Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

R olling through a stop sign, Mark checked the screen of his cell phone against the road signs. He was on Route 28 headed north, looking for Route 11, but this wasn't it. He accelerated, careful not to slide in the snow. He'd been driving as fast as possible on the narrow roads leading from Concord to Alton, but with the traffic and the weather, that wasn't very fast. Whoever had his wife was fighting the same obstacles.

Slow them down, Lord. Speed me up.

He'd been praying since he'd left the bookstore a half an hour earlier. Protect Amanda. Give her peace. Guide her. Give her wisdom. Draw her to Yourself. Let her call out to You. Oh God, make her Yours! If she dies tonight, let her find You first.

That last prayer brought tears, which he wiped away to focus on the treacherous road.

He'd let Amanda go because he'd believed it was what God wanted him to do. He'd thought that by letting her go, he might somehow win her back, or at least have the opportunity to share his faith with her. But if she died tonight, she would die not only without knowing Christ, but also believing Mark didn't want her anymore. Angry with God for allowing Amanda to be kidnapped, trying to trust God to protect her, and desperate for God's help, all at the same time. It was too much.

With a quick shake of his head, he forced himself to focus on his mission. He had to find her and save her. He couldn't let his emotions get in the way.

His phone rang just as he spotted the sign for Route 11.

He flipped on his turn signal and answered. "Chris?"

"I've pulled up the satellite image of the property. It looks like the house sits on about twenty acres. It was built in the sixties, and it's been in their family ever since."

"What can you tell me about it?"

"Well, I think it's safe to assume they won't go inside the house. They're probably?—"

"I doubt Alan is with them. If he wanted to kill her, he'd have done it long before now. He probably just delivered her to Sheppard." His voice cracked. "It was her biggest fear."

"You're going to find her, Mark."

He wanted to argue, to demand to know how Chris could be so confident. "What can you tell me about the property?"

"It looks like the house sits a couple hundred yards from the road. Beside the house, there's some sort of storage building or detached garage. I don't see any other structures."

"Roads going in?"

"There's only the long driveway. But . . . I can't tell from here, Mark. It looks like there are other paths that may be wide enough for a car to travel. Not roads really, nothing paved. I just don't know."

"Okay. If you were going to . . ." Mark swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. "If you had to bury a body, is there any obvious?—?"

"Not that I can see. On the satellite, it looks like thick forest. You'll have to find them when you get there."

Despair seeped in through the cracks of his demeanor. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know, but you will. It's what you do. Remember Afghanistan? You were always able to sniff out the targets. It's your gift. This is why you have it."

"You really believe that?"

Chris paused. "Yeah, I do. I believe God gave you those instincts because He knew someday you'd need them to rescue your wife."

His eyes burned with emotion. "I hope you're right."

"What else can I do?"

"I don't know. Nothing. Pray. Just . . . just pray."

The trunk popped open, and Amanda blinked in the sudden light, focusing on the giant silhouette of Gabriel Sheppard.

"Here we are." His face was cast in shadow as her vision adjusted to the brightness, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "Climb out."

Stiff and sore, she sat up and tried to work the kinks out of her muscles while Gabriel watched, a look of amusement and anticipation on his face. Had she ever considered this monster handsome? Right now, she saw only evil.

In his left hand he held the long handle of something resting on the ground, and when she sat up in the trunk, she saw the wooden shaft led to a shovel—the shovel that would dig her grave.

"Let's go."

She jumped to the snow-covered ground He grabbed her upper arm as she steadied herself, giving her no opportunity to run .

They were in the center of a small clearing surrounded by trees, towered over them as though prepared to swallow it up. How had the car maneuvered along the narrow lane that dead-ended here? Once her eyes adjusted, she realized it wasn't bright after all, not with the heavy clouds hiding the setting sun. It was late afternoon, which meant they hadn't driven far from the bookstore in Concord. Not that it mattered. Nobody would ever find her out here.

The air, thick with drifting snowflakes, carried the slightest scent of a wood-burning fire from somewhere, but when Amanda scanned the forest, she saw no signs of a house.

"Come on," he said, yanking her arm and heading toward the woods.

No wind, no birds, no rustle of leaves. Nothing interrupted the eerie silence except the rhythmic sound of the shovel hitting the ground, Sheppard using it as a walking stick. Step, step. Thunk. Step, step. Thunk.

"I'm supposed to just walk to my grave?" she said, stumbling along beside him.

"I'm afraid that's what we've come to."

"The shovel is optimistic, don't you think? The ground must be frozen solid."

"By now, perhaps, but I dug your grave last week. You'll be buried right beside sweet Maryanne. I'll use the shovel to fill the hole."

Her stomach seized. She stopped, bent at the waist, and hugged herself. "Why? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Now that's an interesting question, my dear." He tugged on her arm, forcing her forward. She stumbled, righted herself, and walked beside him until they entered the forest on a skinny, overgrown path. He pushed her in front of him but kept his grip on her arm. "I suppose I could ask you the same thing. Why did you decide, all of a sudden, to plot to ruin me? "

She held her panic at bay. Ignoring the ache in her arm, she grabbed a nearby twig and snapped it. "I wasn't trying to ruin you, Gabriel. I was just . . . I guess I needed healing."

He uttered an evil laugh. "Healing through vengeance? Interesting concept, but I doubt I'll find any evidence that it works in my psychology textbooks."

They kept walking. She snapped another twig. "I didn't even mention your name in the memoir."

"You said enough. And isn't it interesting how, in retrospect, you could find me so reprehensible when, at the time, you were quite fond of me."

She bent a branch as they walked by. "You used me, Gabriel. You seduced me, and?—"

"I seduced you? Fascinating. I wish I had more time to study this phenomenon on selective memory."

"I remember I was sixteen, and you were a grown man who was supposed to be helping me."

The path widened, and he shifted to walk beside her, his hand never loosening its grip. "Ah. Well, that's true. I've always had a weakness for teenage girls. But we can't let that information get out, now can we?"

"So you're just going to kill me? I thought you cared for me."

He shrugged. "You made your choices. If you'd kept your mouth shut, none of this would be happening."

She grabbed a branch and tried to bend it, but it was too thick.

"What are you doing, my dear?"

She slid her hand into her pocket, felt the cold steel of the pepper spray.

"Are you trying to leave a trail?"

"I wouldn't want you to get lost trying to find your way out."

He laughed then. "How thoughtful of you. Do you really think someone's going to find you?"

She reached her hand out and grabbed another twig, just to annoy him. "Maybe, eventually." But it would be too late.

They walked in silence, Amanda concentrating on taking in the landmarks, such as they were. They were deep in the woods now, far from the lane they'd driven in on, walking along a narrow, pine-needle-covered path. She stumbled often on the uneven ground, the two inch heels of her leather boots sinking into the forest floor, slipping on the soggy leaves. The snow was still falling, but much of it must have accumulated on the canopy above them, because on the ground the coverage was patchy, like the fur on a panda bear. Dark here. White there.

She could hear Mark's voice in her head as she walked to her own grave. Don't panic , the voice said. Take in the space around you. Be ready when the opportunity presents itself. Don't rush — you only have one shot to get away.

It was interesting that Amanda was hearing Mark's voice, but she decided to savor it instead of analyze it. His voice in her head was the only thing keeping her sane right now. Maybe Alan was right. Maybe she really was crazy, and the voice in her head proved she'd snapped. And who could blame her? Her marriage had fallen apart. A man she'd been attracted to turned out to be a crazy person helping the monster who wanted her dead. Of course she'd snapped, because the voice was telling her not to panic, and the only reasonable response was to panic.

She fingered the pepper spray. She was ready. She was itching to use it and run.

Wait , the voice said. Be patient. The opportunity will come. And keep him talking.

"How did you find me?" she asked, obeying the voice.

"Find you? I never lost you."

"What do you mean?"

"I've known where you were all along. I knew when you transferred from Plymouth to Johnson and Wales. "

"How?"

"I kept tabs on you, of course. When I tried to reach you at Plymouth and your number was disconnected, I made some calls. I cajoled a student in the admin office to tell me where you'd transferred to, told her I was in love with you. People are so trusting.

"It was amusing to watch you try to hide from me. An unlisted phone number? Really, Amanda, so amateurish. As if something like that could have kept me from you if I'd wanted you." A branch had grown across the path, and Gabriel held it back with his left arm, shovel dangling beneath it, so they could pass. Such a gentleman. "But the fact is, I no longer wanted you. I knew as soon as you started college, you'd be done with me. Otherwise, do you think I would have proposed? Did you really think I was going to throw away my family for you?"

The words stung. Somehow, she'd always believed he cared for her. What an idiot she was. He was about to murder her. Of course he didn't care for her. She'd been wrong about Alan, wrong about Mark, and wrong about him. She'd been wrong about everything.

"But I kept tabs on you anyway, just in case you decided to start talking. It was a stroke of luck, though, that Alan worked for the company that published your cookbook. I asked him to let me know if you submitted anything else for publication. At first, I only told him you were an old friend. I would never violate doctor-patient confidentiality."

She'd forgotten Alan had worked for Mercury-Concord. So he'd told Sheppard about the memoir before she'd ever made the trip to New York.

Sheppard continued. "I knew when you got engaged, and then when you got married. I remember when your first daughter was born. Sophia, isn't it? Beautiful name. And then Madison. That one looks like you. I may have to look her up in a few years."

Nausea churned in her stomach until she could taste bile in her mouth. "You stay away from my daughter!"

"Or what? Are you going to haunt me?"

"I won't have to. You'll never get the chance to touch my daughter, because my husband will kill you. You might not get arrested for my murder, but Mark will know, and he'll hunt you down."

"Do you really think he'd be willing to risk a life sentence to avenge your murder after you filed for divorce?" Sheppard chuckled darkly. "You have a strong sense of your own power, Amanda."

"He loves me." Amanda froze. Her breath whooshed out of her, and she pulled it back in. Mark loved her. The truth wrapped around her like a down jacket, soft and familiar. Of course Mark loved her. He'd always loved her, and she'd been so stupid. So, so stupid.

Tears distorted her vision. She would never have the chance to make things right with him. She would die without ever telling Mark how much she loved him.

No, she would survive. She squeezed the pepper spray in her pocket, sniffed, and blinked back the tears. "He loves me," she repeated, angry at the way her voice cracked when she said it. She continued, making the next statement as powerful as she could. "And he will kill you."

"Perhaps.” Gabriel sounded pensive, not at all afraid. "I think Mark will decide he should stay out of prison to raise his girls. But you may be right. In which case, I'll have to handle it. I'm not afraid. I don't think your little soldier can outsmart me."

Her temper flared. Stay calm , the voice said. Not yet.

But he could stop at any time, and then it would be too late. They'd already been walking for ten minutes. How far into the woods did he intend to go? Tell me when, she prayed, hoping someone was listening. Show me what to do.

They angled around a wide curve, and she saw an old, dead tree had fallen across the path about fifteen yards in front of them, a tangle of branches and twigs blocking their way.

He slowed his pace as they approached. This was it—he'd kill her now. She had to act.

He looked over her head into the woods beside her, then into the woods on the other side. He walked slowly forward. His attention was diverted. Maybe he wouldn't notice the thick root that poked out of the ground in their path. Gripping the pepper spray, finger on the trigger, she stepped over the root and prayed he'd stumble.

He did, and in that moment she whipped the pepper spray out of her pocket, aimed it at his face, and pressed the button.

He turned, spewing an angry curse, and let go of her arm.

She bolted into the forest.

Just a few steps in, her heel caught on a root, and she fell, loosening her grip on the pepper spray. It rolled away. She wanted to grab it, but Gabriel was right behind her, screaming, one hand covering his eyes, the other reaching out for her.

She yanked her foot just in time, climbed to a crouch, and shot into the thick forest.

His arrogant demeanor gone, Gabriel screamed and swore.

She ran. Small, bare bushes filled the space between the trees, grabbing at her clothes.

Gabriel was following. She could hear him but dared not look. She must have missed his face when she'd aimed the pepper spray. It should have stopped him for a few minutes at least, but he was still on his feet. From the pain in his voice, at least some of the chemicals had hit him. But not enough—not nearly enough.

At least she'd slowed him down, and that gave her the opportunity to put some distance between them. She crashed between two pine trees only to land in a thorn bush. Ignoring the sharp stabs of pain on her hands, she yanked the branches from where they'd stuck on her wool coat and backed away, turning to her right, aiming only to be away from him. She avoided the clumps of snow as best she could, hoping he wouldn't be able to see her footprints on the moist bracken in the dim light.

She chanced a look behind her. He was not far.

"You'll never get away from me, Amanda." All his false warmth and confidence were gone. All she heard in his voice was cold hatred.

"I will hunt you down, and I will kill you. I was going to make it quick and painless, but after this . . ."

She ran faster. She was afraid to look as panic rose in her chest and threatened to erupt in a scream.

He’s not that close. You’re getting away.

She tried to believe that. Even so, she expected to feel his hand on her at any moment. Fear spurred her on. She had to find a place to hide.

"You'll pay for what you've done!"

She scanned the woods. Forest in every direction, but it seemed to drop off up ahead and to the left. She aimed in that direction and prayed she'd find a place to hide. Sure enough, about twenty yards ahead, the ground descended into a small depression. She ran, scurried down the hill, and looked behind her. She couldn't see him.

A tree had fallen across the hole. Its upturned roots formed a thick, chaotic ceiling over the opposite side. She picked her way to it, grabbing slippery tentacles for support. As she'd hoped, the overturned tree created a good hiding place. If she could stay hidden until the sun went down—it couldn't be long now—maybe she could escape in the darkness .

She burrowed beneath the tree, enduring a sharp pain to her head as a branch caught her hair. She yanked her scalp away and settled in the moist dirt, bending her knees to hide her feet, not knowing if she succeeded. The hole was so small, once inside, she couldn't move her head. She stared upward into the darkness between the thick roots, which twisted from the tree's violent downfall and curled around her head like a noose.

And then she waited. And prayed.