

  He filled in his father, who was out the door before he finished the conversation, heading to the barn to grab his chainsaw.

  Quickly Boone told Dirk, Anderson, Ned, Portia, and Grace what to expect, then hurried upstairs with his rifle to Portia’s bedroom window, the best vantage point to watch for Murphy and the officers who slogged through the downpour.

  Chapter 47

  Portia crouched beside her mother, stroking her hand and murmuring words of comfort, even though she still lay unresponsive. “It’ll be okay, Mom. We’re getting you help.”

  Dirk paced behind the couch, back and forth, on the phone with Dr. Kareem in New York City. “Okay. Yes. I understand, doctor. We’ll get her airlifted as soon as the winds die down.”

  Grace—in spite of the warning not to look out the window—trotted to the kitchen and peered outside, waving to get her father’s attention. “I think it’s letting up, Dad.”

  Dirk nodded his thanks and relayed the information to the doctor.

  Anderson scooped her away from the window. “What’s wrong wit
h you, woman? Do you want to get shot?”

  Ned kept vigil at the back window in the small bathroom, in case Murphy tried to get in through the back of the house.

  Portia sat in shock beside her mother, wondering how in the world so much could have happened in such a short time.

  I hope Murphy’s getting drenched.

  Even better, I hope he gets struck by lightning.

  Something felt wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Something even more wrong than her mother lying comatose on the couch, than Murphy lurking in the woods, than the power being out.

  Something was off.

  It hit her in a flash. The dogs! Where are they?

  “Where are Boomer and Cupcake?” she said, straightening and running to the stairs. “Boone?”

  Boone appeared at the top of the stairs, his face stamped with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  “Are my dogs up there with you?”

  “I don’t think so. Let me check the bedrooms.” In less than a minute, he was back, trotting down the stairs. “They must still be outside. Let me check.”

  Portia almost beat him to the kitchen door, but he caught her before she could turn the handle.

  “No.” He turned her toward him. “He’s still out there. He’s waiting to get another shot at you.”

  “But my dogs,” she said, tears springing to her eyes.

  “I know.” He gentled his voice, steering her to a kitchen chair. “Sit while I check.” He locked eyes with her. “Please, Peaches?”

  “Okay.” She nodded and sat still, but didn’t want to be manhandled like that. It reminded her too much of Murphy. But a tiny part of her knew he had her best interest at heart. It wasn’t controlling, it was protecting. There was a vast difference, and she had to start realizing that if she was going to live her life without bristling every time someone touched her or tried to help her.

  Boone sidled up to the kitchen door, and moved the curtain back a half inch. “Rain’s letting up. But I don’t see the dogs on the porch.”

  “I know they came out with us, Boone. Just before he fired at us.”

  “Right. I know. But I don’t remember them coming back in, do you?”

  “Since we were getting shot at, I’m embarrassed to say all I could think of was getting inside when you scooped me up and carried me. I left my poor babies out there.” She felt tears welling again, but this time, she was able to stop them. Wiping them away fiercely, she stood. “Open the door a crack and let me call them.”

  Boone nodded. “Okay. Maybe they took cover in the barn.”

  “No. They’d be scratching at the door. Woofing to come in. That’s their way. You know they never leave my side. Not if they can help it.”

  Boone motioned her over to the side of the door. He turned the knob and opened it an inch, keeping her back from it with his muscled forearm.

  She leaned toward the opening, and whistled. “Come on, guys. Boomer! Cupcake! Come to mama.”

  Grace glanced up from the chair across from her mother, where Anderson had plunked her after she looked out the window. “The dogs are missing?” She sprang up and joined them at the door, leaning forward to do her own calling. “Boomer! Come on boy! Cupcake. Come get a treat.”

  After five minutes of calling, Boone closed the door.

  Portia walked toward the coat rack for a slicker. “I’m going out to look for them. I don’t care what you say, or how dangerous it is. I’m going out.”

  She could tell Boone was about to launch into an argument with her, but his cell phone beeped.

  He picked up the call. “Sheriff Dunne? Yes. Good. Okay.” He peered out the window again. “I see you. Stay on this side of the barn if you can. Right. I’ll cover you.”

  With one wide sweep of his arm, Boone moved both women back into the center of the kitchen. “Stay. Put.” He lowered his brow. “I mean it. I’ve gotta cover the sheriff and his men while they’re out in the open, coming to the porch. Just stay there. Please.” This time his words were fierce, definitely not gentle anymore.

  Portia sighed, dropped the slicker on the rack, and gave in. “Okay. But we’re looking for the dogs as soon as we can.”

  “Of course,” he said, sliding the door open again and sticking his rifle through the crack. “We’ll find them. Now stay back, out of the way.”

  Chapter 48

  In five minutes, the house was full of dripping policemen. Portia busied herself making pot after pot of coffee, liking the feeling of having something to do, anything to do. She needed to keep busy to keep from thinking about her mother, Murphy, and her dogs. But of course, all she could do was think about them.

  Dunne held the phone to his ear, manning the center of activity from the kitchen. “Okay. Good. We’ll expect you in ten minutes.” He turned to Portia, Boone, and her father, who stood near him. “Mercy Flight is coming, they’ll be here soon.”

  She saw him glance toward the hills, where ten of his men swarmed over the muddy ground. The sun shown on the wet trees, and they’d opened the curtains to keep a better eye on their surroundings.

  Since Murphy shot at them earlier, he hadn’t tried again.

  Portia handed another cup to Dunne and glanced outside. “They haven’t found him yet?”

  “Not yet. But don’t worry. He shouldn’t be hard to track in this mud. We found evidence of his stand up there in the spruces. He was there, all right.”

  Boone pointed to the side of the house. “And that bullet in the siding should be enough evidence that he’s after Portia, Sheriff.”

  Dunne’s eyes turned to her, narrowing. “Have you told me everything now, young lady?”

  She lowered her eyes, backing up. “Um, yeah. Pretty much.”

  “You know, if we’d had the whole truth when you first came home, we might’ve caught him at his cabin where you knocked him out. He might be in jail as we speak, instead of wreaking havoc on your family.”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff.” She sank onto a kitchen chair. “I thought I’d killed him. I was afraid you’d arrest me.”

  Dunne snorted a laugh. “For self-defense? No charges would’ve stuck.”

  She stiffened. “But you hear about it all the time on television. You know, where innocent women are put in prison for killing their abusers.”

  “Well, maybe. But in real life, when a woman’s been kidnapped like you, and kept in bondage for years…there wouldn’t be much doubt about your doing it to protect yourself. Least that’s how I see it.” He waved his hands as if getting rid of a pesky fly. “But that’s in the past. Right now we’ve gotta keep you safe.”

  Her father stepped toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to come to New York with me.”

  A shock wave ran through her. “What?”

  “You’ll be safer there,” Boone said. “It’s you Murphy wants. And it’d be easier to protect you in a big hotel with secure entry.”

  Portia stood and faced her father. “Dad. Listen. Much as I want to be there for Mom, I can’t leave. I can’t run anymore. I need to be here, I need to find my dogs, I need to be sure the horses are okay.”

  Her father didn’t look surprised. He knew her too well. “I thought I’d try.”

  “I know.” She leaned in to hug him. “But the Sheriff here will take care of us. And I’ve got three strong men to help protect me.”

  Sheriff Dunne turned to them. “We’ll catch the sicko. You can bet on that.”

  “But, Portia.” Boone’s shoulders sank a half-inch. “You’re not safe here. Look how close he came to killing you today.”

  “I know. I do. But I can’t run anymore, Boone. I just can’t.”

  His lips tightened. “Okay. Well, if that’s the way it is, I’ll be here for you. I won’t leave your side until we catch the bastard.”

  “Me, neither,” Ned added from the living room.

  Portia smiled at Boone, feeling a sense of warmth invade her for his support. “Thank you, Boone.”
She called to Ned, too. “Thank you.”

  “You watch my girls for me, men. You take good care of them. Don’t let that filthy bastard near them.” Her father nodded to Boone, Ned, and Anderson, and the rest of the officers in the room. The sound of the helicopter came over the hills, and he hurried to Daisy’s side. “They’re here, baby. We’re bringing you back to Dr. Kareem.”

  Chapter 49

  She woke at three thirty in the morning to the sound of dogs barking. With a start, she sat bolt upright in bed.

  Cupcake. Boomer.

  Did I dream it?

  Grace snored softly beside her, mouth open and one arm thrown over her head. She’d insisted on sleeping with Portia, and had left poor Anderson alone in the guest room.

  Racing to the window, she drew back the curtains and peered into the dark, throwing open the window to feel the cool night air on her face. The barking came again, and it sounded like it was coming from the barn.

  She slid into her sneakers and was down the steps in a flash, pulling on her bathrobe over her pajamas.

  Heavy footsteps came behind her, and she turned to see Boone in his cutoffs. She’d forgotten he was sleeping in her parents’ bedroom.

  “Did you hear that?” she said. “It’s the dogs.”

  He touched her arm when they got to the bottom of the steps. “Wait. It could be a trap.”

  She whirled on him, sick of him trying to order her around. “There’s a policeman outside, sitting in his car. We’ll get him to go with us if you’re afraid.”

  His eyes widened. “Afraid?” He snorted, then faced her, almost nose-to-nose. “I’m trying to save your damned life, Portia. Get with the program.”

  She stood taller, ready to argue with him, then noticed the empty spot on the couch where Ned had been sleeping. “Where’s your brother?”

  He swung his gaze to the couch. “Ned?” Four long paces took him to the back of the room, where he glanced into the bathroom. “Buddy?”

  Portia checked the kitchen. “He’s not in here. Maybe he already went out to check on the barking.”

  Boone grabbed his rifle and picked up his phone, dialing Ned’s number. He waited, watching outside. “No answer. Let’s get the cop’s attention. He told me to flick the lights if we wanted him.”