Stranger on the Shore (30 page)

"What pickup?" Sam demanded.

"The truck I think nearly ran Sarah and me off Bald Mountain. The one Jordan may have seen at the ruins. Maybe the same one that followed him and Sarah to Eureka Springs," T.J. said smugly.

"Stop showing off," Jordan told him. "Where'd you see it?"

"Luther just towed it in to his place with a broken axle. The guy driving it is there, too."

Jordan grabbed the paper from Sam's hands and thrust it at T.J. "Is this the man? He'll be a little heavier now."

"What's his name" Sam asked at the same time.

"Name's Jackson. Lenny Jackson," T.J. said, studying the mug shots. "These look something like him, but I don't think it's the same man. The guy at Luther's is younger."

"Younger brother," Jordan said explosively. "Lenny is Billie Clyde's baby brother. Billy Clyde won't be far away." He turned his attention to T.J. "Where's Sarah?"

"At the farm. I put her car out of commission. She may be at the river. She said she might go swimming."

"Alone?"

"Sure. It's almost part of the farm. Why? What's going on?" Jordan was already halfway out the door.

"Jordan, wait," Sam yelled after him. "Take T.J. with you. I'll take care of Lenny and meet you at the farm. Go on, T.J. He can tell you what's happening."

* * *

Sarah gave her wet hair one last wring, flipped it over her shoulders, then picked up her towel and the basket containing her empty thermos and her half-eaten sandwich. She glanced around the grove one more time. Her swim had cooled her off but had done little to refresh her spirits.

What did she expect? she asked herself. Everything reminded her of Jordan. The shady oak where they'd spread the quilt, the old tree snag that had marked her starting point the time he'd challenged her to a race. Even the river. Everywhere she looked she could see Jordan.

She remembered the way he'd tossed his head, scattering droplets of water that caught the sun like shining diamonds. She remembered the effortless way his body cut through the water, swimmer's muscles rippling under the skin. She could see the long lean length of him stretched beside her on the quilt, his eyes alight with laughter, his lips tender and inviting.

Gone. All gone now. Because she'd been afraid to trust her own heart. Because she'd been afraid to trust him!

He said he'd be back, she reminded herself.

But that was over a week ago, some perverse demon told her. You have no one to blame but yourself. You sent him away.

Sarah sighed and began slowly walking up the hill. Somehow life's complications had gotten the best of her. Nothing mattered much anymore. Not without Jordan.

From the orchard at the top of the hill she looked down at the river. Maybe she should go back to St. Louis early. She certainly wasn't doing herself or anyone else any good here. Aunt Cinda was hardly speaking to her. T.J. wouldn't let her out of his sight if she left the farm. Even Jimmy Joe was avoiding
her. Her depression was catching.

She moved back onto the path that led through the woods, then crossed the pasture to the barbed-wire fence along the roadway. She paid no attention to the car moving slowly along the road, waiting only until the dust settled before crawling through the fence to the road.

She looked up when she heard the car turn around and head back in her direction. As it rounded the bend that hid the driveway to the farm, it pulled to the side of the road and stopped. She walked slowly toward it, fully expecting the driver to ask directions. It was easy to get lost on the unmarked back roads if you didn't know the area.

The door on the driver's side of the car opened, and the driver stepped out. Sarah felt a fleeting sense of familiarity at the sight of the large man approaching her. Several feet in front of the car he stopped, apparently waiting. Sarah continued toward him. She was less than ten feet away when she looked up into his face.

"Remember me, '
You evil hoor! You Witch of Endor'
"

She froze at the sound of his sibilant voice.

"I sure wasn't likely to forget you," the man continued, taking a step toward her. "Course, I have a good reason to remember you. You and your devil's work."

Her eyes widened in recognition. Dear God! Jordan, T.J., Sam—they had been right. That was the only thought she allowed herself before instinct took over. She dropped the basket and towel and ran.

The man was between her and the farm. On the road or the driveway he'd overtake her in the car. The pasture between her and home was all open land. No place to hide. Those facts flashed through her mind, one after another. She climbed the bank and slipped through the barbed-wire fence. She heard him holler, then start after her.

He'd put on weight since she'd seen him in the courtroom three years ago. He was probably out of condition, but he was still a big, strong man, and had the determination of the demented on his side. She'd told Jordan he was crazy. She just wished she'd known how crazy. As her mind played with her thoughts, her feet raced along the pathway at the edge of the pasture.

She stopped once, looking over her shoulder. He'd cleared the fence and was halfway up the path she'd just run. Sarah took a deep breath, pressed one hand to her aching side and ran for the woods.

The woods were her only chance. Get off the trail and find a hiding place. If she could get far enough ahead of him, maybe he wouldn't see where she left the trail. She looked behind her once again. Thankfully, he wasn't yet in sight. She angled off the trail, circled a bramble thicket and, trying not to disturb the foliage, crawled into the grove of sassafras trees and honeysuckle vines.

He was on the path in the woods now. She could hear him coming closer. Would he be able to tell where she'd left the trail? He was muttering under his breath, condemning all daughters of the devil, misquoting scripture and calling down damnation on Satan's minions.

Sarah lay as still as her laboring lungs would allow, hoping she was low enough against the ground for the tangled brush to hid the white flag of her blouse. She shouldn't have stopped here, but she had to rest, if only for a moment or two.

She listened for the sounds that would tell her he'd passed her hiding place and tried to ignore the stabbing pain in her side. She knew he wouldn't be fooled for long. When the path dead-ended at the river, he'd realize she was in the woods. But it might give her time to make it to higher ground. This thicket was too close to the trail.

The man was still following the trail. If he'd left the path, she would have heard the sounds of breaking branches and the shuffling of his feet through last year's leaves. Cautiously she raised her head. He was almost to the bend in the path. Once past that, he'd be out of sight and she could move.

Keep going, she urged him silently. Stay on the path. Just a little longer. As he moved around the bend, she cautiously began to crawl from the thicket, pausing every few moments to listen for the sounds of his return, praying she wouldn't hear them. Slowly she stood upright and looked around for a route. Then she began to move uphill.

Chapter 16

Jordan slowed the SUV to make the turn off the highway, then immediately resumed speed. The trailing dust cloud thrown up by the speeding wheels lingered in their wake. He had lapsed into tight-lipped silence after telling T.J. the results of his investigation in Tulsa. At any other time, he would have found the young man's colorful expletives humorous. But at the moment all he could do was agree with the sentiments T.J. so aptly expressed.

Jordan no longer had any doubt they were dealing with a madman. The presence of Lenny Jackson in Mountain Springs confirmed it. Billy Clyde would be somewhere close. He could only hope that the man had not located Sarah. Or that he was too much of a coward to try anything alone.

It seemed to have taken forever to travel the few miles from the highway to the farm's driveway. As he drove up the winding driveway, he prayed that she was here. His gut, however, was telling him a different story. He brought the vehicle to a stop in the turn-around area by the side of the house. There he sat waiting, grim-faced, his hands still on the steering wheel.

T.J. had said little after exhausting his supply of epithets. Now he looked at Jordan expectantly. "Aren't you coming in?"

"Not now," Jordan answered curtly. "Just see if she's here." He couldn't dismiss the nagging thought that told him she wouldn't be.

"There's no one here," T.J. confirmed a short minute later, jumping back into the front seat. Her grandfather's car is here, so she's around somewhere. Hot as it is, she's probably gone to the river. We can drive part way. It'll be quicker by road."

Jordan nodded his agreement, already turning the car in the driveway as T.J. slammed the passenger door. His feeling of urgency persisted.

They saw the strange car parked at the side of the road as they rounded the first bend. Jordan braked in front of the vehicle, and both men jumped from the SUV. In unspoken agreement they moved in opposite directions—T.J. toward the parked vehicle, Jordan along the road in the reverse direction.

"It's locked," T.J. said, rejoining Jordan. "No sign of the driver and it's got Oklahoma plates."

Jordan nodded, continuing to walk the roadway, searching for anything unusual. Then he spotted the abandoned basket and towel and froze.

His eyes searched the landscape—the recently mowed pasture, the hay stubble showing yellow through the green of new growth and the silent, stoic trees of the woodlot in the distance. There was no sign of life—no sign of Sarah—nothing to indicate what events had caused her to abandon her belongings in the ditch. Nothing but their mute testimony and the empty car.

"The woods—she'd make for the woods!" Jordan managed to say the words in spite of the rage choking his voice and the fear clutching his heart.

He began to run. T.J. was close behind.

* * *

Sarah left the cover of the thicket cautiously, not wanting to alert the man to her location. If he'd only remain out of sight until she reached the other side of the hill, she might have a chance of remaining hidden.

Staying low to the ground, stopping every few seconds to listen for sounds that would warn her of his approach, she moved up the ridge. She pushed through the tangle of undergrowth in her path, paying little heed to the briers tearing at her bare arms or the thin limbs of the underbrush slapping her unprotected face.

Just a little farther, she promised her tired body. Only to the top of the hill and over the crest. Then she could rest for a minute. She would be safely out of sight.

She stopped again, hugging the ground, the dusty smell of dried leaves in her nostrils, and listened intently. The unnatural stillness of the woods testified to the invasion of abnormal elements. No chattering squirrels, no singing birds, not even a breath of wind rusting through the high limbs of the trees, broke the deadly silence surrounding her.

Cautiously she raised her head, surveying the terrain above her, estimating the time and effort she would need to reach safety. The brushy undergrowth continued another ten feet up the slope before thinning out along the rocky ridgeline. Her only chance was to reach the other side of the hill unseen. She allowed herself another moment of rest, then warily began moving toward the crest.

The covey of quail was her undoing. They exploded in a combination of sound and fury from the thicket in front of her, a sudden whirl of wings in her face. Sarah automatically recoiled. On the trail below she heard a roar of rage, then the ominous sounds of crashing underbrush. With no time to catch her breath, she began scrambling toward the top of the hill.

Her gasps of breath were labored, her lungs burning in their need for air as she navigated the granite boulders that marked the crest of the hill and began her descent down the other side. She ignored the burning fire of her scratches and the welt on her forehead. Between her gasps for air she could hear the man still behind her.

Sarah estimated it would take him several minutes to reach the top of the hill. She had a little time to take cover, but her options were limited. There were no woods on this side of the ridge. The timberland gave way to a rocky, rolling pasture, its blanket of green marred by occasional granite outcrops and the untamed growth that surrounded them.