Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) Page 17

  Portia ran to the porch light fixture and turned them on and off three times.

  Nothing.

  “Maybe he fell asleep?” she said, worry creeping into her voice.

  “Maybe.”

  Anderson came down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” He wore his pajama bottoms and slippers.

  “Dogs sound like they’re out in the barn, barking up a storm,” Boone said. “I can’t rouse the cop. And Ned’s missing.”

  Anderson came to full alert. “Oh, shit. Did you call Dunne?”

  “Not yet. I just want to be sure it’s not a false alarm. Ned could be right outside. Let’s head outside together, lights off. We won’t make a target that way.”

  Anderson grabbed his rifle and shrugged into a shirt hanging on the coat rack. “Okay. Portia, you stay inside.”

  Portia followed them to the door. “No way in hell. I’m coming with you.”

  Both men heaved sighs.

  “I want to see my dogs. I need to know they’re okay.”

  Boone didn’t argue this time. “Stand between us, and put on this sweatshirt, and pull the hood up.” He grabbed Ned’s navy blue sweatshirt from the back of a kitchen chair. “Tuck your hair inside. Don’t say a word. Maybe he’ll think you’re one of us guys.”

  “If he’s still out there,” Anderson said. “The cops think he’s taken off.” He flicked off the kitchen and porch lights and they slipped out onto the porch.

  Silence.

  Boone motioned to Anderson. “Check the officer in the car. We’ll look in the barn.”

  Anderson disappeared into the darkness.

  With his arm through Portia’s, Boone led her to the barn. He didn’t enter through the main door, but around the side, through a smaller access door. Barely audible, he whispered, “He’d expect us to come through the big door. If he’s in there, that is.”

  Portia shivered, finally realizing how foolish she’d been. Boone was right. It could be a trap. And she might’ve made him walk right into it.

  They reached the door and slid inside.

  Horses nickered and stuck their heads out the stall doors. Mirage kicked his stall door and snorted.

  Inch by inch, they worked their way down the aisle, patting horses heads and checking inside each stall.

  “The tack room,” she whispered. “I hear scratching at the door.”

  When they reached the door, he motioned her back. “Stay flat against this wall. Don’t move.”

  He pulled the door open and aimed his rifle inside, swinging it right to left. “Oh, shit.”

  Before she could react to his words, Boomer and Cupcake leapt outside, whining and heading straight for Portia. She sank to the ground and welcomed them into her arms, letting them lick her and cuddle their wiggling bodies against her. “Oh, my poor babies. My poor little doggies. Are you okay?” They covered her in dog-kisses, telling her their story.

  “Portia. Come here.”

  She leapt to her feet and hurried to Boone’s side, where she found him inside the tack room, leaning over Ned’s prone body.

  “Call 911.” He thrust his phone into her hands and rolled his brother over.

  “Oh my God. Is he okay?”

  “He’s out cold. But he’s breathing. And where the hell is Anderson?”

  A chill ran down Portia’s spine. “Oh, no.”

  Boone still whispered. “Make the call.”

  She punched in the numbers and summoned the cavalry.

  Chapter 50

  When Portia hung up, Boone took her by the shoulders and locked eyes with her. “I’m shutting you in here with Ned and the dogs. No arguments this time.” He picked up his brother’s rifle, which lay on the floor beside him. “Take this. And wait for me.”

  Portia nodded. “Okay.”

  Boone worried that she was just placating him, and that she’d burst out of the barn at just the wrong time to be shot by Murphy. “I’m serious, Portia. Murphy’s out here. He’s already put one of us out of commission.”

  “I understand. I’ll wait until the sheriff gets here.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” she whispered, glancing down at Ned. “Will he be okay?”

  “I sure as hell hope so.”

  Boone shut the door behind him, leaving Portia hunkered against the wall with both dogs on her lap and the rifle propped beside her. He slid out the side door again and flattened himself against the outer wall.

  Wait. Count to ten, then slide around the corner.

  It was still pitch black outside, and he hoped he blended into the night. Breathing steadily, he held his rifle firmly at his side.

  Slipping around the barn corner, he stopped and listened. Was that a moan? Someone nearby? He hurried closer to the patrol car, and noticed the back door hung wide open, and the dome light shone dully on a body on the ground.

  Boone’s heart sprang to life, banging hard beneath his ribs. He ran to the car, noticing at once that the cop was also lying sideways on the front seat. Anderson groaned, then tried to say something.

  Boone leaned over him. “What is it, buddy? Are you okay?”

  “Trap,” Anderson spluttered. “Behind you.”

  Boone whirled in time to see the heavy club swinging toward his face.

  The world turned black.

  ***

  Portia waited a full fifteen minutes.

  Still no police.

  Still no Boone.

  What the hell was happening out there?

  She picked up the rifle and cracked open the door to the tack room. “Boone?”

  The dogs followed her, inches from her legs, as if they’d been separated for years instead of hours. She was grateful for their company, and patted them with her free hand. “It’s okay, pups. We’re just gonna see what’s going on.”

  Carefully, she inched out the doorway, listening hard. “Boone?” She hissed the words. “Where are you?”

  She heard a door slam in the house, and a vehicle start up. The patrol car?

  Hurrying, she peeked out the barn door to see the patrol car skid past her, turn in a circle, and speed down the dirt road, away from the house.

  Had the cop seen someone? Was he giving chase?

  Her heart jumped when she made out three figures on the ground.

  Three bodies.

  Fear clenched her, sending shivers down her spine. She raced out to the driveway, realizing in seconds that the police officer, Anderson, and Boone lay unconscious on the cold gravel.

  How had he done it? How could he disable four men in such a short time?

  The dogs sniffed and licked the men, tails wagging, but whines emitted from both of them as if they knew something was terribly wrong.

  “Are they alive?” she croaked, feeling for Boone’s pulse first.

  There it was, strong and steady.

  Anderson was next. His heartbeat throbbed beneath her fingers, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed a big bloody gash on his head.

  The cop lay unresponsive, too, she saw his chest rise and fall. Then she caught the whiff of chloroform.

  Oh, God. He’d used it again, just like he did with her.

  “They’re alive,” she said, grabbing Boone’s phone that she still had in her robe pocket. “I’m calling for help.” She picked up her rifle and glanced wildly at the road.

  This time she punched in Dunne’s cell that Boone had programmed onto his favorites. He answered on the first ring.

  “Boone? We’re almost there. What’s happening?”

  Portia spilled her words fast. “This is Portia, Sheriff Dunne. Murphy came back. He knocked out your officer, Ned, Anderson, and Boone.” She waited for a second, then her voice became shrill. “I’m not kidding.”

  Dunne barked his questions to her. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

  “I’m outside, I…”

  “Get into the house. Now.”

  “Okay. I…”

  “Where’s Murphy? Can
you see anything? Hear anything?”

  “No. I think he just stole your police car.”

  “Wait a minute.” There were sounds of shouts and radios blasting in the background. Confusion. Yelling. The squeal of tires and a crash. After what seemed like eons, she heard him talking into his radio. “Christ almighty. The bastard just knocked us off the road.” She heard fumbling, as if he were reaching for the phone. “Portia? You still there?”

  “Yes. Are you okay?”

  “Hold on. I’ve gotta call for reinforcements. Maybe they can head him off at the highway. And I think I need a tow truck to get us out of this ditch. Go inside and wait. Lock your doors. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She hung up and dropped to her knees beside Boone, tearing off the duct tape that bound his hands and feet. He stirred, and she laid his head on her lap, feeling as if her heart would break. “Shh. It’s okay.”

  Anderson lay still, but she heard him breathing. Murphy hadn’t bothered to restrain him or the cop. He’d probably chloroformed them both. And poor Ned still lay alone in the barn.

  With a start, she looked back at the house. “I need help. We need Grace. Come on.” She settled Boone back on the ground and jumped up. “Boomer, Cupcake. Let’s go get her.”

  She ran to the house and burst into the kitchen, calling her sister’s name. How the hell had she slept through all this?

  “Grace, we’ve got trouble. Anderson’s hurt. Come on. I need you.”

  She pounded up the steps, getting angrier with every step. “Grace! For crying out loud, wake up.”

  She’s such a damned heavy sleeper. Always was.

  “Grace!”

  Finally in the hallway, she skidded around the corner and entered the bedroom, fuming. “I need you, for crying out loud. Get up.”

  She stopped. Inhaled a deep breath. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  The bed was empty.

  “Maybe she’s in the bathroom?” Portia said to the dogs, who sniffed and growled at the bedclothes.

  “Grace? Baby Cakes? You in there?”

  She knew. She knew before she looked into the empty bathroom that she wouldn’t find her little sister.

  No, Grace wasn’t in the bathroom.

  No, she wasn’t anywhere in the house.

  Murphy had stolen her.

  Chapter 51

  When Dunne answered the phone this time, he sounded pissed off. “Dunne here.”

  Portia hesitated for a split second, then croaked out the words. “He’s got her, Dunne. He’s got Grace.”

  “What? Portia, is this you? You mean Murphy took her?”

  “Yes. Please. He took her in the police car. I’m sure of it.”

  “Okay, hold on a sec. Let me report this. Just hang on the line.”

  She heard him barking instructions into the radio for three long minutes. Finally, he came back on the line. “Portia?”

  “Yes. Listen, Sheriff, we need ambulances. I think Murphy drugged your officer and Anderson. I smelled the chloroform. And he must’ve hit them over their heads first. Anderson’s got a bad injury on his head.”

  “Already called the whole fleet out to your place. They’re on their way. And I see my tow truck coming.”

  She heard sirens in the background.

  “And there are my reinforcements. I’m commandeering one of these cars and I’ll be there in just a few minutes, okay?”

  Portia kept the phone to her ear, but ran outside to check on the men again. “Okay. See you in a few.”

  She tried calling her father, but got no answer.

  Ned still lay in the tack room. She knelt beside him. His breathing seemed regular. She tried to rouse him. “Ned? Are you okay?”

  He moaned and slowly turned his head. “I feel like I’ve been kicked in the head by a horse.” He pushed himself up slowly and leaned against the door. “What happened?”

  Portia ran to the sink and wet a wad of paper towels with cold water. “Murphy happened. Here. Take this and press it against that bump on your forehead.”

  “Just give me a second.” He took a minute to orient himself, then stood up shakily. “Where are the others?”

  She motioned outside. “He got them, too. They’re all out cold.”

  “What?”

  Ned came to life, grappling on the floor for his weapon. “Where’s my gun?”

  With a guilty start, Portia realized she’d left it in the house. “I’ve got it. I’m sorry, we can grab it in a sec. But Murphy’s gone, Ned.”

  Still holding the makeshift compress to his head, he turned his eyes to hers. “How do you know?”

  “He stole the police car.”

  “How’d he…”

  “I don’t know. But there’s more.”

  “More?”

  “Yes. He took my sister, too.”

  Ned’s color drained to pale white. “Oh, God. He took Grace?”

  “The Sheriff’s got men chasing him. But I haven’t heard yet…”

  She helped Ned up and he hobbled outside with her, gaining strength as he moved. “Boone and the others are over here,” she said.

  The dogs followed close on her heels, and when they neared the downed men again, they once again began to try to lick them alive.

  Ned fell to his brother’s side, and she checked on the others. The policeman was quiet, lying on his back. This time, she noticed he was snoring.

  Alive, and hopefully well.

  Anderson’s head wound scared her. “I’m going in to wet a towel for his head,” she said. “It looks pretty bad.”

  “Okay.” Ned finished checking Boone’s pulse. “And grab a few blankets. It’s kind of cold on the ground here.”

  “Will do.”

  When Portia reappeared on the porch, she saw the Sheriff and several other officers jump out of two vehicles and trot toward the men on the ground.

  “Portia.” Dunne called. “Ambulance is just thirty seconds out.”

  She nodded and fell to Anderson’s side, dabbing at his wound gently with a warm, wet towel. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  He crouched beside her, feeling for Anderson’s pulse. “They lost him.”

  Portia’s heart slammed beneath her ribs. She turned to Dunne, whose serious eyes drilled into hers. “He got away?”

  “I’m sorry. They found the squad car abandoned out on the access road leading to your woods. It’s got an electronic retrieval signaler, or else we wouldn’t have found it so fast. Tracks there showed another vehicle had been parked before the rainstorm started, then left just recently.”

  “So he’s in a car we can’t track?” she said solemnly.

  “Right. We’re getting the tire tracks analyzed. We might know at least the class and size of vehicle. It looked like a truck or SUV to me.”

  “You know where he’s headed, don’t you?” she said, holding in the tears.

  “Where?” Dunne said.

  “Devil’s Lake.”

  Chapter 52

  An hour and a half later, the sun finally rose over the eastern hills, infusing the clouds with bright taffy pink and warming the air. With Boone and Ned awake and drinking coffee on her couch, Portia ferried cups to Sheriff Dunne and his men. After the ambulance took Anderson and the police officer to the hospital, they’d been piecing together the “Murphy” situation and reconstructing his clever attack.

  Four men down in the middle of the night. One attacker, who apparently never drew his gun. One bludgeon, and that damned bottle of chloroform was all it took.

  How could that be, she thought.

  The bastard owns one stealthy set of skills.

  How did he sneak up on each man, one by one, disable him, and then move up to the next one with such calm purpose?

  He’d surprised them. And somehow, he’d weathered the thunderstorms without getting caught or injured.

  Portia settled on the couch between Boone and Ned. Ned was in deep conversation with the Sheriff, so she turned to Boone. “How’s the head?” />
  He moved the ice pack to be able to see her better. “Getting numb.” A half smile slid onto his lips. “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  “Grace is one tough girl,” he said, reading her mind.

  “I know. She’ll probably give him a helluva fight.”

  He smiled again. “Yeah.”

  “Do you think he’s headed out west? Toward Devil’s Lake?”

  “Maybe. But he probably won’t return to the cabin for a while. Not until things cool down.”

  She got up and paced, suddenly realizing how close she’d been sitting to Boone. And hell, she hadn’t even cared. In fact, it had felt pretty darned good.

  Maybe with all that had happened, her stupid fears and panicked ways would finally go away for real?

  She paced around the room, looking outside.

  Portia didn’t know where she should be, she felt pulled in a dozen different directions.

  She should be with Grace, first and foremost.

  But no one knew where Murphy had taken her.

  Dunne had alerted the local Baraboo authorities, and they’d already staked out the cabin. Maybe he’d return to it, but after thinking about it, she figured he’d avoid the place.

  She should also be with Anderson, who’d been whisked away to the hospital, with what the EMTs thought was a concussion. He’d need stitches in his scalp wound. For Grace’s sake, she should be at his side.

  She wanted to be with her mother, too, in spite of the fact that she’d stayed behind to face Murphy. She still hadn’t roused her father on the cell phone. But it was early, and she’d try again.

  No. Here she was. Useless and fretting over something out of her control.

  What good had it done to stay home?

  All she’d done is to get her sister kidnapped.

  Why had he taken Grace, and not her?

  Did he think Grace was me?

  It was dark in the house when he’d come inside. Maybe he’d confused them?

  Her mind kept returning to Devil’s Lake. Murphy loved that place. His fishing Nirvana. He’d be lured back there, Portia was sure of it.