Left To Die (28 page)

“I thought you might want to change clothes,” he said as he placed the bag near her.

She cleared her throat. “That would be nice.”

“I’m not sure you can get any pants over your ankle.”

“I’ll see.”

He hesitated. “Do you need some help? I could—”

“No!” Her reaction was swift, her voice louder than she’d intended. “Sorry. No, I think I can handle it myself.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You know, I think I should change my diagnosis. You’re getting around pretty well for having cracked ribs. There’s a chance, if you’re lucky, you might just have bruised them. Trust me, they would still hurt like hell.”

“Believe me, they do.”

“But if they were cracked, you wouldn’t be able to move like you do.”

“Good.” It didn’t matter if they were cracked or broken, they still pained her. “If you don’t mind, would you just carry my bag into the bedroom?”

He did as she asked, and she climbed to her feet and eased into the bedroom, where she closed the door and, with more trouble than she thought possible, changed her underwear and bra and slid cautiously into a heavy-necked sweater. Her ribs ached with each movement, but she was determined to get through the ordeal. Her jeans were a little more difficult, but she did have one pair of boot-cuts that were slightly too big and she managed to pull them over the bulge of tape around her ankle.

Afterward, she even slapped on some lipstick and a bit of mascara and, using the small mirror over a beat-up bureau, surveyed her image. It was better, although her skin was still greenish and scraped, her eyes sunken.

Half an hour later she emerged, returning to the living room, where the fire was crackling loudly and MacGregor was stacking more wood on the hearth. The pile was now nearly three feet high.

She knew why.

“You’re leaving,” she said, realizing he was trying to make it easy for her to keep the cabin warm while he was gone. A black pot simmered on the coals and packets of dried soup and oatmeal were stacked on a table near the fireplace.

“If I don’t go now, I might not get another chance. I’m determined to find a way to get you out of here. If I can make a phone call, I’ll do that. If I have to saw through some of the trees to open up the roads, then I’ll be a little longer. In any event, I should be back in a few hours. At least before dusk.”

The thought of being in the cabin alone, just sitting and waiting, was difficult. But she didn’t have any choice.

“I’m leaving Harley with you, and there’s the gun in the closet.”

She nodded.

He walked back to the spot where she was still standing, balanced on her crutch. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, and then, to her surprise, he brushed the barest of kisses against her cheek. “Hang tough.”

Chapter Seventeen

Help me!

Oh God, please, someone help me!

Rona struggled, fighting the cold, battling the constricting rope that lashed her to the tree, but the more she squirmed, the tighter her binds cut into her flesh. She tried to scream, to yell, to let someone know what he was doing, but the gag, more like a damned muzzle, held back her voice and the only sounds she heard were muffled cries, the frantic beating of her heart, the rush of the wind and her mind screaming at her that she’d been a fool. A fool of the worst order.

How could she have trusted him, this monster who was binding her to the rough bark of a tree? He’d slid her clothes off and she hadn’t resisted. Had he drugged her? Had she been paralyzed with fear? Or had she felt so desperate and alone that she longed for his attention?

Oh God, she’d been an idiot, letting him skim off her clothes, allowing him to kiss her skin and then, when she was caught in an instant between temptation and fear, slip the noose around her neck. Only then did she realize how deadly was his trap.

Please, God, help me
, she prayed, tears falling from her eyes as the frigid snow, hard with crystals, bit at her skin, causing it to pimple with the cold.

Surely he didn’t mean to leave her here.

This had to be a test, that was all.

She heard him grunt as he pulled on the restraints and her back was yanked hard against the rough bark of this solitary fir tree. In front of her was a meadow, now covered in snow. She blinked hard, trying to dislodge the white flakes, hoping to see a way out of this horrible, freezing situation.

“Let me go! Don’t do this. Please, please!” she cried, but her words were mute and dull, nearly unintelligible. And they were falling on deaf ears.

He’d known he was going to kill her.

All along.

And yet she’d believed him when he’d said he would take her to safety, that as soon as the storm lifted he would get her to a hospital or find a phone and call 911. Or…

And you fell for it. You dumb little fool!

She began to cry again, tears streaming from her eyes, blurring her vision and tracking down her icy cheeks. God, she was cold. Colder than she’d ever been in her life. Her bare nipples felt raw and puckered and there was no source of heat in her body. Even her blood felt sluggish and thick, and for the first time her feet began to go numb.

Frostbite.

Exposure.

Killed by Mother Nature and her own stupidity.

If only Connor was here…he would help her…
Connor, oh love, what…what have I done?
Blackness pulled at her consciousness and she tried to stay awake, to take one last look at the bastard’s handsome face, but her thoughts were leaving her and she thought she saw Connor standing before her, whispering that she’d only gotten what she’d deserved…then there was someone else…a woman…“Mom?” she said to the apparition because, really, her mother had been dead for nearly three years…but…

The darkness came again, swallowing her and she was vaguely aware of the sound of pounding. As if someone were knocking on the door. “I’ll get it, Mama,” she said, though no words escaped her lips and her mouth tasted bad. “I’ll get it….”

Pescoli glanced down at her paperwork and stifled a yawn. What she wouldn’t give for a hit of nicotine to sharpen her focus.

“Son of a bitch!” Sheriff Grayson stormed out of his office, swearing a blue streak.

Every muscle around Pescoli’s spine went rigid and her stomach clenched tight as her fists. It was Saturday afternoon, the skies had cleared in the last few hours and several of the detectives had come into the office to catch up on paperwork or go over their notes. She tossed her pen aside and pushed away from her desk. “Let me guess,” she said, already knowing the answer. “Someone found another DB in the forest?”

“Yep,” Grayson said, his face muscles taut, his jaw rigid with barely suppressed rage. He was already stuffing his arms through his jacket, his sidearm visible in its shoulder holster. “We didn’t get the bastard soon enough.”

“What?” Brewster, who had heard the conversation through the open door to his office, strode into the hallway, his jacket in hand. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“Wouldn’t do it,” Grayson said as the undersheriff reached him.

“Well, fuck!” Cort Brewster’s ruddy face flushed in fury as he tugged his jacket over his sidearm. “That goddamned cocksucker.”

Alvarez, whose cubicle was on the other side of the partition from Pescoli’s, was already stuffing her hair into a cap as she hurried down the hallway between the desks to catch up with the rest of the little posse.

Through the open door of Grayson’s office, Sturgis poked his head into the hallway and gave a nervous little bark.

“Stay!” Grayson ordered as his dog started to put a paw outside the office. In a gentler voice, Grayson said, “I’ll be back soon, boy.”

With a dejected look, the Lab turned around and, casting a final woebegone glance over his shoulder, eased back into the office, where a dog bed filled with cedar shavings was tucked not far from a heat register.

Pescoli grabbed her jacket, purse and pistol. “Jillian Rivers?” she asked as she followed the sheriff.

Grayson nodded sharply. “Looks like the bastard got to her. Same MO.”

“Poor woman.” Pescoli couldn’t imagine the terror that must’ve been the victim’s companion as she was forced to walk naked through the forest and, unable to fight, was bound to a tree to face the elements. “Who found her?”

“A couple out hiking called it in. They found her in a clearing up near Cougar Pass. A dead woman roped to a tree, just like the others. Scared them spitless.” Grayson’s eyes were haunted, guilt and frustration evident in the lines around the corners of his mouth. “We were just too damned late to save her.”

No one tried platitudes.

As they strode through the building, their boots treading heavy on the flooring, he said to Brewster, “Call the state police. See if they can put up some helicopters to view the surrounding area, take pictures, see what they can come up with before a new storm hits.”

Pescoli added, “Have them make note of any cabins where smoke is rising from the chimneys. They’re out of power up in that area, and if our killer is around, he’ll need some kind of heat.”

“He might have a generator.”

“Then he’s buying fuel for it somewhere, propane or diesel, and lots of it.”

“We’ve already got calls into distributors in a hundred-mile radius,” Alvarez said.

“Then have choppers look for disturbances in the snow. See if it’s melted around any of the cabins that are supposed to be vacant. Generators give off exhaust and heat and noise. Maybe someone’s heard one running that shouldn’t be. And let’s bring out the dogs. Maybe they can finally get a hit or lead us to where the bastard is.” Grayson shoved open the glass door so hard, it banged against the building.

The sun was nearly blinding. Beams dazzled and bounced off the mantle of white, while the chain on the flagpole clanged in the wind that caused the Stars and Stripes to wave. Clumps of snow shuddered and fell from branches of trees planted near the parking lot.

Pescoli unlocked her Jeep and slid behind the wheel while Alvarez climbed into the passenger side. Regan was battling a slight hangover from one too many margaritas and not much sleep. Since Jeremy spent the night at his friend’s house, Pescoli had spent a lot of hours with Nate.

All of them worth it.

That man had a way of turning her inside out. Of course they’d ended up in bed; they always did. And though the lovemaking put a smile on Pescoli’s face, there was sometimes a hangover to dim the glow. This morning she didn’t have time to remember the way Nate’s muscular legs stretched out over hers, or how he grabbed the cheeks of her butt as he pulled her close to him. At least not now. Her concentration had to be sharp and on the damned murders.

She slid a pair of sunglasses onto her nose and, following Grayson’s rig, drove out of the lot and into the hills.

“Did you have a chance to see the paper today?” Alvarez asked as they drove past the “Welcome to Grizzly Falls” sign on the north end of town.

“Something interesting?”

“You might say, and the reason Grayson’s on a tear.”

“Something more than finding dead women lashed to trees in his jurisdiction?”

“Someone leaked details to the press.”

“What?” Pescoli couldn’t believe it. “
What
details? They already reported that the cars had been wrecked, probably shot at.”

“Now they know about the notes. Not all the details, but that the victims were tied to trees, a star carved over their heads. Before, there wasn’t any mention of the notes.”

Pescoli’s fingers tightened over the wheel and the headache at the base of her neck began to throb. One of the advantages the sheriff’s department had was knowing the true nature of the crimes, of keeping details out of the press, so they could sort out the real culprit from the nutcases who wanted their fifteen minutes of fame. Up in this neck of the woods, there were plenty of idiots who might want a bit of notoriety by claiming participation in the killings.

“Who talked?”

Alvarez snorted. “Unknown at this time. But my money’s on Ivor Hicks. That guy can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“I know we can’t get through to Ivor, but maybe his family can.”

“He’s only got a son, and I think Bill tries to keep his distance from the old man. Wouldn’t you?”

“I’d move away,” Pescoli said.

“Would you?” Alvarez shook her head. “People stay where they want to. Near family, even if it’s not that great.”

Pescoli thought about it. She was still in the same town as her ex. Maybe Alvarez had a point. Or did she? “You moved.”

“Yeah, well, the job opportunities where I grew up were limited.”

“Not like here in Grizzly Falls.” Pescoli turned off the main road and started along the uphill grade leading into the mountains.

Alvarez didn’t respond, but that didn’t surprise Pescoli. Her partner was always touchy whenever her family was mentioned. She’d never discussed it with Pescoli, but it was obvious there was bad blood in that family. Real bad.

“So someone’s got to keep Ivor from spouting off to the press.”

“If it was Ivor.”

“Who else?” Pescoli asked.

“Now there’s an interesting question,” Alvarez stated. “Who else indeed? Anyway, the point is, someone did the honors and Grayson is
not
amused.”

“I’ll bet.” Pescoli kept the sheriff’s Suburban in sight while half-listening to the police-band conversation crackling over the hum of the Jeep’s engine as it climbed the steep mountain road, tires digging into the sanded, packed snow. Tree trunks, flanking the side of the road, were obscured by mounds of ice and snow that had been tossed to the side by the heavy blades of the plows that worked these hills.

They passed no cars as the convoy of vehicles headed to the latest killing ground.

Pescoli tried to picture this part of Cougar Pass, about fifteen miles out of town. It was accessible only by an old mining road, which was buried in snow but protected enough that they would be able to trudge the hundred yards to the spot where the body had been left.

“We’re gonna need boots and shovels today,” she said. “This guy sure likes distant locales.”