Ransom River (44 page)

T
he water swarmed over Rory’s head. The world dimmed brown, and sound muffled to a bubbling throb. The river pulled her, racing, through the concrete drain.

She surfaced, grabbed a breath, and looked back. The orb of light at the tunnel entrance bobbed and shrank. Boone was running toward it, looking as small as a dart.

She tried to stand. The water came up to her waist. She was going faster than she could run.
Holy Jesus.

On the roof of the culvert a shadow passed, and she heard a splash. She glanced back. Boone was outside the ever-shrinking tunnel entrance, but she didn’t see the suit. She had the strange visceral sense that an alligator had entered the water.

She swam. “Seth,” she called.

He had fallen faceup. Head above water; that was his only chance. If he’d rolled…Fear, sharp and black, opened like jaws in front of her.

The light zeroed to nothing. She bobbed up, tried to breathe without swallowing the cold dirty water. The current surged and tossed her against the wall of the tunnel. “God—”

She’d never seen the other end of the culvert. The exit could be barred by grids of rebar. She could get swept against it and have no way to get out. The urge to fight back upstream was almost overpowering. Lizard brain screaming:
Air. Light. Idiot.
The darkness felt smothering.

She still had Boone’s phone in her hand. Her fingers were shaking from the frigid water. She mashed the keypad.

The display lit up, weak blue light. The walls of the tunnel jumped into freakish relief. The tunnel ran straight, on and on.

The display shorted out and the tunnel went dark. Behind her came splashing. Like something hunting, beneath the surface. The suit.

She started swimming hard.

When the storm drain spit her into daylight, she gulped air as though she was starved of it. The river smoothed and rolled, a heavy brown snake. High above its concrete banks, the sun seemed to bleach the world to a white sheen.

She saw no sign of Seth.

Spinning around, she took a step back to the culvert. Could she have missed him inside? No.

She looked downriver. Scanned the banks. It was a dry day. If he’d climbed out, she should be able to see a trail of wet footsteps.

From behind, a heavy object hit her. It felt like sodden meat. She hollered and spun. Saw a hand. A man’s hand. It trailed away.

As it sank she saw a navy blue jacket. Cuff links.

The suit rolled. His skin was fish pale. His mouth gaped, full of water. His eyes were blank. He kept rolling. Facedown, he swept away from her.

“God. Oh Jesus.”

Shaking, she pawed through the water to the concrete bank. Her legs felt like they might at any second snap like reeds and drop her flat.

She climbed onto the bank and stumbled along, scanning both slopes. She swiped an elbow across her face. She tried to inhale and couldn’t. She was alone.

She ran along the sloping bank for three hundred yards, until the water roared into yet another storm drain. Branches and trash had snagged near the entrance. The water frothed away inside. The suit surfaced and hit the logjam and bounced off and was sucked into the culvert. She turned away.

Seth was gone.

She held there for a long minute, trying to convince herself she was wrong, that there had to be a way to find him, that if she only wished hard enough she could turn around and he would be standing behind her, smiling, saying,
Gotcha.

The wind kicked up. She began to shiver.

Addie.

Shakily she grabbed the fence and climbed. She felt as small and wobbly as she had at twelve. She swung over the top and dropped to the gravel on the outside. She ran.

Though she was cold her second wind came quickly. She’d run only a couple of miles. She was wet, and her jeans were chafing, her shoes splashing water, but she could run. She had to.

Boone had to be on his way to Amber’s house. As did Mirkovic.

But she knew something that she hoped Boone had not considered. On the far side of the hill, her parents had their acreage and work shed. The El Camino was parked under a tarp. The Elco that her dad fired up every month, and kept tuned, and which had a spare key in a magnetic case stuck inside a rear wheel well.

She picked up her pace, fast on the downhill. She reached the shed winded and unlocked the combination padlock. She scraped the door open. Inside, the car waited in dusty sunlight. She pulled off the tarp.

She knelt by the rear wheel and found the magnetic key case. The driver’s door creaked when she opened it. Inside, the cab was close and hot. She turned the ignition. The starter made a grinding noise.

“Come on.”

Through the windshield the hood looked long and sleek and as red as a fire alarm. She feathered the gas pedal.

The engine guttered to life.
Yes.
She gave it more gas. The exhaust coughed and the power of the V-8 rattled through the steering column.

She eased the car from the shed. A minute later she was roaring down the dirt road, spewing a tornado of dust behind her.

R
ory bombed up the hill in the El Camino. Past the crest, Amber’s house sat dispirited in the sunshine, as though poised for a long downhill slide. A Big Wheel lay upended on the lawn. The bare patches of dirt looked like mange. The road and driveway were empty. No SUVs, no wrecker. She half swerved to the curb, jumped out, and ran to the door.

She opened it without knocking. “Aunt Amber?”

The television was droning. She rushed past the kitchen. “Amber.”

At the end of the hall, Amber stepped from her bedroom. “Rory?”

“You need to get out. Now. How many kids are here?”

Amber looked uncertain. “You’re sopping. What on earth?”

“How many kids?”

Amber tucked her unruly hair behind an ear and cocked her head. “Just Adalyn. Only one boy comes on Friday, and he stayed home today with a cold.”

Relief washed through Rory.

Slowly, vaguely, Amber said, “What is going on? The sheriffs phoned a while back and asked if I was okay. Said, stay inside with the door locked, and they’d send a cruiser to keep an eye on the place.”

“Great.” Except that Amber hadn’t locked the door. How much OxyContin had she taken? “Where’s Addie?”

Amber pointed to the living room. “Why you asking about Addie?”

“Because I know, Amber.”

She let the words sink in. Amber’s eyes sharpened, turned bright. Rory hurried to the living room.

Near the burbling television Addie crouched over a clutch of trolls and ponies. Her brown curls framed her face. Rory knelt and put a gentle hand on her back.

“Hey. We’re going for a ride. You and me and your grandma.”

Addie looked up, curious but accepting. She stood and let Rory hoist her into her arms.

Amber shuffled toward her, eyes watery, fiddling with a bead necklace. “If the sheriff’s sending a car, how come we need to split?”

“Because the sheriff’s not the only one coming.”

Amber stood in the hallway, pale. “Who?”

“Mirkovic and his men.” For starters.

In the backyard, trees bent to the wind. Shirts flapped on the clothesline.

Amber pressed a hand to her chest. “Lord God Almighty.”

Rory walked past her. “Where’s Addie’s car seat?”

Addie said, “Ride in Amber’s car?”

“My car, honey,” Rory said.

Amber looked at the little girl. “She’s legally mine. I adopted her.”

“Riss doesn’t care about the law. Let’s go.”

“Riss surrendered her parental rights. She’s mine.” Amber put a hand on Rory’s arm to stop her. It was cold and trembling. “Mirkovic wants her?”

“Riss told you he’s the father?”

“It was a onetime thing. Not planned. That club Riss works at, Butterfly Bombshell, Mirkovic owns it.” Amber looked at Addie. “Riss…”

“Riss told
Mirkovic
he’s the father?”

Amber nodded and looked at the floor. “He’s coming because…”

“He heard your son say something that convinced him he’s
not
the father.”

Amber shuddered and her lips quivered. She apparently believed Mirkovic had fathered Addie. Or she’d been trying to believe it, though part of her suspected otherwise. And she didn’t want to know the truth.

“We need to go.” Holding Addie tight, Rory ran to the kitchen.

“Don’t judge us,” Amber said.

Rory’s skin was prickling. She picked up the phone. “The sheriff’s phoned here? That was the last call?”

“Why do you need to know if they was the last people to call?” Amber saw Rory’s face and took a step back. “Yes.”

Rory pressed Callback.

Amber said, “If Mirkovic thinks Riss lied to him about the baby…”

Amber’s tone said the rest: He’d seek revenge for her duplicity. Rory hugged Addie against her hip.

On the phone a woman answered, “Sheriff’s Department.”

“A man’s been shot at the top of the Ransom River storm drain.”

She tried to explain it clearly. Even to herself she sounded garbled and uncertain. “He was swept into the drain. Get rescuers out there.”

She tried to flatten her voice, but an image filled her mind: Seth, going down, hard. The flat crack of the gunshot reached her like a second blow.

“Your name, ma’am?”

She gave it to her. “And you’re sending a cruiser to my aunt’s house. Send it fast. It’s an emergency. I’m getting her and her granddaughter out of here. We’re going to drive to the minimart on the farm road.”

She peered out the window. Heard nothing. Saw nothing but blowing dust. “I’m driving a red El Camino.”

“Ma’am, do not leave the residence. Lock the doors and windows and sit tight.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

A blunt cool ring of metal pressed against the back of her head. A voice said, “Shh.”

She stilled. A man’s hand reached around from behind and took the phone.

Pressing the barrel of the shotgun to her head, Boone stepped into view.

B
oone’s face was flat. “Not a word.”

Rory didn’t move. Boone hung up the phone. Then ripped the jack from the wall.

Amber looked waxen. “Son, what are you doing?”

“Get the baby, Ma.”

“What happened to your face?”