Sleepwalker (24 page)

Two pairs of gloved hands reached skyward, Tobe’s instantly, the driver’s more slowly and reluctantly.

“Make one wrong move and I’ll kill you,” Jason promised.

Having objected strenuously to being truly handcuffed to a tree in case she either needed to (a) fight or (b) flee, Mick freed her right wrist from the handcuff, which had not actually been fastened at all. Shrugging her cramped shoulders, drawing her Glock, she stepped away from the tree.

“Throw down your weapons,” she ordered, knowing as she did it that there was no going back from this. Unless she killed them, which she wasn’t about to do unless they left her with absolutely no other choice, Tobe and his buddy would tell this tale far and wide. As far as Uncle Nicco, his family and crew were concerned, she had just put herself firmly in the enemy camp. Mick thought briefly of Angie, knowing her friend well enough to know that she would never be forgiven for
what Angela would see as a betrayal of her family. The knowledge made her sick to her stomach, but there was simply nothing else she could do.

“Mick,” Tobe gasped. His eyes went round as quarters beneath the mask.

“You first, Tobe. Take your gun out and throw it down in the snow in front of me. Really, really carefully. You know I’ll shoot you if I have to.” She shot a hard look at the driver. “And you, don’t move.”

“Oh,
man,
Mick. The boss is gonna be so pissed,” Tobe moaned. Tobe had that right, she knew. Just thinking about how angry Uncle Nicco was going to be when he found out what she had done made her sweat. She didn’t dare take her eyes off their prisoners long enough to scan their surroundings for approaching enemies. But every sense she had remained on high alert. If another search party should come along now …

“
Do it
!” Feeling like she was about to jump out of her skin with anxiety added extra bite to her voice.

“This is gonna turn out so bad. Why would you even do this? I’m gonna catch so much shit.”

Turning a deaf ear to Tobe’s whining, Mick kept him covered as he extracted a pistol from his pocket and, at a gesture from her, tossed it in the snow. Meanwhile Jason disarmed the driver, catching a lot less flack in the process.

Moving to recover Tobe’s weapon, grimacing as she plucked it from the snow, she kept her eyes and gun fixed on both men, who, once again on Jason’s orders, had their hands in the air. All around them, the forest was coming alive with sound: the slurp of snow falling from trees, the whisper of the wind, the creaking of branches. But nothing at all that would hint of a human presence outside their little circle, for which Mick was thankful.

“Give me the handcuffs.” Voice low, Jason moved to stand beside her. Like her, he was careful to keep their prisoners covered at all times.

“One of the bracelets is locked around my wrist.” The tart reminder was delivered under her breath as Mick passed him her gun to hold while she unlocked the aforementioned bracelet. That done, she handed over the handcuffs, and he gave her back her gun.

Jason immediately advanced on the driver.

“Turn around and hug that tree behind you,” Jason directed him in a hard voice.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with,” the driver growled, but after a gesture from Jason’s gun he did as he was told, putting his arms around the oak’s sturdy trunk. Seconds later he had been securely handcuffed to the tree. With him neutralized, Mick felt better. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t consider Tobe dangerous.

“Sweet dreams,” Jason said. Plucking the ski mask off the driver—the guy was midthirties, blond, with a buzz cut and blunt features, and was, as Mick had been sure, a stranger to her—Jason clouted him hard over the head with his gun. The
thunk
of metal bouncing off skull made Mick wince. The driver grunted, lapsing into instant unconsciousness. Legs folding, he slid slowly down the tree.

Mick shot Jason a frowning look, which he was too busy rifling through the driver’s pockets to see. This part of the plan she hadn’t been apprised of, and that didn’t make her too happy. He was winging it, which made her nervous. The thing was, though, she could see Jason’s point. Gags were iffy things at best—and what did they have to make gags out of anyway? Given that, how else would they have been able to keep these two from yelling their heads off the first chance they got?

“You’re not gonna hit
me
like that, are you?” Tobe sounded frightened. His eyes slid from Mick to Jason back to Mick again. “Mick …?”

“Beats shooting you, don’t you think?” Jason responded cheerfully, having finished checking out the driver’s pockets and motioning Tobe,
who was stuttering, “I-I guess it d-does,” toward another tree. “Come on over here. Hurry up. And give me your belt while you’re at it.”

“What? My belt? Why …?”

“Do what he says,” Mick told him, reinforcing her words with a gesture from her gun, feeling bad for Tobe but not daring to show any hint of softness lest it embolden him to do something stupid. Sidling up to Jason, who was following Tobe toward the tree, she added under her breath, “You might want to speed this up.”

“Got it covered,” Jason whispered back.

She shot him a skeptical look.

“Ah, Mick, come on,” Tobe pleaded, handing his belt over. In response to Jason’s imperative gesture, however, Tobe reluctantly moved to stand with his back against another of the slender oaks. Impressing Mick with his ingenuity, Jason quickly hooked Tobe’s belt to his own. He then wrapped the elongated leather strap around both Tobe’s thin form and the tree, using it to pin his arms to his sides and him in general to the trunk.

“So, I’ll make you a deal: you don’t want to go off to dreamland like your buddy, you tell us how many other search teams are out here looking for us, and where they are,” Jason said to their captive, stepping away from his handiwork. The belt worked very well as a means of securing Tobe to the tree, as Mick duly noted. On his own, Tobe wasn’t getting out of that anytime soon.

“I—I don’t …” After one look at Jason’s face, Tobe gave up trying to lie. “Probably about ten. We’re supposed to be covering the roads leading up from the lake, and looking for a cabin or RV or something where you might have holed up last night.” He shot a reproachful glance at Mick. “Sheez, Mick, some of us was worried that something bad was maybe happening to you.”

While Mick felt a prick of conscience at what felt very much like her own betrayal of Tobe and the others’ friendship, which she knew was
ridiculous, because they would have shot her or turned her over to whoever in a heartbeat on Uncle Nicco’s or Iacono’s orders, Jason redirected Tobe’s focus with a snap of his fingers. “Where are they now?”

“All scattered out. But we went over this area last night, so a lot of them are further east. There are some cabins up that way they’re checking out.”

East being away from town, away from the expressway. Away from the direction they needed to take in order to get out of the forest.

“Any others close by here?” Jason asked.

“Otis and some guy are up by 92. And Snider and Abrizzo are around here somewhere.”

“Probably we should go,” Mick said to Jason, very calm.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed.

“Mick …” Tobe looked at her.

“Sorry, Tobe.” There was a note of sincere apology in Mick’s voice as, just out of Tobe’s sight, Jason lifted his gun over Tobe’s head, then clobbered him, too.

Thunk
. At the sound, Mick winced.

Tobe’s breath expelled in a
whoosh,
his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped like he’d suddenly been deflated. Only the belt securing him to the tree kept him upright.

“You promised him,” Mick said.

“I lied.” Jason was already striding away.

“Key?” Mick called after him. She didn’t even bother to ask where he was going, because she knew: to get the suitcase. God forbid he should leave it behind.

“Got it off the driver.” He tossed the key to her. Catching it, she tucked her gun into her pocket as she ran to the snowmobile. Hopping on, she started it up, feeling the machine throb to life beneath her. With a quick glance at the two men they were leaving slumped unconscious against the trees, Mick shifted the snowmobile into reverse. By
that time, Jason, lugging the suitcase, had reappeared. He was wearing a ski mask and gloves, and the change in his appearance momentarily gave her a start.

“Put these on. If they see us from a distance maybe they’ll think we’re them.” He thrust a pair of gloves at her. Mick recognized them instantly: Tobe’s. But she wasn’t proud, and while she hated the idea that Tobe’s hands might freeze, she hated the fact that her hands were freezing more. Pulling them on, she took the ski mask he gave her next and—after turning it wrong side out because she hated the idea of Tobe germs—pulled it on, too, tucking her hair up beneath it. Jason was right: seen from a distance, any other search parties would probably mistake them for Tobe and the other guy. Until, that is, they found Tobe and the other guy. Which she would make sure they did, once she and Jason were safely somewhere else.

“You want to scoot back?” He jogged alongside her as she carefully reversed out of the tight spot the snowmobile had been left in.

“Hell, no. And unless you’re planning on leaving the money behind, you’re going to have to let me drive, because somebody has to hang on to the suitcase, and it’s not going to be me.” She braked, shifting into forward. “Get on.”

Jason gave her a hard look, then appeared to realize that she meant what she said.

“Fine.” Throwing a leg over the seat behind her, he hiked himself into position and clamped the suitcase to his side. “You ever driven one of these things?”

“Once or twice. Hang on.” Cranking the throttle, she steered for white space as the snowmobile took off like a bottle rocket. Thrown backward, he grabbed her around the waist with his free arm. She had to smile. Michigan born and bred, with a father who loved all things outdoors, she was as comfortable operating a snowmobile as she was driving a car.

“Head for that service station you were talking about by the freeway,” he yelled in her ear. Between the roar of the engine and the whoosh of the wind whipping past, she could still barely hear him. “Maybe we can pick up a car there. And for God’s sake don’t hit a tree.”

That last was uttered as she dodged through a particularly thick section of forest. Mick smiled again at the very real apprehension in his voice. Then she quit smiling to concentrate on what she was doing. The forest looked like a winter wonderland, all white and sparkly from the previous night’s storm. But the layer of ice on top of the snow, coupled with the uneven terrain, made the going treacherous. With drifts piled everywhere like flash-frozen waves, and the iridescent crust misdirecting the eye, it was impossible to be sure exactly what was what. The biggest danger lay in the possibility that a log or rock big enough to wreck them could have been hidden beneath the snow. No, she corrected herself, the biggest danger lay in the fact that they might encounter Snider and Abrizzo. Or Otis and whoever. Or any of the searchers.

The mere thought made her stomach knot.

They were maybe ten minutes from the service station, running parallel to the road but still well concealed by forest, when it happened: a pair of snowmobiles swooped into view. Mick didn’t know where they’d come from. But all of a sudden, there they were, skating toward them, one right behind the other.

Uncle Nicco’s men.

Two on each machine. From the determined way they were driving at her, and the fact that the guy riding pillion on the lead machine was wearing the standard uniform pants of Uncle Nicco’s security crew beneath his puffy blue goose-down jacket, she had no doubt at all about who they were.

She caught her breath. Her heart gave a great leap.

“Shit,” said the man behind her.

There are two ways to play this,
Mick thought.
Keep heading right toward them, maybe even wave as we pass, and hope like hell none of the men on the other snowmobiles realize that we aren’t part of the search team, too. Or change course and hope like hell, etc., etc.

Even if the men weren’t aware that she and Jason were on the run on a snowmobile, even if they didn’t recognize that she and Jason weren’t part of their crew, it was quite possible that if they got close enough they might be able to tell that she was a woman. Even swathed in Jason’s coat and a pair of oversized sweatpants, with a ski mask covering her face and hair and gloves on her hands, she was afraid her size and build made her gender pretty unmistakable. The bottom line was that they weren’t going to be mistaken for just random snowmobilers.

Plus Jason was carrying that damn suitcase. If they got close enough, no way was any search crew missing that.

Stomach tightening with dread, Mick made the only call she could: she changed course, presenting to the oncoming men the side that was not adorned with a stolen suitcase full of cash. Trying to do it casually, she sent the snowmobile zooming up the hill toward the road, praying that the other snowmobilers would just keep scooting along in the direction in which they’d originally been going.

Would it work? The only way to know was to try.

“They’re following us,” Jason yelled in her ear. Mick nodded grimly. This she already knew, because she had just seen the snowmobiles’
bulbous white noses pop up in her rearview mirrors. Forcing her attention forward, she opened up the throttle little by little, not wanting to put on a giant burst of speed because that would be a dead giveaway, if one was still needed. Their pursuers never dropped out of sight. Every time she glanced in a mirror, her heart thumped harder. Her pulse pounded so loudly that it practically drowned out the roar of the snowmobiles. She could feel sweat breaking out on her palms. It was possible, of course, that the snowmobiles behind them were simply following what they thought was another search team for some entirely innocent purpose. It was possible that …

Pfft
.
Pfft
.
Pfft.

Mick heard the weird, whispery sounds that seemed to originate from somewhere behind her, but in those first few split seconds she couldn’t think what they could have been. Then the follow-up sounds—unmistakable, as they always made her think of a hand slapping flesh—clued her in in a hurry. They were taking fire from weapons equipped with silencers. The follow-up smacks were bullets crashing into trees.