Serial Bride (16 page)

Dizziness swept over Sylvie. She gripped the mattress with tied hands, trying to hold on, trying to steady herself, to keep herself from falling into panic. But holding on couldn't steady her. Nothing could steady her. Not with Diana out there in the night. Not with the professor hunting her.

She had to stop him. She had to get free. But how?

She looked around the cabin. The light Bertram had left on illuminated everything, relentless as a cloudless sky. Unfortunately, even with the light, she couldn't see anything that would help her. The cabin was pretty bare. Only the two beds, a table at the center of the room and a kitchen area with wood-burning stove in the far corner. And although there might be a knife or scissors in the kitchen or something sharp in the vicinity of the stove, she couldn't reach it, not tied as she was to the bed.

Raising her head from the pillow, she looked down at her hands. White cord of the type used for clotheslines wrapped her arms just above her wrists, tying each to the bed frame. She could hardly move her hands. There was no way she could work them free. She'd be willing to bet Diana had spent days trying.

Alarm blared in her ears and seized the back of her neck. Just the thought of Diana scrambling for her life, weak and naked in the darkness, made the dizziness start all over again. She had to find a way to break free. She had to help her sister.

She studied her hands again, straining her neck, her abdominal muscles shaking with the effort of raising her body from the pillow. She took note of the way the cord looped around her arms. When Bertram had tied her, he'd hadn't pulled the cord tight against her skin. Instead he'd tied it over the sleeves of her chunky knit sweater.

She let her head fall back to the pillow. If she could stretch the sweater and work a sleeve out from under the rope, she might have enough wiggle room to get free.

It was sure worth a try.

She turned her head to the side. Bending her neck, she grasped her sweater between her teeth and pulled.

The cotton stretched. Little by little, she could
feel it slip against her skin and out from under the tight cord.

She gathered more of the knitted cotton into her mouth. More slipped under the rope. She was almost there. Leaning her head back, she bit down and tugged as hard as she could. Her teeth ached. The skin on her arm burned. Finally, the sleeve pulled free.

She spit the dry cotton from her mouth. So far, so good. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her arm up, working the bit of slack over her wrist. Over her hand. Free.

Blood rushed through her hand. Shaking out the burn and tingle, she made short work of the rope securing the other hand. Then she turned to freeing her feet.

She climbed from the bed and moved to the kitchen area as fast as she could on tingling feet. She needed to find a knife, scissors, anything she could use as a weapon. She yanked open a drawer.

It was bare. She opened another and another until she'd checked every drawer and cabinet in the small area. Each one was empty. She would have to find something outside. She would have to improvise.

She raced out the door. The night was dark and her eyes struggled to adjust. Finally she got used to the darkness, the slight glow of the slivered moon through leafless branches. The hulking black pine and fir. Steam rose into the night with each breath.

She had to be careful. She'd be willing to bet the strange-looking goggles she had seen Bertram carry into the cabin were for night vision. He'd be able to see her long before she could spot him.

Leaves and twigs crackled under her feet. She flinched with each step, waiting for a hand to grab her, the crack of a gunshot, the sting of a knife between her shoulder blades. She had no idea how many acres of forest stretched around them. She wasn't even sure where they were. All she could see was forest. All she could smell were fallen leaves and evergreen. But it hadn't taken too long to untie herself. With any luck, Diana and Bertram would still be nearby.

She still needed a weapon.

Searching the forest floor, she picked up a heavy branch. It was no rifle, but it would have to do. She had no better choice.

She crept around a clump of bushes. Twigs scratched at her sweater and clawed through her hair. Even though it was nearing winter, the forest felt alive. Eyes were watching. Human or animal, she couldn't tell.

Beyond the brush, a clearing stretched black in the night. She moved deeper into the trees, deeper into cover. Her only hope was to stay in the forest, to mix with the trees. Out in the open, she would be an easy target. At least she could fight through the
brush and thorns, at least she had shoes and jeans and a thick sweater. Diana wasn't so lucky. For Diana, the forest would be difficult going.

She edged around the clearing. If Diana was having trouble fighting the brush, she might be forced to stick near the clearing. And if that was the case, Sylvie had better find her first. Before Bertram did.

A scream shredded the air.

Too late.

Sylvie raced in the direction of the scream. She spotted them on the clearing's edge. Diana was on her knees, Bertram holding her by the hair. A knife blade gleamed in his hand.

She gripped the branch, her palms sweaty, and circled toward them through the edge of the woods. She moved as fast as she could, as fast as she dared. Creeping up behind him, she raised the branch to her shoulder. She swung it like a baseball bat, aiming at his head.

The branch connected. The blow shuddered up her arms.

Bertram released Diana. He spun to face Sylvie.

Sylvie swung again. “Diana, run!”

He grabbed the branch, twisted it from her grasp.

Diana stumbled to her feet. She ran, plunging into the forest.

Sylvie had to give her a chance to escape. A
chance to hide. She lashed out with a foot, kicking Bertram's thigh.

He grabbed her ankle and pulled.

She fell backward and hit the ground. Pain jutted up her spine and slammed her teeth together.

She gasped. She had to clear her head. She had to get to her feet. She had to run.

Pushing herself into a crouch, she looked up into the barrel of Bertram's rifle.

Bryce swept his flashlight over footings that had once served as a cabin's foundation. Grass grew high around the lichen-covered concrete. A white wooden cross and a bouquet of battered fake flowers leaned against one of the footings, the faded shrine of long-ago murders.

He let out a heavy sigh. It was a good thing he hadn't called the police and led them on a wild-goose chase to Dryden Kane's cabin in northern Wisconsin—a cabin that was no more. He sure as hell didn't want to deplete the resources and manpower they needed to find Sylvie. Of course, they probably would have known better than to drive all the way up here. No doubt Reed had already checked out Kane's cabin as part of his copycat killer investigation. He'd probably known the structure was gone a long time ago.

Bryce turned and walked back to his car. Maybe
by the time he got back to Madison, Nikki would have found Sylvie. Maybe it would all be over.

He could only pray that she was safe.

He opened the car door. Taking one last look around the pine and hickory and glowing white skeletons of birch, he lowered himself into the car.

A scream ripped through the forest.

Sylvie. She was here.

Thrusting himself out of the car, he raced toward her. He pulled his new pistol from his coat pocket, holding it at the ready as he ran.

He moved quickly through the barren understory of pine and fir. But before long the landscape changed. More deciduous trees took over the forest. Their leafless branches stretched to the starry sky, affording more light. But brush began to crowd his path. Thorned branches of wild blackberry ripped at his jeans.

He was thoroughly out of breath by the time he spotted the cabin and the white van outside. He was right. Bertram had come here, to the forest where his daughter was murdered, to act out his revenge.

A light glowed bright around windowshades and through small chinks in the cabin's log wall. This wasn't the cabin owned by Bertram. He must have rented it. Or bought it with cash under an assumed name. He must have been planning this hunt for a long time. Maybe since the first time he'd met Diana.

Bryce's gut tightened. Red crowded the edges of his vision. He took a deep breath. He couldn't afford to let his anger blind him. He had to keep his mind sharp, his ears open. Sylvie needed him, and he wouldn't let her down this time.

He crept toward the cabin. Reaching the door, he leaned close to its rough surface. Nothing but silence reached him from inside. No voices. No movement. Gripping the pistol, he moved into position. Taking a deep breath, he twisted the rusty doorknob and shoved.

The door flew open. He lunged into the cabin, sweeping across the small space with his gun.

The place was vacant.

The scream he'd heard must have come from outside. The hunt had already begun.

He left the cabin, moving through the woods as quietly and quickly as possible. Sylvie had to be out here. She had to still be alive.

He wound through trees and brush. Stars and moon glowed in the sky. Shadow puddled under pine. Something caught his eye—a golden sparkle of hair. A white gleam of skin.

She huddled in a small copse of brush. White cord tied her hands in front of her. Makeup smudged her face and cupped beneath her eyes. She sensed him, turning hopeless eyes in his direction, as if resigned to death.

She looked so much like Sylvie, Bryce could feel it in his chest. “Diana?”

Her eyes widened, as if she just realized he wasn't Bertram. “Please. My sister's out there. He's after her.”

His heart hammered, feeling as though it would burst from his chest. “Where?”

She pointed away from the cabin, through the thick of the trees.

Bryce pulled off his overcoat and wrapped it around her shivering body. He pulled the collar over her head to hide her blond hair. “Here. He won't be able to see you in this.”

She held the coat tight at her throat and huddled at the base of the bushes, blending with the shadow.

“There are keys in the pocket that fit a blue BMW that's parked just to the west of here.” He extended a finger, pointing out its location. “Drive to town. Get the sheriff.”

He could see her nod, a slight shift under the cover of the overcoat.

“Sylvie?”

“Don't worry. I'll find Sylvie.” And if Bertram had hurt her, he'd put a bullet through the bastard's head.

 

B
ERTRAM STEPPED TOWARD
Sylvie, his rifle leveled at her chest. Eyes hidden by night-vision goggles
and face twisted with anger, he looked inhuman. Insane. “Go ahead and scream. No one can hear you. Not this week. I've rented all the cabins around here. That's why he brought them here, you know. So he could enjoy their screams. Revel in their fear.”

Nausea swirled in Sylvie's stomach. Revulsion. “You enjoy it, too, don't you? You really are like him.”

Bertram flinched. “I don't want to do this. He has given me no choice.”

Fear no longer rang in her ears, no longer pinched the back of her neck. She'd had it with Bertram. His self-pity. His excuses. She wanted to shove his words down his throat and make him choke on them. “It's time you stop blaming Kane for everything you do. It's time you stop letting him determine your life. It's time you stand on your own goddamn feet.”

Reaching out, the professor clamped down on Sylvie's throat.

She gasped, struggling for air. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and reached to his belt for his knife.

So this was how it would end? Right here in the clearing? At the hands of this asshole?

Not a chance.

Summoning all her strength, Sylvie plowed her foot backward. She connected with his knee.

He grunted.

She kicked again.

He staggered back. He released her throat.

She twisted and ran, dashing across the opening. Racing for the cover of brush and trees. Zigzagging as much as she could to keep him from getting a clear shot.

Gunfire split the air.

She tensed her back, waiting for the bullet's sting. Waiting for the force of it to knock her to the ground. Waiting for all of it to be over.

But no pain came. Had he missed?

She didn't dare look over her shoulder, didn't dare slow down. She reached the edge of the forest, crashing through brush, jumping logs. She ducked behind a tall pine, hugging the trunk.

“Sylvie!” His voice was far away, still in the clearing, but she'd recognize it anywhere and from any distance.

Bryce.

She peered out from behind the tree. Starlight glowed in the clearing, turning the grass silvery through the leafless trees. A shadowy figure moved toward her. Too tall for Bertram. It could only be Bryce.

“Bryce, he has a rifle.”

“He's dead, Sylvie. The professor is dead.”

Dead? “Are you sure?”

“I shot him. I made sure.”

She closed her eyes and clung to the rough bark, her whole body shaking. “Diana?”

“She's fine. She's hiding near the cabin or on her way to the sheriff. I gave her my coat.”

She looked back toward the clearing, toward where she'd last seen her sister. It seemed so long since she knew Diana was okay. Moisture blurred her vision, turning the forest into a mosaic of light and dark. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure. I promised her I'd find you.”

And he had. She moved away from the tree, walking toward Bryce. She didn't know why he was here, why he'd come back. It was enough to know that he had.

Reaching her, he grasped her hands, enfolding them in his. “Before we go back, I have to talk to you. There's so much I need to say.”

She held her breath and looked into his warm hazel eyes. She had no idea what he wanted to say, whether it was good or bad, loving or regretful. But whatever it was, it wouldn't change anything in her heart. She'd lived too long in her protective cocoon, afraid to risk, afraid to have her heart broken. And what had it gained her? A lonely life where she had acquaintances instead of friends. A sister who was afraid to tell her the truth. A secret of her own that had almost died with her.

She'd had it with safe. She'd had it with secrets. She'd had it with holding back. “I love you, Bryce.”

He stared at her, as if her pronouncement had
shocked all thought from his mind. “I'm so sorry, Sylvie. I was shocked and angry and totally screwed up. There's no excuse for my leaving you at the jail. I'm so sorry I let Kane or anything else come between us, even for a moment.”

“You came back. You're here now.” Just when she'd needed him most. He hadn't let her down after all.

“And I'm never going to leave.” He took her in his arms, wrapping her in warmth, holding her close. “I never stopped loving you, Sylvie. Not for a second. I want you to know that.” His fingers trembled in her hair.

Or maybe it was the echo of her own pulse. “I know.” And she did. She could feel the force of his love radiating through her whole body, singing in her heart, dancing in her soul.

He pulled back from her and looked into her eyes, a smile on his strong face that stole her breath. “I propose a new deal.”

She shared a smile of her own. “Will I like the terms?”

“If you don't, you can change them at any time.”

“Okay, what's your offer?”

“I propose we take our time, get to know one another, and then we talk about making things permanent.”

“Like ‘white dress and matching wedding bands' permanent?”

“The whole package. White dress, matching wedding bands and children of our own. A family.”

Sylvie closed her eyes. Marriage. A family. The sheerest cliff there was. The most dangerous fall. The sharpest rocks waiting below.

Opening her eyes, she looked into the face of the man she loved, the man she'd never dared dream of finding. The risk might be daunting, but the payoff was extraordinary.

And she was up to the challenge.