Forgotten (27 page)

THIRTY-ONE

T
he old car rocked from side to side. Portia could tell when they were making a turn and in which direction they were heading by the way her body rolled. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark inside the trunk, assisted by the small bit of light that came through the floor where rust had eroded the metal. She looked for something she could use to work the rope free from her hands but there was nothing.

The phone in her front pocket rang and she wished to God she could answer it. She heard the beep that told her the call had gone to voice mail and she wondered if it was Jim, leaving her another message, or her sister, maybe, asking her if she was going to make it home in time to have dinner with her and Will.

She looked at the roof of the trunk and wished that DeLuca drove a newer model car, one with a latch inside the trunk that would come in handy in moments like this. Then she remembered she wouldn’t be able to reach it anyway, with her hands tied behind her back, so it didn’t really matter.

She tried to imagine scenarios in which she could distract him or disarm him. Not much hope of that without hands, but unless he tied her feet together, she could do some damage. The techniques she’d learned while at the academy years ago had come in handy in the past. She would have to rely on whatever skills she had—martial arts, self-defense, her wits—to best her captor.

The inside of the trunk was stifling and smelled of gasoline and dirty clothes. It occurred to her that perhaps he’d put his victims in just this spot. It saddened her to think that any one or all of those three boys might have laid their heads where hers now lay. Had he placed them in here alive, only to drive them to another place where he coldly murdered them?

It occurred to her that he was planning on her meeting the same fate. It wasn’t the first time she’d faced death, she reminded herself. She’d managed to fight her way out of many situations where the outcome had seemed more certain than this one.

Had the boys fought him, too? she wondered. Well, she could do no less.

The car came to a slow stop, and under the tires she could hear a soft crunching sound. She heard the engine shut off and the slamming of the car door. A moment later, the key was in the latch and the trunk lid opened.

“Let’s go,” he said as he pulled her from the trunk and stood her next to the car.

Portia’s eyes searched quickly for the gun. Not seeing it, she took a few small steps backward in anticipation of knocking his legs out from under him, when her phone rang. For a moment, DeLuca froze.

“You got a phone with you?” he yelled at her. “They can find you with that thing! I saw it on TV.”

He went through her pockets until he found the phone, then tossed it as far away as he could.

“Now we’re going to have to get back in the car and go someplace else,” he complained. “They’re going to look for you here.”

He grabbed at her arm and she jumped back. Hands still tied behind her back, she kicked with all of her strength and landed a foot in his groin. He screamed like a wounded animal and fell to the ground. Portia debated which way to go for only seconds. The back country road was poorly traveled. If she took off in either direction, he’d have no trouble spotting her. She’d take her chances for cover in the woods. If her phone was being traced, sooner or later, help would arrive. Until then, all she had to do was stay hidden.

She took off into the woods, her gait awkward. She could hear DeLuca still groaning behind her, so she figured she could count on a few minutes’ head start. With any luck, she’d find a path to follow, hopefully one that would lead to a house. She tripped over a branch and went down on one knee, losing precious time getting back up again. How close behind her was he? She stopped next to a tree and tried to catch her breath, listening for his foot steps. All she heard was silence.

Encouraged, she turned her back to the tree, and started working the rope against the rough bark until it frayed enough to break. She’d make better time, have better balance, and be able to defend herself with the use of her hands. She rubbed and rubbed until the bark fell free and she had to move to a different spot. As she rounded the tree, she heard him crashing along the same path she’d taken. Too late to finish off the rope, she ran as fast as she could, but she knew he was gaining on her.

She knew, too, that once he caught up with her, he wouldn’t be kind.

W
hen Livy pulled to the side of the road and got out to inspect the brown sedan that was parked there, Jim was right behind her.

“Are you crazy?” she yelled at him as she re moved her gun from its holster. “You need to get out of here.”

“I’m already here, so let me work with you to find her.” Before she could reply, he said, “I’m going to assume you tracked her and it’s no coincidence there’s a brown car right here.”

Livy nodded. “It’s his. The license plate matches.

But the tracker says the phone’s here somewhere.”

“Let’s find out.” He dialed Portia’s number, and almost immediately, they heard it ringing.

“It’s coming from over there.” Livy followed the sound through the thick grass. “It’s here.”

She bent down and picked it up and dropped it in her pocket.

“So which way?” he asked, looking around. “Looks like the underbrush is tamped down going into the woods there to the right. I say that’s the way to go.”

“Mr. Cannon…”

“Jim.”

“Jim.” Livy shook her head. “Oh, what’s the use? You’re going to follow me anyway, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“Were you in the military?” she asked.

“No.”

“Ever shoot a gun?”

“On a shooting range, sure.”

“You any good? Truth, Jim. This is no place for cowboys.”

“Truth is I’m a damned good shot.”

She went to her car, opened the glove box, and took out a handgun.

“My little backup Sig.” She handed it to him. “I hope to God I don’t regret this.”

“You won’t. Which way?” he asked. “I’m for the right.”

“Good enough. Let’s do it.”

Side by side, they hurried into the woods, both praying that they were headed in the right direction, and that the path they were following would lead them to Portia.

“W
here are we going?” Portia asked.

“There’s a lake down this way.” She felt the knife jab at her back and wondered where his gun was. “We’re gonna see how good a swimmer you are. You ever try to swim without using your arms?”

When she didn’t respond, he poked her in the back again with the knife, this time drawing blood.

“I asked you a question.”

“No, I never tried to swim without using my arms.”

“Well, we’re gonna see just how that goes,” he said, laughing. “I’m betting you’re gonna be flopping around in the water like a fish without a tail. After I have my fun with you, that is. You’re gonna pay for bashing in my balls the way you did. You can bet your life you will.”

She looked straight ahead, trying to think of the best way to gain an advantage. Right now, the only plan she could come up with was staying alert and looking to exploit even the slightest advantage.

The trees up ahead thinned out, and through them she could see the lake. There was a short dock where a rowboat with only one oar had been tied up. The oar would make a good weapon, if she could get to it, but without the use of her hands, there wasn’t much chance of that. She’d have to rely on her feet again, but she’d have to wait for the right opportunity.

On the grassy slope leading to the water, she made her move, spinning around and kicking at his left knee as hard as she could. He managed to dodge her, slashing out with the knife and connecting with the back of her calf. She screamed and fell to the ground.

“Now, for a lady who’s smart enough to be in the FBI, you’re pretty stupid,” he said as he forced her to her feet. “For one thing, I got a gun right here in my belt—you didn’t think I left that back there in the car, did you? And I got a knife, and the use of both my hands. And I will be using both my hands on you, Agent Cahill. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I can wait to do just that.”

He dragged her to the dock and tossed her down on her back. “I’m betting I have a lot more fun with you than Sheldon ever had with any of those little boys.” He was grinning as he pulled her shirt out from her waistband and groped at her breasts, squeezing them hard. “You’re just all woman, aren’t you. And right now, and until I’m done with you, you’re all mine.”

He straddled her, pulled at her jeans, and slapped her face when she struggled against him. “Stop it. Make nice to me or I’ll make it very bad for you.”

She stopped fighting for a moment, trying to drive away the panic. She knew it was critical that she keep her wits about her if she had any hope of surviving.

“That’s better. Now, we’re going to have us some fun, you and me.”

He was still fumbling with his zipper when a shadow fell across Portia’s face.

She heard the click before she saw the man who stood on the dock holding a gun to DeLuca’s head.

“You’re going to want to stand up very slowly, arms and hands high over your head.” Jim poked DeLuca with the Sig. “Higher. That’s better. I should probably warn you that, unlike these ladies, I’m not a trained professional, so this piece in my hand could go off at any minute.”

DeLuca stood unsteadily. Portia was expecting a string of protests, but there were none. If anything, the guard looked confused at his predicament.

“Jim, there’s a handgun in his waistband,” Portia told him as Livy ran on to the dock.

“Got it.” Livy removed the handgun from DeLuca’s middle.

“Nice job, Cannon,” she said as she went past him to help Portia up.

“It’s about time you guys got here. Get this rope off me.” Livy helped her to her feet.

“I don’t have a knife,” Livy told her.

“He does,” Portia nodded in DeLuca’s direction.

“Where is it?” Jim asked him.

DeLuca pointed to the deck where he’d dropped it while he was pulling at Portia’s clothing.

“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” the man whined. “I was just going to scare her a little.”

“Yeah, right. Save it for the jury.” Livy picked up the knife and used it to slice off the ropes.

“Thanks,” Portia said, rubbing her wrists. She looked up at Jim. “And thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” he told her.

Livy called for backup to meet them on the road, then turned DeLuca around and cuffed him. She gave him a shove to start him back toward the woods.

“You watch it,” he told her. “I have rights. I’m gonna get a lawyer…”

“That’s the first true thing you’ve said since I got here,” Livy said. “You sure are going to need a lawyer.” She recited his rights to him, and when she finished, she reached into her pocket and found Portia’s phone.

“Here.” She tossed it to Portia. “You have a lot of messages to listen to.”

“Most of them are probably from me,” Jim admitted as he took Portia’s hand. “So they can probably wait.”

“I know there’s one from Larisse Jordan at the lab,” Livy said. “She said it was really important that you call her ASAP. She said she has to talk to you about the DNA for the lost boy. You know what she’s talking about?”

“Yeah, I do.” Portia started listening to her messages as they walked back to the road.

“You’re limping,” Jim noted. “What happened to your leg?” he asked, but she was dialing a number into her phone.

He pulled up the left leg of her jeans and exposed the gash on her calf.

“Your leg is bleeding,” he said, frowning. “Let’s get you right to the ER and have someone take a look at that cut. I’m betting you’re good for about seven, eight stitches.”

She heard him but did not respond as the call she’d made had been answered.

“It’s Portia. I just got your message. What’s up?”

She listened intently for a full minute, a look of horror on her face.

“Dear God, are you sure? You’re positive? Larisse, you cannot be wrong about this. Yes, I understand exactly what it means. That’s why you have to be one hundred percent certain…”

She listened for another minute, then said, “Thank you for letting me know.”

She hung up as they reached the road where two agents waited for them. The agents met Livy halfway and took custody of Clifford DeLuca.

Portia walked directly to Jim’s car. “Will you drive me back to the prison?” she asked.

“Sure. As soon as we have that wound tended to,” he told her.

“No.” She shook her head. “The prison first. There’s something I have to do before I do anything else.”

THIRTY-TWO

P
ortia sat at the table in the interview room and waited. Her leg was throbbing terribly and she knew she’d lost a bit of blood, but this could not wait. The door opened and Sheldon Woods entered, smiling, as if happy to see her.

“My, my, twice in the same day. I’m so honored. But this is a very different look for you,” he said as he seated himself. “You usually look so pretty, and here you are, come to call, no makeup on, your clothes…”

His eyes narrowed and he seemed to take it all in, the disheveled hair, the ripped blouse, the mark on her face where DeLuca had slapped her. If he’d been anyone else, she’d have thought he was actually concerned. For a moment, she almost believed he was about to ask what happened to her, if she was all right. But this was Sheldon Woods, and the moment passed.

“I spoke with our DNA lab today,” she told him.

“Oh? And that concerns me how?”

“They ran the DNA for the boy in Christopher Williams’s grave. The one you said you wouldn’t give me. The one you said was yours. Turns out he certainly was. Yours, that is.”

Woods’s eyes filled with the first real sign of fear she’d ever seen, and the bravado began to fade away.

“How could you have done it, Sheldon?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “How could you have killed your own
son
?”

He looked away from her, the pain on his face all but taking her breath away.

“She would have made him just like me,” he said after several minutes had passed. “I couldn’t let her do that. One monster in the family is more than enough, wouldn’t you say? He was a good little boy. A fine little boy,” he told her. “I saved him from becoming just like his father. Did the world really need a chip off this block? What do you think, Agent Cahill?”

“It didn’t have to be that way.”

He snorted. “You don’t know Rhona.”

“You could have gone to someone for help.”

“Someone like who?”

“A teacher…”

“What teacher? He never went to school. She never let him out of her sight. No one knew about him, don’t you get it? He was our dirty little secret. There was no record of his birth, she had him at home, did it all herself. She never reported it. He’s the boy who didn’t exist, Agent Cahill. The boy who never should have been born.”

“The police…”

“Oh, of course! The police! Why didn’t I think of that?” he scoffed. “Hello, police department? This is Sheldon Woods. Yes, the same Sheldon Woods you arrested last week for indecent exposure. Yes, yes, the pedophile, that Sheldon Woods. Listen, I fathered a child by my mother, and I’m afraid she’s going to abuse him the way she abused me. What can you do for him?” He rolled his eyes. “Please.”

For once, Portia was speechless.

“Ah, didn’t expect that can of worms you opened to be quite so full, quite so messy, did you? All those dirty, disgusting, squirmy little truths.”

He watched her for a moment, then asked, “How did you figure it out?”

“I thought you were brothers. Half brothers. So I had the lab compare your DNA to his. I never suspected you were both brother
and
father.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Your mother is the monster, Sheldon. Rhona needs to answer for what she did to you.”

“Hell of a family legacy, wouldn’t you say?”

She ignored his attempt at humor. “Will you testify against her?”

“To what end? Will it change anything?” For a moment, Portia caught a fleeting glimpse of the man he might have been. “Will it change me? Will it change what I am?”

“You are what she made you.”

“But there’s no unmaking me, is there. I am what I am. I did what I did. There’s no going back.”

He stood, his face white, his eyes the eyes of a man who had been haunted all his life.

“One thing, Agent Cahill. When you see my brother, ask him how he was able to put it behind him. God knows I never could.”

Portia watched him turn away.

“Why did you stop going to the stables, Sheldon?”

He glanced back at her. “Is your leg bleeding, Agent Cahill?”

She nodded.

“At first, my riding lessons were my reward from Rhona—for performing well in the ways that pleased her.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You started riding when you were six years old.”

“Like I said, a reward for doing the things Mommy wanted me to do.”

“Why did you stop going?”

“It became all too ironic,” he said. “The only time I felt clean was when I was working at the farm. Even mucking out the stalls made me feel cleaner than being at home, with her. But after a while…it was harder to face people…” He fought for words. “People who thought I was a good kid…who thought I was something that I wasn’t. People who never saw the ugliness inside me.”

“Miz Cawley would have helped you.”

“Most of all, I never wanted Miz Cawley to know about the things I did. The thing about children is that you know deep inside that something is bad, wrong, even when someone you love tells you it’s good, it’s okay. Carrying around that secret—the secret of what she made me do—became more than I could bear. I was so sure that one day Miz Cawley would see what I was. She’d never look at me the same way again.”

He turned back to the guard. “I’m ready to go back to my cell now, Officer Kelly. Agent Cahill needs to have that leg looked at.”

He left without looking back. A few minutes passed before Portia was able to stand and walk herself out, not because of the pain in her leg, but because of the pain in her heart for the child Sheldon Woods had once been, before unspeakable acts had made him the man he had become.