Книга - Killer Cargo

Killer Cargo
Dana Mentink


Deception at 20,000 feet Transporting pet supplies–and the occasional bunny–is routine for pilot Maria de Silva.Discovering drugs amidst her shipments of kitty litter is not. Out of fuel in the Oregon wilderness, Maria barely escapes with her life when dealers meet her on the runway. She finds refuge at Cy Sheridan's idyllic animal sanctuary–a whole new world for this city girl.But Maria fears that her drug-smuggling client will take revenge against the man–and animals–she's come to love. Is there a wolf in sheep's clothing lurking in the woods?









“Folks don’t chase down other folks,” Cy said. “Unless there’s good reason.”


Maria felt her remaining energy ebbing, like a balloon leaking helium. “I’m the victim here. I lost my plane because I trusted the wrong person.”

His face remained impassive. “That’s quite a story you told me. I’ve never heard one like it.”

“Well, it’s true, every word.” Her anger rose to the boiling point. “Who do you think you are, anyway? You don’t have the right to interrogate me.”

The glint in his eyes was dangerous. “Actually, I believe I do. You are a stranger who crashed a car that doesn’t belong to you in my creek. I’ve got only your story that bad men are after you to retrieve something you say you don’t have.”

She opened her mouth for a retort.

“Stay put until I get back,” he said.

She straightened. “Maybe I’ll be running along, too.”

A hint of a smile revealed a small dimple in his cheek. “You’ll stay put.”




DANA MENTINK


Dana Mentink lives in California with her family. Dana and her husband met doing a dinner theater production of The Velveteen Rabbit. In college, she competed in national speech and debate tournaments. Besides writing novels, Dana taste tests for the National Food Lab and freelances for a local newspaper. In addition to her work with Steeple Hill Books, she writes cozy mysteries for Barbour Books. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her at www.danamentink.com.




Killer Cargo

Dana Mentink








If therefore the Son shall make you free, you shall be free indeed.

—John 8:36


To my sister, best friend and superb editor, and to

Emily Rodmell and the folks at Steeple Hill,

for taking a chance on me.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION




ONE


The phone shrilled, slicing through the patter of rain. With clumsy fingers Maria fumbled through her backpack to find it. “Hello?”

Silence.

“Is anyone there?”

A sudden crack of thunder left her ears ringing. “I said, is anyone there?”

Still no answer, but Maria heard, barely, the sound of breathing. A man’s breathing.

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Click. The phone went dead in her cold hand. Fear bubbled through her body until she shook it away. Now was not the time to let her imagination run amok. It was just a wrong number. Someone would be along in a minute.

Maria peered out at the view from her plane’s front window. Scrubby trees and boulders hemmed in the remote landing strip on either side. She had killed the engine to preserve the meager fuel supply and had spent the past hour anxiously watching an approaching storm that now hurled branches and leaves across the tarmac.

She checked her watch. Where could they be?

The only hint of civilization in this forgotten airport in the wilds of Oregon was a tiny metal shed in the distance. There was no trace of the people that were supposed to meet her and transfer the pet supplies to their vehicle. The idea had been to drop the cargo, collect the paycheck, refuel and fly back home. Now as she continued to scan the landing strip, she felt her plan slip away like fog in the sunshine.

Her foot tapped a nervous rhythm on the floor as the rain tapered off slightly. Though she didn’t feel very hopeful, she decided to check the shack to see if someone had left a message.

Maria unstrapped her small frame from the seat and pulled on her windbreaker. Easing the door open, she climbed down. Immediately the wind grabbed her black hair and sent it flying in all directions. She skidded on the slippery asphalt.

Still no sign of people.

Goose bumps prickled to life on her neck. “Get moving, Maria,” she scolded herself. The moment she left the shelter of the plane the storm intensified. A strong wind buffeted her and overhead a crack of thunder shook through the clouds. She had barely enough time to scramble back on board as the lightning let loose with a horrible sizzle.

Heart thumping, she flopped back into the pilot’s seat. Great. If the men were running late before, they’d be slowed down even more now. Feeling the need to move, she ducked into the back. Bags of dog food, buckets of kitty litter and boxes of rawhide chew strips were secured in neat stacks. Every square inch was filled with all that a happy pet could require.

Martin Shell often hired her to transport goods from his pet supply business and occasionally to carry along a crate or two of his prized honey. The pay was good. Two hundred dollars at pickup and eight hundred more when the delivery was signed for.

Money. When had that item become so high on the priority list? Right about the time she sank every last dime into purchasing her beloved plane. She would be paying off that one-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar loan until the day she died, but it was hers, as long as she made the payments, and she was free to fly wherever she wished, even to remote corners of nowhere, free to make her own way.

Rain slammed the sleek white sides and glass canopy of the airplane as thoughts chased each other around her head. Why would anyone send a shipment of pet supplies to the boonies? How many pet stores could there be in a place where even the people were few and far between?

She pulled her wet hair into a ponytail and crouched next to her only passenger. The miniature bunny on the rear seat regarded her through the mesh sides of his cage. His tiny eyes looked as though they’d been ringed in mascara. He was no bigger than a meatball sandwich. The small cage was a crude affair, a wood crate with a few slats missing, chicken wire stapled over the space and an aluminum pan to catch his droppings. A metal strap nailed to the top served as a carrying handle.

“You’re not exactly flying first-class. I wish I had something to give you, little guy.”

The bunny shook his head, sending the long white ears flapping. He took a half hop toward her and fell over.

Maria gasped, looking anxiously through the slats. “What happened? Are you all right?”

The animal righted itself and Maria saw the cause of the mishap. He only had three legs. Where the left front one should be was a small fuzzy stump. Then she read the handwritten tag on the top of the cage: Snake.

“Uh-oh. I don’t suppose they named you Snake?” That was highly unlikely. “Oh, man. You’re born without a leg and you wind up lunch for an anaconda. Where is the justice in that?”

The rabbit turned its gaze on her and hunkered into a tight ball. Its fuzzy sides trembled, the pink dot of a nose quivering. Did those eyes really have a sheen of desperation in them or was it another set of eyes she remembered? With a shudder, she got up and looked again at the contents of the cargo area, noting with displeasure that her plane was beginning to smell like a bowl of chicken-flavored Alpo.

She checked the packing list again. She was at the right location, as far as she could tell.

The earlier jobs for Martin Shell ended with no problems, though none had terminated at this particular airstrip. Shell had even taken her to dinner a few times when he was in L.A. He was a sweet old guy, round and ruddy-cheeked. With his shock of white hair and booming voice she could easily picture him in lederhosen on the top of a mountain, blowing into a giant horn. Martin would come through. She was sure of it.

She opened her cell phone again and dialed his number. After five rings the answering machine picked up with Shell’s booming baritone. “Hello, Mr. Shell. It’s Maria. I’m sitting at the airstrip in Oregon waiting for your guys to pick up the shipment.” She checked her watch. “I’m on time but so far, nobody’s here. It’s the right delivery point so maybe there’s been a delay on your end? Someone tried to call me but we had a bad connection. Please call my cell and let me know if the plan has changed, okay? Thanks.”

Two minutes later her phone shrilled. She started and it clattered to the floor. “Hello?” she managed to say on the third ring.

“Maria, dear. Marty Shell here.”

Relief coursed through her. “Hi, Mr. Shell.”

“Sorry I missed your call. I was smoking the hive.”

She could picture the huge guy in his white bee suit, like some enormous cheerful snowman. “How is the honey today?”

“Oh, perfect. I wish you could see it, liquid amber and perfect on the tongue. I know Mrs. Shell will relish it on her toast in the morning.”

“Is she feeling all right?”

He exhaled into the phone. “Ah, well. Good days and bad, you know.”

Maria had only seen pictures of the tiny Asian woman who suffered with debilitating bouts of lupus. “I really enjoyed the honey you sent for my birthday,” Maria said. “It was amazing.”

“You need to come to my place in Palm Springs, Maria. When you see those combs emerge from the wax, you won’t believe it.” He paused. “My stars. I’ve got another phone call coming in. I’m sorry my people are late meeting you. I’m not sure how to correct them of this terrible habit other than hanging them by their thumbs.” He chuckled. “Stay put, dear. They’ll be along shortly.”

She disconnected with a happy sigh. All was as it should be. Shell’s people would be along in a jiffy. As usual, it was merely a case of her overactive imagination. The bunny hopped around in his cage, sniffing for food. She decided to try to locate some rabbit pellets from the stacks of supplies. Poking around the bags and boxes, she wondered how they made dog treats in the shape of tiny T-bone steaks. She pictured an assembly line of elves with cookie cutters stamping out thousands of the things. A cardboard box caught her attention. It was securely wedged in the space between the Savory Snacks and the Kibble Krunchies. She reached over the rear seat, pulled it out and set it on her lap.

It was the size of an ordinary shoebox, wrapped in brown paper with no label or writing of any kind. She sniffed it. No telltale scent of kibble or alfalfa. She shook it. No movement from inside. It was probably some flea medicine or something. Or some of those squeaky toys for dogs they had just forgotten to label.

The only sound in the plane was the quiet drumming of rain on the roof and the grinding of the rabbit’s teeth chewing on the bars. She looked at him. “You know, we really should come up with a name for you. Oh, sure, you’re destined to be swallowed whole, but everything deserves to be named, doesn’t it?” She opened the top of his cage and scratched between the silky ears. He flattened against the floor in bliss. “Peter? Fluffy? Nah. Let’s just go with Hank. How does that grab you?”

Hank spread out even more and flopped over onto his side.

“Hank it is. I wonder why they didn’t label this box? Weird.” She should put it back and walk away but some instinct wouldn’t let her. It wouldn’t hurt anything to take a quick peek. Besides, there might be rabbit munchies inside. “I can always wrap the box back up, when it turns out to be flea medicine or rubber hot dogs, can’t I?”

Maria eased open the tape. She ignored the guilty pang and pulled the box out of the paper. Mr. Shell would understand. He wouldn’t want a rabbit to go hungry, either. The cardboard box top came off easily and she stared inside.

Ice-cold terror hopscotched through her chest and constricted her throat. She blinked hard.

When she opened her eyes, the stuff was still there.

It was not possible. Not from a man who made honey and tended his sick wife. There had to be some mistake. They’d both been double-crossed.

“Hank,” she said, nausea washing over her in cold waves, “I’ve got a bad feeling we’re both gonna be snake food.” A distant rumble of thunder made her stomach jump.

Wrap up the box and leave it. Pretend like you never noticed the thing.

No. Then she would be an accomplice to the crime.

Call the cops.

She ripped her phone open, horrified to see the battery light indicate it was all but depleted. There was no choice but to call when she was safely away from this isolated spot. She shoved the box back where she’d found it, bolted to her feet and jumped into the cockpit. The blood rang in her ears. Her fingers instinctively scrambled over the controls, prepping the engines for takeoff, praying the storm would disappear as quickly as it had arrived.

Then she remembered an important detail. She needed fuel if she was going to fly out of this no-man’s-land. A quick calculation reminded her she had only two hundred dollars in her wallet. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Through the drops of moisture on the windshield she saw a man in the window of the distant shed on the end of the tarmac. She was going to have to try to convince the guy to come into the storm to sell her a couple hundred bucks worth of fuel, pronto.

Maria slammed into action. She grabbed a backpack, tossed in her wallet and pulled on a baseball cap. “I’ll be right back,” she told Hank as she popped open the hatch. He pressed his pink nose against the bars.

Simultaneously, through the pounding rain, she heard a sound that made her breath freeze: the distant rumble of a car. She could barely see the outline of a black sedan and the two male figures in the front seat.

Her stomach turned upside down. There was no way she could fuel up and get in the air before the car reached them. She was going to have to improvise. One step out of the plane and she could hear Hank thumping around in his cage. He was as alone and friendless as she was. A crazy thought formed in her mind.

It was ridiculous. The unwieldy cage would only slow her down. They would catch her and kill her, and kill the rabbit, too. She continued down to the asphalt.

But Hank was helpless and alone. She knew what that felt like. Too well.

After a moment of paralyzed indecision, she raced back up and grabbed Hank’s cage. It was all she could do to hold on to it and jog along the slippery ground. Thanks to the mountainous roadway, the car was still making its way down the winding path toward the airstrip when she burst through the doorway of the shed.

The young guy standing on a chair playing the air guitar didn’t look up. The sound of hard rock emanated from his ear piece and a red licorice rope dangled from his lips. He stomped his feet on the cracked vinyl of the chair seat.

“Hey,” Maria said. “I need some help.”

The kid continued to play, flipping his long hair out of his face with zeal. He switched from air guitar to drum solo.

Maria put the cage on the floor and pulled on the guy’s sleeve.

He looked down with a start and fell off the chair. When he righted himself, the hair drooped over his eyes like a curtain. “Man. You scared me. I think I might have had a heart attack. Where did you come from?”

She suppressed the urge to shake him. “From the plane that landed an hour ago on your runway over there. Do you have a phone?”

“Uh, yeah. But it doesn’t work. You don’t have a cell?”

“Mine’s dead.”

He chewed a section of the candy rope and gestured to the mountains. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Probably wouldn’t get a good signal here. It’s like living in the bottom of a well.”

She looked out the filthy window. The black sedan pulled onto the runway. She turned back to the kid, reading the name tag on his jumpsuit. “Look, Jacko. I’m in a lot of trouble and I’ve got to get out of here now. I need a car, truck, motorcycle, anything. Can you help me, please?”

His eyes widened. “You must be in deep. I can give you a ride on my moped at quitting time. How ’ bout that?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the two men get out of the car and head toward her plane.

“No, no. I need to take off right now. Please. Isn’t there a car I can borrow? I thought I saw one out back. It’s really important. I promise I’ll return it.” Her voice trembled.

“Out back? Oh, you mean the Demon.”

Maria’s breath became shallow and her hands started to sweat. The men were entering her plane and when they figured out she’d opened the box they would head for the shack. She knew their secret. There was no way they’d let her get away. She looked around frantically. Where could she hide? There was nothing but an old card chair and a two-drawer filing cabinet overflowing with papers.

Jacko extracted a bottle of Gatorade from a foam cooler and took a slug of the green liquid. “Let me think a minute.” His eyeballs did a 360. “Yeah, that might work. That’s my cousin Duke’s car out there. He’s in jail for another six months, probably, not likely to get paroled early on account of he’s not a model prisoner. Maybe you could borrow it, if you get it back here by November.”

Her excitement soared. “Yes, yes. I’ll take anything.”

His eyes narrowed. “Wait just a minute. You got some money? Duke would want something for his wheels. He’s gonna need some start-up cash when he gets out of the joint. The car’s a collectible you know. It’s a ’72 Dodge Demon. Sweet ride, great interior, the works.”

She dug into her backpack with trembling hands and came up with a hundred-dollar bill. “How’s this?” Out of the corner of her eye she could see bags of kibble and kitty litter hurtling out of the open plane hatch. They split open on impact, sending debris flying everywhere.

“Oh, I don’t know. A hundred bucks? That doesn’t seem like much for a classic automobile. Plus gas. Gas ain’t cheap now, lady. Fortunately, Duke filled it up right before he got arrested. He’s gonna expect it that way when he shows up. And then there’s wear and tear, of course, and the oil will need to be changed when you return it.”

She tossed another fifty. Her voice rose to a near scream. “Please. That only leaves me a few bucks. You don’t want the rabbit to starve, do you? The poor guy only has three legs.”

He twirled the red rope thoughtfully as he regarded Hank. “Three legs? Weird, man. Reminds me of my uncle Vic. He’s only got three fingers on his left hand. Great bowler though. The league champion in Chauncy. I watched him last weekend and he was smokin’. Won a trophy and everything. I guess one hundred fifty will be okay.”

Jacko fished around in a desk drawer. “Here are the keys. Have a nice trip, lady. Don’t forget to bring it back before November.”

Maria grabbed the keys and the cage, and raced out the back door. The rain was coming down in sheets. Hank hunkered into a soggy ball wedged in a wooden corner. The electric-blue car was parked under a spindly tree. It was caked with dirt but the tires were good, she noted with a surge of relief. She jammed the keys in the lock and turned. It wouldn’t budge.

“So much for a collector’s car, you rusty piece of junk.” Another savage twist and the door opened. She flipped the front seat forward and shoved Hank’s crate in the back. Duke wasn’t going to appreciate the gouge in his leather upholstery but he was the least of her worries. The sound of angry voices floated through the door of the shack.

Maria turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned over and sputtered to a stop. “Come on, come on. Start, car. Please, please, please.” She twisted the key so hard she was afraid it might snap off.

The door of the shed opened, and two burly men stepped into the rain. They scanned the area. Maria crouched as low as she could manage and tried again. “God, I’m going to need some help starting this car.”

Her fingers were clammy as she gritted her teeth and turned the key again. The motor sputtered to life. “Yes!” she shouted. “Hang on, Hank. This is going to be bumpy.”

The men swiveled their heads toward the noise. The taller one reached inside his jacket. The shorter one with the build of a fire hydrant broke into a run.

Maria slammed the car into drive and peeled out from under the tree.

Through the smear of dirt and moisture on the windshield, she could see the men’s mouths drop open in surprise. The tall one had a couple of teeth missing on the bottom. He shouted something that she couldn’t decipher.

The car screeched around the side of the shack, tires slipping on the wet gravel. The men turned to follow her progress. A sudden whistle of air rushed through a round hole in the passenger’s-side window. Two more appeared in the front windshield.

Her jaw dropped open as her brain fought to make sense of the situation. “They’re shooting at us!” She wheeled the car onto the tarmac and floored the gas pedal. For a moment she considered doing a tight U-turn and driving right back into Tall Man and Fire Hydrant. That would really teach them a lesson. Of course, that would also give them a splendid opportunity to kill her and Hank. Just take the chance God gave you to survive, Maria. Get out of here now.

She squished down as far as she could in the seat, expecting at any moment the agony of a bullet crashing into her skull. Then she headed toward the only way out of the nightmare: the winding road that the murderous men had taken on their way in.

As she started up the grade, she looked at her plane in the rearview mirror. The thought of leaving it sent a twist of pain through her heart. She had worked so hard for that beautiful machine, and it was everything to her: freedom, independence, escape. She hoped Jacko would at least close the hatch.

She dashed the tears from her cheeks. “Goodbye, old friend. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can, I promise.”

The rabbit sneezed from the backseat.

“It’s okay, Hank. We escaped from those guys, and we’re on our way…somewhere.” There was only one option at the moment so she pushed ahead as fast as she could. The grade grew steeper and more wooded as the Dodge bounced along.

Far below, the sedan was just leaving the runway.

Like an ugly black insect it began a merciless march up the slope, heading right for them.




TWO


Duke must be quite a character, Maria thought in the midst of her frantic getaway. The wobbling plastic flamingo swayed on the blue velvet dashboard. She wiped her damp palms on her pants and glanced down at the gas gauge, continuing to push the car as fast as she dared on the steep road. Three-quarters of a tank. That would be enough to get them to some kind of help, provided she wasn’t overtaken before she reached it.

The black sedan was a bigger car and she knew it wouldn’t take the grade as well as the Demon, but the men had determination stamped all over their shady mugs. The whole thing was ridiculously surreal, like a cheap dime-store novel. Did they really work for Shell, or was he an innocent in all this, too? Why were they still after her anyway? Surely they’d found their box of drugs. Did they need to kill her because she could identify them? She swallowed hard. If that was the case they would continue hunting her like a prized duck.

She gripped the wheel and pushed the car a little faster. There wasn’t any chance to turn onto a side road to lose them. She was hemmed in on both sides by dense shrubbery and massive pine trees. There was only one way out of the predicament and that was to get to the top of the mountain before they did. Hopefully there would be some sort of civilization on the other side. Or at least a working phone.

The sky was still heavy with moisture, but the rain had slowed to a trickle.

She knew they were rumbling through the foothills of the Cascades, but that was all she could be certain of. Mount Hood was the only other landmark, but the fog obscured the horizon under an impenetrable blanket.

The engine temperature gauge edged into the hot zone as they wheezed to the top of a steep grade. Maria used the wipers to clear some of the muck off the windshield. Drops of moisture made it through the bullet holes, and she wiped them away with her sleeve.

In a couple more yards she would have a good vantage point to see what lay below. There had to be a town, a gas station, something. Her excitement mounted as they crested the top. She leaned forward to get a better view of…

Nothing.

Nothing except for a vast expanse of wooded hills, a thin ribbon of dubious road and acres of spring wildflowers in a palette of pastel hues. If it hadn’t been so beautiful she would have cried. She flipped open her cell phone only to remember the battery was almost dead.

Resisting the temptation to smash her head against the steering wheel, she rolled down the window and listened, ignoring the mist that dampened her face. Maybe the men had given up. Maybe their car had died several miles back or they’d decided to return to the plane, figuring she’d head back to the airstrip.

The sound was soft but unmistakable, the faint clatter of an approaching motor. Her hands clenched the steering wheel. “This is bad, Hank. Really bad. We don’t have any choice. We’re going to have to make a break for it or we’re both going to be murdered.”

She hit the accelerator and took off down the road.

A quarter tank of gas later, they came to a turnoff. The signpost directed travelers to a series of small towns she had never heard of. One of the signs was pockmarked with bullet holes, making it practically unreadable. Her choices were few. Should she stay on the main drag or venture farther into no-man’s-land? She looked at the mucky road that led away into hills as green as cut emeralds. Gently she eased the Demon onto the turnoff.

Time ticked by in agonizing slow motion. It was pouring when the sun slowly mellowed into the horizon. Maria’s jeans were damp from the water coming in the windshield holes, her skin chilled.

“Does it ever stop raining in Oregon?” She blinked hard, trying to ward off the heavy blanket of fatigue. She longed to be back in Los Angeles, warm and completely insulated by a blanket of smog. Was it really only one day since she’d left her tiny apartment in California?

Three hours later she was…where? In backcountry Oregon during a torrential downpour, driving a car with a velvet dashboard and holes in the windshield. This whole thing had to be a bad dream, a nightmare really.

There had been no sign of the scary sedan men for the past few hours. She probably outwitted them with her “road less traveled” trick. Another bit of good fortune came when she’d found the phone charger in her backpack, the one with an adapter that fit into the cigarette lighter of Duke’s car. Hopefully she’d be able to make a phone call in a few hours as soon as she made it past the mountains, and the whole sorry nightmare would be over.

A rickety store nestled on the side of the road as they rounded a tree-lined curve. The sign read Food, Sundries and Gas. Her mood brightened. She wasn’t sure what a “sundry” was but the food part was definitely a welcome thought and she figured topping off the tank wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Who knew how far it would be to the next gas station?

“Okay, Hank. Let’s get something to eat and some gas. Plus, I’ve got to make a phone call.”

She eased out of the car and tried to unkink her back.

The man behind the battered cash register was skinny, his bald head shone in the light of the bare fluorescent bulb. He looked up at her approach, eyeing disapprovingly the water that coursed off her jacket onto the tile floor.

“Hi,” Maria said, shaking the rain from her hair and giving him a bright smile. “Quite a storm. Looks like the worst has passed.”

He bobbed a chin at her.

“Uh, do you have a phone I could use? My cell is dead.”

He jabbed a finger at the door. “Pay phone outside.”

She fished around in her damp pocket and handed him a bill. “I’m going to need some gas. Could I get some change for the phone, too?”

“Not unless you’re buying something else.” His shaggy brows knitted as he read the newspaper.

A real gem, Maria thought. She looked at the bins of vegetables and picked a plump carrot for Hank. From the crowded store shelf she grabbed a package of chocolate doughnuts and a soda.

The surly man rang up her purchase and handed her the change.

“Thank you,” she said.

He didn’t answer.

She dashed outside to the rickety gas pump and refueled.

Another foray into the rain brought her to the phone booth. She plunked a couple of coins in the slot and waited for the operator, plotting out her approach. She’d call the police in Los Angeles and tell them the whole story and then alert the authorities in Oregon to rescue her, and her plane while they were at it. Her mind was so busy planning out the conversation that it took a few moments for her to notice the lack of dial tone.

She jerked the change lever. Nothing came out and she slammed down the receiver. “Great. I didn’t even get a dial tone before it ate my money.”

Maria decided there was no point in telling the store clerk about the problem.

She sighed and slogged back to the car, water soaking her socks over the top of her sneakers. Inside she cranked the heater and gave Hank his carrot. The rabbit immediately began to munch, his slender teeth clicking a staccato rhythm. She put her own chattering teeth to work wolfing down the chocolate doughnuts.

An odd beeping noise startled her. Her cell phone was ringing.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hello, Maria. It’s Marty.”

She was so happy to hear his voice she almost cried. “Mr. Shell. I’m so glad you called. You’ll never believe what happened.”

“I’m sorry things didn’t go as planned at the airport. Again, I apologize for my guys being late. Promptness is not a cultural norm anymore. Sad. Ah, well, it’s hard to find good help.”

“No, no. It’s not that. There was a package of drugs on my plane. I’m going to call the police and get this thing straightened out.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Oh, my. That was supposed to be a little secret.”

Her mouth dropped open. “A…secret? You…you…knew about the drugs?”

“A small sideline of mine, Maria. No need to trouble yourself about it.”

The shock that coursed through her veins began to melt away as anger took its place. “Are you out of your mind? You had no right to use my plane to smuggle drugs.”

“I hired your plane to deliver cargo.”

“Pet food, not cocaine. I never would have agreed to that.”

He chuckled. “Well, you did carry pet food, dear, plus two tiny extra packages. No need to get huffy about it.”

She gritted her teeth. “I’m way beyond huffy. I want my plane.”

“Excellent. I would be happy to reunite you with your plane as soon as you give me back my property.”

“What property?”

“The drugs that were hidden in the cargo.”

“I didn’t take the box. It’s still there.”

The sound of breathing filled the line. “Maria, you’re a good girl, an honest girl. I know you were surprised to find my extra packages, but let’s not make a big mistake here. I know you took one of them. All will be forgiven if you return it to me. I am nothing if not a fair man.”

“You are nothing if not a drug dealer.” Her mind reeled. “What does your wife think about your second job?”

“My wife?” He sounded puzzled. “What does she have to do with this? I am discussing business here. My package. It was stowed in your plane. My men tell me half of the goods are not there now.”

“I did not take your drugs. Maybe your gun-toting friends did. Did you think about that? They shot at me, you know.”

He sighed. “Yes, that was regrettable, but they have strict orders to return my property. They know what would happen to them if they crossed me. The man I hired to load the merchandise onto the plane found that out the hard way. Unfortunately, he tragically passed away.”

She swallowed. “Passed away?”

“He was run down by a car, poor man.”

The air felt suddenly colder. Maria still could not wrap her mind around the jolly beekeeper’s dark side. “Well, how do you know he doesn’t—didn’t take your property? Maybe he never hid it on my plane in the first place.”

“I had someone watching from a distance when he exited the aircraft and he carried nothing. It was a test, you see. He did well until he started talking to some folks about his new job, and he needed to be disciplined. We’ve searched his place and his car to be on the safe side.” Martin sighed gustily. “Breaking in new people is such a challenge. Running a small business is no picnic, either.”

The thought of a man being run down in the street made her shiver. “I am telling you, I don’t have it, Marty. You need to believe me. All I want is my plane.”

“I do want to believe you, sweetie. I am very fond of you. You are what I imagine my daughter would be like, if I had one.” His voice became hard. “But I want my property.”

She ignored the growing fear in her gut. “What are you going to say to the police when I tell them about your little business?”

He laughed. “You go ahead and tell them your story. They won’t find anything to connect me to illegal activity. I’m a very careful man, meticulous, one might say. You, on the other hand, are driving a car that isn’t yours and all you’ve got is plenty of debt and a nutty story. No proof of anything, my dear.”

She suppressed a whisper of panic. “I just want my plane. If I had your stuff, I would give it to you.”

“My men know your general vicinity, Maria. They know what kind of car you’re driving. It’s only a matter of time until they find you. It would be healthier for you to cooperate. Please, let’s be reasonable here. No need to sully our relationship.”

“I…” The phone suddenly died. Battery depleted.

Feeling depleted herself, she leaned a cheek against the steering wheel. “God, please help me. I’ve run away from one mess and gotten myself into another. I am the biggest chump on the planet to trust Martin Shell. I don’t know what to do or where to go. Help me.”

Maria stayed in the parking lot until the store clerk locked the door and walked to his car. He shot the Demon a suspicious look. She decided to move along before she got into any further trouble. With a sigh, she started up the car and eased onto the road.

Out of nowhere the sedan roared into sight.

She screamed and stomped on the gas but not soon enough. The car smashed into her rear fender, causing the Demon to skid wildly. She wrenched the steering wheel with all her might and managed to keep the car from careening into the ravine.

The sedan closed in again. Maria could see the two men, leaning forward, their faces intense in the weak light. She pressed the pedal to the floor. The trees and shrubs blurred into a green streak as she sped on. It was useless.

Rigid with fear, she watched the sedan overtake her. The seat belt cut into her neck as the two cars smashed together again. Bits of breaking glass showered around her. This time Maria could not control the car. The Demon skidded on the slick ground, hydroplaning in a half circle until it brought her face-to-face with her pursuers.

The driver slammed on his brakes, a look of shock on his face as his car shimmied across the slick surface.

Maria shook the glass out of her hair and clenched her jaw. “Okay, then. If you’re going to take me out, you’re coming with me.” She floored the gas pedal and sent the Demon plunging directly into the path of the sedan.

The man’s shock turned to alarm as he jockeyed the wheel to avoid a crash. Maria bore down on them, an odd feeling of exhilaration edging through the fear as she closed the gap. Five feet, three, two.

At the last second before impact the sedan pulled sharply to the side, sending the men squealing into the ravine.

Maria didn’t wait to see the damage she’d inflicted. Before the sound of the crash died away, she wheeled the Demon back again and sped off, heart jackhammering in her chest.

The road progressed from bad to worse. The paved surface gave way to gravel and then more or less to mud. With no streetlights to be found, the moon was Maria’s only guide as they bounced over the uneven ground. The borders of the narrow road were crowded with sugar pines and flowering bushes that cast eerie shadows. Something that Maria took to be a bat flittered over the path, making her heart leap into her throat. She waited for the moment when the sedan would careen out of the shrubbery and plow into her again.

Visions of Martin Shell’s cherubic face swam in her mind. She’d been so blind. And stupid. She blinked away tears.

Peering through the darkness, Maria was seized by a deep desire for sandy beaches and sunny afternoons. A place where people asked “How are you?” and honestly wanted to know the answer.

Her gut twisted when she realized she was picturing her childhood home in Southern California, specifically the small seaside town of Tidal Flats where her parents still lived. Why did she ever leave? Because she wanted a new life and to escape the pain of the old one, she reminded herself.

The car hit a bump and she half screamed. “It’s okay, Hank. We’re doing fine. I’m sure this road is going to get us to safety.” Or straight into the clutches of her would be killers. Every curve in the road was a new source of terror as she imagined them waiting to pounce.

Darkness closed around her like a velvet glove and she finally pulled up to a fork in the road. She considered her options. Behind her was the possibility of getting caught by the smugglers. Ahead of her was a set of dubious-looking dirt roads and the possibility of getting caught by smugglers. A lose-lose situation if there ever was one.

“I guess we could stay here and pray they don’t find us, wait it out until morning. Mom always says it’s darkest before the dawn.” Thinking about her mother made her heart sink. Her head sagged against the seat. The woman faced the horrors in her life with such grace, such optimism. How come Maria wasn’t able to do that? Why had she felt the need to run from what happened to her father? It was the coward’s way out, and she knew it.

“Snap out of it, Maria. This isn’t the time for reflection.” She eased the crippled car onto the bumpier of the two roads. The headlights did little to dispel the darkness and the regular bouncing of the tires had a calming effect on her frayed nerves.

The heater lulled Maria into a comfortable haze.

She didn’t see the small sign that swung crookedly from a metal pole.

She didn’t hear the sound of the water that flowed at the bottom of the ravine.

She didn’t feel her eyelids gently close as the car slipped off the side of the road.




THREE


Maria woke with a scream when the car tumbled into the shallow creek. Her head thunked against the door as the vehicle bumped and banged and finally came to rest on the driver’s side in the water with a horrible sound of twisting metal.

After a few moments of shocked immobility, she freed herself from the seat belt, ignoring the violent shuddering of her heart. Her first thought was for her passenger. Fortunately, she’d taken the precaution of belting Hank’s cage in the back when they’d stopped for gas, so the frightened rabbit was tossed, but not hurt. He shot her a confused look, one ear up and one hanging down, from his spot in the corner of the crate.

Duke was going to be furious when he saw his car. Frigid water was already seeping through the door. That problem would have to wait. She turned to Hank. “We’ve got to get out of here before you get wet.”

The rabbit blinked and scrambled to right himself.

Slowly, Maria eased out from under the steering wheel and reached the passenger-side window. With difficulty, she lowered the glass and stuck her head out.

A huge dark face with enormous eyes stared at her.

She screamed.

The man screamed, as well, before he whirled around and darted back into the trees.

Maria yanked her head back into the squashed car.

“Who…who was that?” Her mouth was dry. She waited a full five minutes before cautiously poking her head out again. There was no sign of the man in the moonlight. From her spot in the bottom of the ravine, she couldn’t see much, only a tangle of treetops and a swatch of dark sky overhead.

“I’m going to see if I can crawl out and then I’ll come back in for you, Hank. You just sit tight.”

Using the hand rest as a step, she eased herself out of the car and dropped to the gravel creek bed, tearing her pant leg in the process. “Things keep getting better and better,” she muttered.

Inch by inch, she crawled to the top of the ravine, hands scrabbling on loose rocks and wet dirt. Something lizardlike scurried by.

A voice spoke over the wind. “Who are you?”

Maria jerked her head up to find a man standing at the edge of the crevice. She had enough time to register his puzzled look before she lost her balance and toppled backward.

He reached out a hand one second too late to grab her wrist. Maria stumbled down the slope, rolling head over feet until she landed on her bottom in six inches of icy water and large stones.

The cold felt like an electric shock. It left her breathless.

This time she took the strong hand offered her by the man who climbed down. He hauled her to her feet and peered into her face.

“Are you hurt, miss?” His brown hair was close cut around his rectangular face.

Through the mud in her eyes and the gloom, it was difficult to get more than an impression of his features. A faint smell of fresh-baked bread hung about him.

“Uh, no. No. I’m not hurt, just bruised.” Her teeth began to chatter.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“You do seem to be the only lady standing in my creek.” He took her by the elbow and guided her out of the water onto the gravel bank.

“Well, I’m, er…” Her teeth chattered so hard she couldn’t answer.

He raised an eyebrow and bent over, checking around the smashed car with a flashlight.

She squeezed her arms tight around herself. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure this vehicle isn’t leaking any contaminants into my creek.” He made a slow circle around the car before he straightened and clicked off the flashlight. “It seems to be just fine.”

Maria eyed the mangled blue car and the man’s easy smile. Fine? Did he say fine? The weight of the whole disastrous day splintered the remnants of her self-control.

The blood roared in her ears. “Everything’s all right? Look at that car. How exactly could that be all right? Duke is going to be furious when he finds the side bashed in. How can you even use the word fine when describing this mess, Mr.…Mr.…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sheridan. Cy Sheridan. And you are?”

She felt herself unraveling like a loose thread. Her words came out in a shriek through her chattering teeth without any guidance from her brain. “Me? I am nobody important. I am certainly not someone who is standing here freezing. I’m definitely not a woman who has lost the most important thing in her life today. And I am surely not a gal who has only had a pack of doughnuts to eat since last night.” The hysterical words bounced along the creek bed, echoing off into the night.

The man blinked, his head cocked. “I see. Well, do you want to get out of this miserable night and come in for a cup of tea? If you have no other plans, that is.”

The words took the oomph out of her rant. He was offering shelter and cups of tea? It sounded civilized enough and his smile was welcoming, but her trust level was lower than it had been two days ago. Her gut wrenched with indecision. He didn’t seem like the type who would be luring her into his house for nefarious purposes. Come to think of it, what other choice did she have? She had nowhere to go and no way to get there. “Um, well…yes, uh, that would be nice.”

She took his offered hand and they scrambled up the slope. His fingers were warm against her chilled palm.

At the top, she hesitated. “I’ve got to get Hank out of the car before he gets wet.”

“Hank?”

She nodded. “I sort of rescued him.”

“Hank is…?”

“A rabbit. A three-legged rabbit. He’s in a cage in the backseat.”

Cy’s laughter was a deep baritone. “Then Hank is invited to tea, also.”

A minute later Cy wrestled the crate out through the dented door while she retrieved her backpack. They walked through clusters of pine-scented trees toward the faint flicker of light in the distance.

Maria looked around for the massive figure that had frightened her earlier. “I saw a man. A really big man. He screamed louder than I did when we saw each other. That wasn’t you, was it?”

“That would be Stew. He’s my right-hand man but he’s not much of a people person. He’ll have to retreat to his room for who knows how long to recover. You’ve probably taken a few years off his life, crashing your car here.”

“I didn’t exactly…” Maria bit back the retort. He was right; she had wrecked a car on his property. Besides, he was inviting her into someplace warm and dry, and including her rabbit. The situation called for good manners along with extreme caution.

“We don’t get much company out here except for the inmates,” he said. “Bit of an isolated spot.”

Her pulse sped up. Inmates?

They approached a small wood-sided house with a stone chimney that poked out at an awkward angle. Cy eased the front door open with his foot and held it open for her.

The interior was small and blissfully warm, thanks to a fire that crackled in a stone fireplace. A worn sofa and wooden rocking chair huddled on a braided rug. She could make out the outline of a miniscule kitchen that adjoined the living room and a hallway that led to the back of the house.

Maria was deliriously happy to huddle close to the fire and warm her numb fingers. She kept a close eye on the rabbit. And her host.

Cy eased the cage onto the floor and peered through the bars. “Good thing this cage is solid. He seems okay. I’ll get him some celery while I heat up the kettle.”

Maria listened to him bang around in the kitchen. She paced the cozy room, eyeing the crowded bookshelf. Most of the volumes were biology-related with a few poetry books and one about photography. A Bible with a tattered cover sat on a tiny wood table. Behind the writing desk was a large paper map stuck full of pins. Her attention was diverted by a small movement. On the pass-through between the kitchen and the living room was an aquarium. She bent closer until her nose almost touched the glass.

A frog about the size of a baby shoe peered back at her. His smooth mottled skin blended in perfectly with the rock and foliage on which he sat. She watched his throat vibrate. “Hi, little guy. What are you doing here?”

Cy appeared over the counter. “I’m sure he would say hello right back at you if he could.”

“What’s his name? Is he your pet?”

“His name is Rana pretiosa but you can just call him a Spotted Frog. He’s not a pet, he’s a patient. A feral cat got hold of him and chomped him up pretty good, but he’s on the mend. He’ll be back looking for a mate in no time, God willing.”

“So you’re a frog doctor?”

Cy laughed. “I’m a frog doc among other things.” He rounded the corner and handed her a mug of tea. Droplets of water shone in his hair. She put his age at somewhere in the midthirties.

Maria tore her gaze away from his intense stare. She moved back to her position by the fire where she could watch him as he offered Hank the celery stalk. The rabbit yanked the thing into his cage and began to munch with gusto.

Cy nodded in approval. “He’s got a good appetite. Speaking of which, I think you said you hadn’t had more than doughnuts. I’ll just warm up some soup and bread. Will that suit?”

She nodded, mouth watering.

“I’ve learned your fuzzy friend’s name, but I still haven’t met you properly.” He held out a hand. “Cy Sheridan, as I said before.”

She put her hand in his. “Maria de Silva.”

“Maria. That’s a lovely name. Maria what?”

“Maria Francesca Joaquin de Silva.”

He laughed. “Maria, it is. Well, Miss Maria, not meaning to be forward here, but perhaps I could loan you some dry clothes?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

“You can’t be too comfortable.”

“How do you know that?”

His cheeks darkened. “Well, forgive me for saying so but you’re soaked to the bone.”

She noticed for the first time how her soggy clothes were creating a puddle on the floor. It was her turn to blush. Meekly, she followed him down the hallway, past a room filled with empty aquariums and cardboard boxes.

Cy led her to a tiny bedroom with a cot and a wooden trunk crammed in the corner. He opened the trunk and fished around until he came up with a pink sweat suit.

She watched him smooth the fabric as if he was soothing a small child.

“You may as well wear this. It does no good in a box when there’s a person who could use warming up.” He coughed. “Er, I’ll go see to that soup.”

Maria stripped off her wet clothes and laid them over the metal cot frame to dry. Then she pulled on the outfit. It smelled slightly of cedar and the whole getup was about two sizes too big and definitely not her color. Still, she was grateful to have something soft and dry against her chilled skin. As she rolled up the sleeves she wondered about the previous owner of the pink garments.

In the kitchen Cy stood over a pot of bubbling soup. He dished up two bowls of the creamy brew and put them on the table. When he saw Maria his expression changed. Was it sadness that shimmered in those hazel eyes?

He cleared his throat. “So the clothes will work? They’re on the large side, but they’ll be okay?”

“Yes. Thank you for loaning them to me.”

He busied himself setting spoons on the table. “Best to put things to good use. Sit down. Let’s get something in you besides junk.”

Her mouth watered as she sniffed the soup. “It smells great.”

Cy smiled and bowed his head to pray. Maria did the same.

“Heavenly Father, we thank You for this humble meal and for the warmth of the fire. May You use it to strengthen and nourish our bodies and souls. In Jesus’ precious name, Amen.”

Maria added a silent thought. And thank You, God, for keeping me and Hank alive this far.

The soup was divine, a thick creamy collection of vegetables and noodles. She ate greedily, trying not to slurp. “This is wonderful.”

“They say hunger is the best seasoning. It’s just all the dribs and drabs left over from the week cooked together.”

“It reminds me of ensopado. Have you ever had it?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say as I have.”

“It’s a thick chicken soup with a little taste of lime. My mother makes it all the time. She learned from my grandma.” She licked the last drop from her spoon. “I don’t suppose I could…”

Without a word he went to the stove and refilled her bowl. As she settled in to eat, he leaned back in his chair. “Suppose, Maria Francesca Joaquin de Silva, now that you’re warm and not quite so hungry, that you tell me how you wound up at One Word?”

“Where?”

“One Word. That’s the name of my property.”

“Why do you call it One Word?”

“I’ll tell you sometime, but for now, why don’t you do the talking? I’d like to know who I’m eating with.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.

Maria’s heart thudded. Marty the Murderer didn’t believe her story, so why would this man? “Well, uh, I’m a pilot, you see.”

His eyes brightened. “Really? Stew is a pilot. You two can talk shop on that subject.”

She tried to read his expression. Was he testing her? Did he think she was lying already? The thought made her bridle. “I own a small plane and I make my living shuttling cargo. I poked around and found something I shouldn’t have.”

He nodded for her to continue.

“It was, er, contraband. I decided to get out of there and I wound up here.”

“I see. So that wild blue excuse for a car is yours then?”

“Er, no. I borrowed it from a guy named Jacko at the airport. It belongs to his cousin Duke who’s in jail.”

“All right. You borrowed a car. How did you wind up here?”

“I was sort of in a hurry, and I lost all sense of direction. I fell asleep at the wheel.” There. That was the truth, ridiculous as it sounded.

He pulled her cell phone from his pocket. “I forgot to tell you. I found your phone in the car. Looks like you have a dead battery. Go get your charger, and I’ll plug it in for you.”

She snatched the phone from his fingers. “No, no. That’s okay. You don’t need to do that.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Why not?”

The heat rose to her cheeks. She forced the words out of her throat. “I…um…don’t want to take any calls right now.”

“You don’t want someone to find you?”

She sighed. He would have to know and if he decided to kick her out, so be it. She’d take Hank and hit the road on foot. Slowly she nodded. “I’m sort of anxious to get away from someone who, um, is pretty eager to find me. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

He looked at her for a long time, the shifting fire casting odd shadows on his face. “Yes. I think this would be a good time for you to tell me the rest of the story.”

“The…rest of the story?”

“Yes, Miss Maria, and don’t leave out the explanation of the bullet holes in your windshield.” He locked eyes with hers. “I’m especially interested in that part.”




FOUR


The room was dim, except for the sputtering candle and the weak overhead kitchen light. Rain pattered on the roof like gentle cat feet. Cy’s face was unreadable as he watched her intently.

What should she say? The truth sounded ridiculous, even in her own mind. She had a feeling he would see through any evasions in a snap. She watched him lean back in the chair, strong hands laced across his flat stomach. He didn’t move. She might have thought him sleeping if it wasn’t for the glitter of his eyes watching her.

She sipped some tea before answering. “I really am a pilot.”

“So you said.”

“I fly small payloads and sometimes people.” She thought she caught a look of suspicion. “I’m commercially rated and all. I’ve got my certification, if you want to see it.”

“Later. Please go on.”

“The longer I waited on the tarmac, the more worried I got. Did you ever have one of those weird ‘something’s not right here’ feelings?”

He nodded.

He’s probably having one right now. “Well, the long and short of it is the box of contraband was, er, drugs.”

He stiffened. “And you opened this box?”

“I did.” Her chin went up. “It’s my plane, and I have a right to know what’s in it down to the last kibble.”

He continued to watch her closely, his body tense. “And?”

She shifted on the chair, feeling the pulled muscle in her shoulder from her unceremonious fall into the creek. “I ran. Then I crashed into your creek.”

“I remember that part.” His eyes bored into her. “Did you take the box?”

She flushed. “No, I did not take the filthy stuff. I left it there and took off.”

“Why did they come after you, then?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Shell, the guy who hired me, called my cell phone and accused me of taking some other package on board. I still can’t believe it. The guy makes honey and raises champion Yorkshire terriers. His wife knits. How could he possibly be a dealer?” Maria got up from the table and slammed her soup bowl on the counter. “Whether you believe me or not, I didn’t take any drugs.”

“So what do you think is going on then? Folks don’t chase down other folks unless there’s a good reason.”

“I think Shell’s own people double-crossed him. I mean, he works with criminals, after all. That’s the only theory I can come up with.” She felt her remaining energy ebbing, like a balloon leaking helium. “I’m the victim here. I lost my plane, for crying out loud, because I trusted the wrong person.” She was dismayed to feel her eyes prick with tears.

His face remained impassive. “That’s quite a story. I’ve never heard one like it.”

“Well, it’s true, every word.” Her anger rose to the boiling point. “Who do you think you are, anyway? You don’t have the right to interrogate me.”

The glint in his eyes was dangerous. “Actually, I believe I do. You are a stranger, who crashed a car that doesn’t belong to you into my creek. I’ve got only your story that bad men are after you to retrieve something you say you don’t have. And the item in question is drugs. That’s some serious subject matter, to me anyway.”

She opened her mouth for a retort when an enormous black man carrying two flashlights poked his head into the kitchen. The man must be over six feet tall. She recognized the person she’d seen right after the crash.

His bald head gleamed as he nodded. “It’s time.”

Cy gestured to his friend. “Maria, this is Stew.”

She managed a half wave.

Stew shot Maria an uneasy look and went back outside.

Cy looked at his watch. “Stay put until I get back.”

She straightened. “Maybe I’ll be running along. I’ve got places to go.”

A hint of a smile revealed a small dimple in his cheek. “You won’t be getting very far in that fancy car. We haven’t pulled it from my creek yet.” He took a windbreaker from the peg and headed out the door. “Stay put,” he said again. “I’ll be back.”

The cottage settled into silence except for the occasional pop from the fire. Maria washed her dish and returned it to the cupboard. Outside the tiny square window she could see only glimmers of rain and wind-whipped trees. Once, she thought she saw a pair of lights bobbing in the gloom but only for a moment. What on earth were two men doing out at night in a downpour?

The rain hammered against the windows and wind howled all around. A shutter whacked against the outside wall, making her jump. She wandered back into the sitting room. A row of faded pictures hung crookedly on the wall. One was of an older man and woman sitting in an old car. Another was of a young man, tall and muscular, in a military uniform, his arm around the same older couple. So Mr. Cy Sheridan was an ex-soldier. Why didn’t that surprise her?

A sheaf of papers on the end table caught her eye. She picked them up and squinted at the handwritten scrawls.

HCN, CNCI, KCN, check vapor density, solubility, polymerization. Flammable limits, binds to hemoglobin. Binding to cytochrome? ATP synthesis stopped. How quickly?

Maria puzzled over the strange notes. Then she caught a familiar word written at the upper corner. Cyanide.

Her mouth went dry. The guy was keeping notes about cyanide? Great. She thought about the tea and soup she’d ingested. Her stomach spasmed, and an ache materialized in the small of her back. What could he need with a lethal substance like that?

She sank down on the floor next to Hank’s cage. He was asleep, curled into a tight ball, nose quivering slightly.

“What am I going to do? Stay under the same roof as a guy who knows about cyanide?” Her lip curled at the thought of Cy and his imperious order. For all she knew, Cy and his giant friend could lure people into this place and poison them. Hank fluffed his fur. The effort upset his balance and he fell over on his side. With a start, she reined in her imagination and started working on her escape.

Leaving presented a logistical problem. She would have to wait until the car was fished out and then hightail it to the nearest police station. In the meantime, she resolved not to eat anything unless he tasted it first.

Formalizing a plan buoyed her spirits for a moment. If she could extricate herself from this predicament, and get her plane back, her old life was waiting for her: a quiet apartment, plenty of work. And plenty of memories. She shook her head to dislodge that last thought. “My life is going to be fine again, Hank, you’ll see. And you can come live with me. How would that be?”

From her position on the floor, Maria saw a small needle-point sampler on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.

Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? Psalms 139:7. She wondered who had stitched it for Cy, those precise loops of color embroidered onto ivory linen. The paradox confused her.

What kind of a man had scripture on his walls and cyanide info on his coffee table? It was all too much. She squeezed her hands together.

“God, You already know that I’m running for my life down here. I know You’ll be with me wherever I have to go. Help me figure out what to do, please. Help me figure out whom to trust.” Maria rested her elbow on Hank’s cage and leaned her chin in her palm.

The warmth of the fire and the trauma of the day eased her out of consciousness and into slumber.



“You don’t have to sleep on the floor.” Cy looked down at her, holding one of his forearms with the other. Blood seeped through his fingers and into the material of his jacket.

Maria blinked, coming fully awake. “What happened to you?”

He grunted, shaking water droplets from his hair. “I fell.”

She eased her body upward, wincing as her back protested. “Why were you out in a rainstorm at night?”

“Business,” he said, making his way past her.

The giant man followed Cy into the kitchen and handed him a packet of gauze. Then he returned to the sitting room and extracted a bundle of green from his bulging jacket pocket. “Here.”

He held the stuff out to Maria but she was too confused to take it. Why was he giving her parsley? With a sigh he knelt at Hank’s cage and put in the handful of leaves. Hank went to work at once, devouring the greenery, stems and all, flopping his ears in ecstasy. Stew removed a plastic bag from his other pocket and added a pile of alfalfa hay to the cage floor. Then he closed the lid and left, without another word.

Maria made it to her feet. “Does he…ever use complete sentences?”

“Rarely. He must like you otherwise he wouldn’t have spoken at all.”

“All he said was ‘here.’”

“For Stew, that was a regular diatribe. He’s one of eight children so that might explain his economy of words.”

Maria watched Hank suck down the last strand of green. Then he went to work scraping the hay into a pile, stopping once in a while to nibble a stalk. Soon he hunkered down, eyes closed. She could almost see him sigh with happiness. “It was nice of Stew to take care of my rabbit.”

“He’d take care of Hitler’s hamsters rather than see any animal go hungry. He prefers them to most people. Majority of the time, I agree with him.” Cy stripped off his jacket and sat in the worn rocker, rolling up the torn sleeve. His arm was a solid mass of muscle, lean and white in the lamplight. A dark spot showed a nasty scrape. He held a towel to the cut, pressing down to stop the flow of blood before he applied rubbing alcohol.

Maria settled uneasily in the chair next to him. It was hard not to stare at his strong profile. He didn’t look like someone who went around poisoning people. “Um, do you need help?”

He ripped open the gauze package with his teeth and applied it to his wound. “Thank you, no. I’m used to taking care of myself.”

The wind blew so hard it shook the walls of the small cottage and made the flames in the fireplace dance higher. “You never explained what you were doing out there in the storm.”

“No, I guess I didn’t. I was trying to protect my creek, that’s all.” He taped up the wound and disappeared down the hall, returning in a dry shirt and jeans, holding a handful of sheets and blankets. He gestured for her to follow him into the miniscule room with the cot and trunk. For the first time she noticed a glass aquarium on top of a crate illuminated by the tiny lamp hanging from the low ceiling.

She felt a twinge of unease as he unfurled the bedding. “Don’t go to any trouble for me. I’ll only be here tonight. I can sleep in a chair. No problem.”

Cy didn’t look at her. “You’re not going to sleep in a chair.” He made up the cot, tucking the sheets into sharply folded corners with machinelike precision. When he finished, he opened the trunk and examined the contents.

She thought she saw the same odd look steal across his face as he pulled out another faded pink sweatshirt and soft cotton pants.

He laid them on the bed. “You can borrow these.” A faint flush crept over his cheeks. “We’ll leave your shoes and socks to dry by the fire. Here’s a blanket. March evenings are cold in this part of Oregon.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be fine. Really.”

He put a flashlight on the pillow. “Sometimes we lose power during a storm. The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Only one, I’m afraid. I’ll be over in Stew’s cottage if you need anything.” He handed her a scrap of paper with his cell number on it.

“You don’t need to leave because of me,” Maria said.

“Wouldn’t be proper for me to sleep here.” He looked into the aquarium at the frog huddled under a hollowed-out hunk of wood. “She won’t make much noise to keep you awake.”

She followed his gaze. “I won’t mind having her as a roommate.”

He didn’t smile. The look he turned on her was the usual impassive expression, but she saw a gleam in his eyes that she took for sadness. “She’ll be a quiet one anyway.” He laid a hand lightly on the glass lid and peered at the frog. “I’m afraid she’ll be dead before too much longer.”

“Oh.” Maria searched for something to say. She felt a pang for the tiny creature and for the man who peered at it so tenderly. “That’s too bad.”

He turned to go.

“Um, thank you. For the blankets and everything.” She watched his broad back vanish down the corridor. In a few moments, she heard the sound of the front door close.

Maria crawled into the narrow cot, wishing desperately she had thought to bring her laptop along on the disastrous trip. No, she couldn’t have managed it anyway. She’d have been hard-pressed to carry Hank’s crate and the laptop, too. She thought about plugging in the cell phone but she didn’t think another menacing call from Marty Shell would soothe her bedtime nerves.

There were no magazines, no books. No sign really that anyone ever inhabited the room. With the exception of a broken calculator, the bedside table was empty. There wasn’t even a dust bunny under the bed.

A noise made her heart leap until she decided it was the snap of a branch against the window. She hugged herself, her ears straining for sounds of movement. The stream of rain coursing down the gutters mimicked the tread of running footsteps. “You’re making yourself crazy, Maria.”

The chest called to her. “Open me,” it seemed to say. She listened for the sound of movement in the house, any tiny noise that might announce Cy’s return. Nothing. She eased the lid of the trunk open one millimeter at a time. The hinges squeaked, but made only a small groan of protest. Finally it was completely open and she could get a good look at the contents.

Inside were a few more sweatpants and shirts. One denim skirt, size ten and a pair of reading glasses. Underneath was an almost-used-up tube of lipstick, Petal Pink. At the very bottom was a tattered roll of wallpaper border in a busy floral print.

She almost missed the photo of a young man. It had been folded and the crease dissected the face just below the nose. The man was in his teens, she guessed, eyes dark, a half smile on his lips. Was it a relative of Cy’s? No, she thought. The man didn’t have the strong chin and wide shoulders she’d seen in her host.

Maria sat back on her heels. Who did this odd collection of bits and pieces belong to? Cy’s wife perhaps? Daughter maybe? She discarded that idea. Cy didn’t look old enough to have a daughter who wore a Misses size ten. It might be a wife, but there was certainly no sign of her outside of this room. Whoever she was, Cy wasn’t inclined to explain. The topic of cyanide bubbled up in her brain but she pushed it away.

The wood floor was cool under her bare feet. She padded over to the glass case and squatted down. It took several minutes to spot the small brown ball that wasn’t more than two inches long. The frog’s skin was satiny and spangled with black freckles. As she moved to get a side view, the frog startled forward. It bent its long, almost translucent legs to hop, but fell over instead, landing on its side on the mossy floor of the cage.

She could see the gold eyes watching her. Maria’s throat constricted. How helpless it must feel, exposed, terrified, unable even to make it to the sheltering corner a few inches away. “How did you get hurt, little frog? What will happen to you?”

She knelt next to the cage until a chill made her legs stiffen. When the light was out, she lay in bed, shivering against the cold sheets. With the tiny lamp turned off the room settled into quiet darkness, broken only by the whoosh of rain against the walls. Poor frog. Was her mind still active, trapped in a lifeless body? Tears wet her pillow until she dashed them away. Not now, Maria. You’ve got enough to deal with. Pray. It’s all you can do.

“Thanks, God, for keeping us safe tonight and providing us with shelter and warmth. Please give me the courage to face tomorrow.” Her eyelids grew heavy. “And please, God, take care of the frog, too.”



Her eyes snapped open. She lay there, heart pounding, wondering what had awakened her. The darkness was complete; her watch told her daybreak was still hours away. It came again, the soft crunch of a footstep outside. She bolted to a sitting position, blankets clutched around her.

What should she do? Call Cy? She scrambled through her backpack and looked on the floor for the scrap with his number on it. “Oh, no. I must have dropped it somewhere.”

She slid out of bed and hurriedly pulled on the pink sweat suit. Her skin prickled when she heard the sound again, closer this time, as if someone was walking a few feet from her window.

Had Cy locked the doors? Was she easy prey for the men who were looking for her? Her bare feet met the cold wood. As quietly as she could, she tiptoed down the corridor, praying the floorboards would not give away her location.

The house was dark, silent. Her panic increased with each passing step until she reached the kitchen. Sidling up to the window, she peered out into the darkness. The beam of a flashlight just outside the kitchen door flooded her body with terror.

A scream fought its way up to her mouth, and she sucked in a deep breath.

She watched in horror as the doorknob slowly turned.




FIVE


The handle revolved until the catch gave. A man stepped inside.

She screamed, grabbed a frying pan from the stove and swung with all her might.

The man dropped his flashlight and warded off the blow with a powerful forearm.

She staggered back against the wall and snapped on the light.

Cy’s eyes were wide, his mouth open in shock.

“Cy…what…what are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure I’d locked the windows.” He inhaled deeply. “You nearly brained me with that frying pan. Are you all right?”

Maria sagged in relief and sank onto the chair. Her face was coated with sweat and her hands shook as she pressed them to her face. “I thought you were…never mind.”

He sat across from her. “I apologize for scaring you. I couldn’t sleep and I began to wonder if I’d locked up properly. I didn’t want to wake you, but maybe I should have.”

She looked closely into his face to gauge the sincerity in his words but he was predictably unreadable. “It’s okay. No harm done.”

“Anyway, I’ll just take a look around and see that the place is secure.”

Maria listened to him glide around the house, checking the windows in every room and all the doors.

“All locked up tight,” he said on his return. “Are you sure…um, would you like me to fix you a cup of tea?”

His awkwardness would have made her smile if she wasn’t so steeped in fear and fatigue. “No. No, thank you. I think I’ll head back to bed now. Good night.”

“Good night, Maria.”

The thought struck her as she walked back to her room. Had he really returned to check for her safety? Or did he have a less noble purpose in mind?



At first she thought she was still at the bottom of the ravine, trapped in the Demon. When her brain began to function and her puffy eyes finally opened fully, she found herself in the same tiny room, tangled in the sheets, as watery morning sunshine crept through the cotton curtains. The smell of baking bread made her stomach rumble. For a moment her breath caught. Cy was back. Maybe he’d come to finish her off. Then she reminded herself it was his house and he probably did need to make breakfast.

She tamped down her fear and hauled herself upright, head throbbing, the muscles in her back tense from the previous day’s crash. After pulling on the pink sweatshirt and pants, she took a long look at the frog. She could see no sign of life from the poor creature, save for a tiny telltale vibration of the throat. The golden eyes swiveled slightly to look at her.

“Good morning, frog. I’m glad you’re still alive,” she whispered. “Hang in there.”

With a sigh, she tiptoed to the bathroom. A small bathtub-shower combo filled half the tiled space, leaving just enough room for a sink and tiny toilet. There were a few men’s toiletries, including a razor and shampoo, lined up neatly along the edge of the tub.

There was a dry towel on the counter with a folded wash-cloth and a bar of wrapped soap. She made a note to be a little kinder to her surly host as she prepared the hottest bath she could muster. He couldn’t really be a murderer, could he? A man who thought to provide her with towels and soap? Thinking about his stealthy entry into the kitchen last night made her shiver.

“Maria, Maria. Even Jack the Ripper probably had his good points. Goodness knows, you thought Shell had some fine qualities.” She turned off the faucet and eased into the water. She imagined herself in a gorgeous four-star hotel spa. The walls were the palest green and clouds of lemon-scented steam enveloped her in the massive Roman tub. On her floating tray was a breathtaking array of her grandmother’s finest sweets. Piles of crispy fried bananas with cinnamon sugar and dozens of docinhos, the little rolls filled with sweet cheese and soaked in sweetened condensed milk, danced across her closed eyelids.

She could hear her father’s voice, soft and musical.

“How can you eat so many, Maria, when you are already so sweet?”

How had he gotten in her daydream? She blinked to clear away the remnants from her imagination and soaked until the water cooled and she let it swirl away down the drain.

It wasn’t docinhos she smelled as she made her way to the kitchen, but frying bacon. And sausages. And eggs along with an assortment of other scents that made her salivary glands kick into overdrive.

Cy was at the small stove, stirring a pot. The table was set for four and there was already a loaf of brown bread and a pot of tea on the table.

“Wow,” was all she could manage. “Is this how you breakfast all the time?”

He looked over his shoulder and gave her a thin smile. “Yes, Miss de Silva. We enjoy a hearty meal in the morning. That’s what gets us through the day. Sit down, it will just be a minute.”

The guy must have some Latin in his blood, she thought as she stared at the piles of food. It seemed innocuous, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep a close eye on things. “Could you use some help? Oh, never mind. I forgot. You are used to taking care of yourself.”

He added the pot to the table and handed her the spoon. “Tell you what. You can dish up the oatmeal.”

She ladled the creamy stuff into the four bowls. “Who else are you expecting?”

“As soon as the smell of food hits the air, you’ll meet Loren. He’s never missed a breakfast yet. I consider it part of his wages since I can’t pay him much. There’s another gal, Sonya, coming to work later.”

As if on cue, a tall, lanky man sauntered through the doorway and slid into a chair. His short sandy-brown hair thinned slightly at the temples, his face marked by an occasional red blemish. He tore his blue eyes away from the feast to Maria.

“Hey. Good morning. You must be the lady who crashed the car in the creek.”

She blushed. “Er, yes. I’m Maria de Silva.”

He extended a hand. “Loren Swann. Nice to meet you. That’s a sweet car, even if it is a little dented.”





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