Chill Factor (25 page)

Lilly's arms dropped to her sides as though they weighed a
thousand
pounds. She slumped against the wall behind her and slid down it until
her bottom reached the floor. She rested her head against her raised
knees. Until this moment, she hadn't realized how terribly cold she
was. Or perhaps she was shaking with fear.

She was afraid her assumption that he was Blue was right. And
equally afraid it was wrong. By keeping Tierney handcuffed to the
headboard, she could be dooming herself to death by suffocation.

No
. She refused to contemplate anything
except survival.
Dying was not an option. Death had cheated her daughter out of a long
life. She'd be damned before it cheated her, too.

After a few moments, she pushed herself to her feet. Without
even a
glance toward Tierney, she went into the living room.

"You need to bring in more firewood while you still have the
strength," he called to her.

She refused to engage in conversation with him, but that had
been
exactly what she was thinking. The leather of her boots was damp and
cold, but she worked her feet into them regardless of the discomfort.

Tierney's watch cap was crisp with dried blood, but it was
handier
than dealing with the bulky stadium blanket for head covering. She
pulled the cap down over her ears and as low as her eyebrows. She also
used his scarf to wrap around her throat and the lower half of her
face. Her cashmere-lined gloves were inadequate against such brutally
cold temperatures, but they were better than nothing.

When she was ready, she approached the door.

Watching her from the bedroom, he said, "For godsake, Lilly,
let me
do this for you. You can hold me at gunpoint the whole time. I don't
care. Just let me do it."

"No."

"That cold air—"

"Be quiet."

"Christ," he swore. "Don't leave the porch. Move the logs
inside
before you start splitting them."

Sound advice. He had excellent survival skills. Was he as good
at
getting women to trust him? she wondered. Evidently so. Five had
trusted him. Actually six, counting herself.

The interior of the cabin was cold, but nothing compared with
outside. The cold air slashed her exposed cheekbones. She had to keep
her eyes narrowed to slits. The tarpaulin Tierney had placed over the
stack of firewood was covered with several inches of snow that had been
blown beneath the overhang.

She reached beneath it and dragged a log off the top of the
stack.
It was so heavy it slipped from her hands and banged against the floor
of the porch, narrowly missing her toe. Awkwardly, she picked it up and
cradled it in her arms while she opened the door. She carried it
inside, shutting the door with her foot.

She placed the log on the hearth, then paused, inhaling deeply
through her mouth in an attempt to fill her lungs, trying to convince
herself that breathing was easy.

"Lilly, are you all right?"

She tried to tune him out and concentrate on forcing air
through her
constricting bronchial tubes.

"Lilly?"

His alarm sounded sincere. The handcuffs rattled against the
wrought
iron as he pulled against it. She moved away from the hearth and
stepped into his line of sight. "Stop yelling at me. I'm okay."

"Like hell you are."

"I'm fine except for being trapped with a serial criminal.
What do
you do to them while they're handcuffed, Tierney? Do you torture and
rape them before you kill them?"

"If that's what I do, why haven't I tortured, raped, and you?"

"Because I called Dutch and left the message that I was here
with
you." She was struck by sudden enlightenment. "Now I understand why you
flinched every time I mentioned his name, why you were so preoccupied
with him, why you hounded me with questions about our current
relationship."

"Because I wanted to know if you were still in love with him."

That was exactly what she had concluded. He had duped her into
thinking that jealousy was behind his persistent questions about Dutch,
the ex-husband. That she'd fallen for the ploy made her as angry at
herself as at him. "I won't waste any more breath talking to you."

He gave the handcuffs several vicious yanks. Fortunately, they
held.

She went back outside. For almost an hour she labored,
carrying in
one log at a time. Each seemed heavier than the one before it. The
chore became increasingly difficult. The rest periods between trips
grew longer.

Luckily some of the logs were small enough to catch when she
ignited
kindling beneath them, and the warmth from the fireplace was welcome.
The hatchet, as feared, wasn't up to the task of splitting the larger
logs.

She debated walking to the shed to get the ax Tierney had
overlooked
but decided against it, fearing she wouldn't make it back. Instead, she
used the hatchet to hack away at the wood until she had enough chunks
to last for several hours.

What was uncertain was whether
she
would
last that long.

"Lilly?"

For half an hour she'd been sitting on the mattress with her
back
against the sofa, resting and trying to ease her breathing.

"Lilly, answer me."

She laid her head back against the end of the sofa and closed
her
eyes. "What?"

"How are you doing?"

She was tempted not to answer, but he'd been calling her name
intermittently for the last five minutes. Evidently he wasn't going to
give up until she responded.

Throwing off the afghan, she stood up and padded to the, open
bedroom door. "What do you want?"

"Jesus, Lilly." His face registered shock, confirming her
suspicion
that she must look like a zombie. She'd seen herself in the throes of
an asthma attack before. It wasn't pretty.

"Are you warm enough?" she asked ungraciously.

"You're starved for oxygen."

She was about to turn away when he said quickly, "I could use
a
blanket over my legs."

She retrieved one from the mattress. The woven wool had
retained the
heat from the fireplace. Standing at the foot of the bed, she unfurled
it above him and let it settle over his outstretched legs.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." She noticed that his wrists were raw from
pulling
against the handcuffs. "That won't do any good. You're only going to
hurt yourself."

He glanced at the abraded skin. "I finally came to that
conclusion."
He flexed his fingers a few times. "My hands get numb for lack of
circulation. I didn't plan very well when I locked myself to the
headboard. I should have placed my hands lower. Waist level. Then I
wouldn't be in such an awkward and uncomfortable position."

"That was lousy planning."

"I don't suppose you would consider unlocking the cuffs long
enough—"

"No."

"I didn't think so." He shifted his position, wincing with
pain, but
she didn't give in to the pity he was trying to invoke.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"My stomach's been growling."

"I'll bring you something."

"Coffee?"

"Okay."

"It'll have to count for a ration of water."

Always the Boy Scout. Ever prepared.

Five minutes later she returned to the bedroom with a mug of
fresh
coffee and a plate of crackers spread with peanut butter, staples they
had brought with them from her car.

She said, "I left the pistol, along with the key to the
handcuffs,
in the living room." She moved aside so he could look past her to the
end table. "If you're thinking about burning me with the coffee, or
pinning me down with your legs, or overpowering me in any way, it won't
do you any good. You still couldn't get to the gun or the key."

"Very clever."

Setting the coffee and the plate on the floor, she unwound the
scarf
from around her neck and tossed it far out of reach.

He frowned at her. "Have I just been insulted?"

"You could use it as a weapon."

"Strangling you wouldn't be very smart, would it? You'd be
dead, and
I'd be helplessly handcuffed."

"I'm taking no chances."

"Why were you wearing my scarf?"

"Can you handle the mug?"

"I'll try. Can't promise not to dribble. Why were you wearing
my
scarf?"

"For warmth, Tierney. No other reason. I don't want to go
steady."

She placed the mug between his hands. He folded his fingers
around
it, then lowered his head to it and took a sip. "I guess it's a good
thing my hands aren't at waist level after all. I couldn't eat or drink
if they were."

"I wouldn't let you starve or die of thirst."

"You're a kind jailer, Lilly. Not into cruel and unusual
punishment.
Although." He waited until he was sure he had her full attention before
saying, "It'll be pretty damn cruel if you die on me."

"I don't plan to."

"See that you don't."

His voice had meaning behind it. So did the way he was looking
at
her. She resisted both. "Ready for your crackers?"

"I'll finish my coffee first."

She backed away and sat down in the rocking chair a safe
distance
from the bed, keeping her head averted.

"Did Dutch talk to you often about the missing persons cases?"

Surprised by the question, she looked at him sharply.

"He must have been the one who told you about the blue ribbon,
the
nickname Blue."

"I never asked him to discuss his cases, but I listened when
he did."

"What else did he tell you about the Cleary disappearances?"

She responded with a cool, steady stare.

"Come on, Lilly. If you're convinced I'm Blue, you won't be
divulging anything I don't know. Did Dutch know the significance of the
blue velvet ribbon?"

"Its significance to Blue, you mean?"

He nodded.

"He had a theory about it."

"What was it?"

She was hesitant to discuss what she knew about the cases with
Tierney. But if she did, she might learn something. "The first to
disappear, Torrie Lambert, is the only one who isn't a local resident."

"She and her parents were vacationing in Cleary," he said.
"They
went on a guided hike to enjoy the autumn foliage. She and her mother
quarreled. In typical fifteen-year-old fashion, the girl stalked off to
pout alone. She was never seen again."

"That's right."

"Stop looking at me like that, Lilly. I came to Cleary shortly
after
the girl disappeared. The story was front-page news for weeks. I read
the accounts like everybody else. Anyone could tell you what I just
did. What's Dutch's take on the ribbon?"

"That's all they found of her," Lilly said. "The other hikers
in the
group, including her parents, thought she would eventually catch up
with them. When she didn't, they became concerned. By nightfall they
panicked. After twenty-four hours they concluded that this was more
than just an adolescent snit, that she was no longer missing by choice.
Either she had been injured and couldn't make it back, or she was
hopelessly lost, or she'd been taken."

"Rescue teams searched for weeks, but winter came early that
year,"
he said, picking up the story. "The girl—"

"Stop calling her 'the girl,' " she said testily. "Her name is
Torrie Lambert."

"Torrie Lambert vanished as though the ground had opened up
and
swallowed her. Not a trace of her has been found."

"Except for a blue velvet ribbon," Lilly said. "It was
discovered in
some underbrush. Across the state line in Tennessee."

"That's what led the authorities to believe that she'd been
kidnapped. To get to the spot where the ribbon was found, she would
have had to walk ten miles over some of the most rugged terrain east of
the Mississippi," he said.

"Her mother identified the ribbon as the one Torrie had been
wearing
in her hair that day." She stared into near space for a moment, then
said quietly, "Mrs. Lambert must have gone through pure hell when she
saw that ribbon. Torrie has very long hair, almost to her waist. Lovely
hair. That morning, she wore it in a single braid and had plaited the
ribbon into it."

Shifting her gaze back to Tierney, she said, "So, whatever
else you
did to her, you took the time to unbind her hair and remove the ribbon."

"Blue did."

"I wonder," she continued as though he hadn't contradicted
her.
"Were you careless, or did you leave the ribbon behind deliberately?"

"Why would it deliberately be left behind?"

"To throw off the search parties. Mislead them. If so, it
worked,
After the ribbon was found, trained track dogs were brought in. They
quickly lost the scent." She ruminated for a moment. "I question why
you didn't take the ribbon as a trophy."

"Blue had his trophy. He had Torrie Lambert."

His tone made Lilly shiver. "So the ribbon is only a symbol of
success."

Tierney took a last quick sip of coffee. "I'm done. Thanks."

She took the mug from his hands and passed him two of the
crackers,
one for each hand. He demolished the first in one bite. When he bent
his head to eat the second, she noticed the bandage. "Does the head
wound hurt?"

"It's tolerable."

"It doesn't appear to be bleeding." She extended him another
cracker. But instead of taking it, he snatched her wrist, tightly
closing his fingers around it. "I'll survive, Lilly. I'm more worried
about your survival."

She tried to pull her hand free, but he held on. "Let go of my
hand."

"Unlock the cuffs."

"No." She struggled futilely.

"I'll go to your car and get your medication."

"Flee, you mean."

"Flee?" He gave a short laugh. "You've been outside. You know
what
it's like. How far do you think I'd get if I wanted to
flee?
I want to save your life."

"I'll live."