In Too Deep (19 page)

“First tell me the good news,” I said. “Then we eat—my treat.”

“Deal. Okay, so I e-mailed that guy I was telling you about, and he e-mailed me right back. He says he can do it, Robyn.”

“He can restore the pictures in your camera?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure. He says a lot of people assume that when they're gone, they're gone, no idea how to restore them. But he can do it. He's done it before, so there should be no problem. He's going to drive up here first thing tomorrow morning. As long as we have the camera—”

“We'll have it. It's in my glove compartment, and the car's locked. It'll be safe there,” I said.

“Then you'll have the proof you need to—”

I clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her. “You did great, Morgan,” I said. “Let's get something to eat.”

We circled around to the front of the restaurant—and almost collided with Phil Varton, also on his way in. It was impossible to read his expression behind his mirrored sunglasses.

  .    .    .

After we had stuffed ourselves on the daily special—fried chicken, followed by slices of homemade pie—we definitely needed our life jackets for the trip back to the Point. If either of us had fallen into the lake with all that food in our stomachs, we would have sunk like stones. The water was choppy, and we were shoved up and down as the boat sped over the crests of the scudding water. Morgan looked up at the threatening sky.

“There's going to be a storm,” she said.

“Nothing like a little positive thinking,” I said. But she was right.

We got home and sat in the kitchen, drinking tea. Billy called Morgan, and they chatted while I wondered how Nick was and what would happen tomorrow.

When Morgan finally ended her call, I checked all the doors and windows. I took another look at the sky, but it was impossible to see what was happening up there. The clouds hid the moon and the stars. I stared across the water, trying to see my car in the marina parking lot.

“It's going to be okay, Robyn,” Morgan said. “You've done everything you can.”

After all the excitement of the day, I was sure I wouldn't be able to sleep. I told myself to relax. I told myself that Morgan was right—I had done everything I could. The next day, if things went the way I hoped they would, everything would be okay.

  .    .    .

It wasn't the thunder that woke me up. It was the hand over my mouth. I kicked and struggled, but someone grabbed my arms and tied them behind my back. Someone else taped my mouth shut and slipped something over my head. Rough hands yanked me to my feet. I heard drawers opening and closing, and then more commotion down the hall as someone dragged me out of the bedroom. I tried again to break free, but the hands that were holding me were too strong. I was carried down the stairs, out of the house, and down to the dock. I felt the rain and wild wind on my skin. I was pushed into a boat. Judging from the thump that followed, so was Morgan. I heard a motor start. Then a second one. We started across the lake, the boat pounding up and down in the water.

It was impossible to tell how long the boat ride lasted—not that I was in any hurry to have it end. I was too afraid of what could happen when we got wherever we were going. I was shaking all over by the time we docked. I felt hands on me, half pushing, half lifting me.

The wind whipped through my thin pajamas. I shivered as I was shoved barefoot down the dock. A terrible thought struck me. What if I was being pushed to the end of the dock? What if they were going to throw me into the water? With my hands tied behind me, there would be nothing I could do.

I stumbled when I reached the end of the dock and made contact with land. I was nudged roughly along. I heard a door open and was pushed through it. I tripped and fell to the floor. Someone—Morgan—was thrust in after me. A door banged shut behind us. A voice said, “Robyn?”

Nick.

“Robyn, can you hear me?” His voice was low, but urgent.

I nodded my response.

“They've got me tied up,” Nick said. “I'm over here.”

I staggered toward his voice.

“That's it,” he said, encouraging me. “A little closer. A little closer.”

I felt something warm and firm. Nick's arm.

“Go behind me. I think I can get your blindfold off.”

I maneuvered around him and knelt down so that he could grab the hood on my head. Once he had a grip on it, I pulled free, and there was Nick, his hands tied behind his back.

“I think I can get that tape off,” he said. “But it might hurt.”

I positioned my face near his hands and almost started to cry when I felt his fingers touch my cheek. He picked at a corner of the tape until he worked it free.

“Okay,” he said. “Here goes.”

With one quick jerk, he ripped the tape from my mouth. He was right. It hurt—a lot. But I didn't care. I staggered to my feet and peered into the gloom.

“Morgan,” I said.

With her foot in a cast, Morgan had more trouble getting around. I went to her and pulled off her hood with my teeth. Her eyes were frantic. I went to work on the tape that covered her mouth.

“What happened?” she said when I finally tore off the tape. “Who were those people? Where are we?”

“Larry and some of his guys,” Nick said. “They grabbed me a couple of hours ago. I heard them say your name, Robyn, but there was nothing I could do to warn you.” He sounded angry. “I never should have got you involved.”

“So much for that plan,” Morgan said.

“What plan?” Nick said.

“You said they would just take the camera,” Morgan said. “You said that's all we needed to prove—”

“I was wrong,” I said. I felt terrible.

“What plan?” Nick said.

I filled him in on the scheme Morgan and I had cooked up. Then, before he could quiz me, I said, “Do you know where we are, Nick?”

He shook his head. “I wasn't able to see where they were taking me.”

“What do you think they're going to do with us?” Morgan asked, her voice trembling.

“I don't know.”

“Robyn, let me see if I can untie your hands,” Nick said.

I went back to Nick and stood with my back to his. His fingers slid against my skin as he worked to untie the knots in my rope.

“Jeez,” he said, “must have been tied by a Boy Scout.”

“You were right about the sawmill,” I said. “There's a car-theft ring out there.”

“You saw something?”

I described everything, including the police car and the gloved hand.

“We've got to get out of here,” Nick said. He fumbled with the knots, but he wasn't getting anywhere. “Did you talk to Ed Jarvis?” he said. “Did you find out anything about the guys who ran away from here?”

“Only that there's no record of where they are now. And ...”

“And what?”

“Neither of them had any family. They were just like that kid Steven who ran away—the one they found out in the woods.”

There was complete silence in the room for a moment. After a few somber moments, Nick said, “Alex was different. He had a family. He had Seth. If Alex had run away, Seth would have done something. He loved that kid, Robyn. As sick as he was, he would have done something to find him.”

I heard Morgan sniffling softly behind me.

“We can't just disappear, Morgan,” I said. “Nobody would believe that we would run away and never contact anyone we knew ever again. Nobody would believe that we would commit suicide, either.”

“We get kidnapped in the middle of the night, and you're trying to tell me nothing bad is going to happen to us?”

“Shhhh,” Nick said. “I heard something.”

We all fell silent. It was the sound of a car, and it was coming toward us.

“Ohmygod,” Morgan whimpered. “Ohmygod.”

I heard a car door open and then slam shut again, then footsteps coming toward us. The lock on the door rattled.

The door opened, and in the moonlight I saw Dean Lafayette.

D

ean Lafayette flipped a switch inside the door, turning on a single lightbulb suspended from a cord overhead. He was wearing gloves. There was an oil stain on one of them.

He came into the room, turned me around, removed the gloves, and started to untie my hands. A shadow fell across the floor. I gasped. It was Larry Wilson. He was flanked by Derek and Bruno and another guy whom I didn't recognize. Everyone except Wilson was holding a gun.

Dean Lafayette turned to face them.

“You were supposed to just take the camera, not the girls. Without those pictures, they've got nothing,” he said.

“They know too much,” Wilson said. “You said yourself she was out at the sawmill. You think she's going to keep quiet about that?”

“For God's sake, I know her father,” Dean Lafayette said. “I've known him for twenty years.”

“And he's an ex-cop. And a PI. You think she won't tell him? You think he'd let a thing like this go?”

“I know he won't let a thing like his daughter's death go.”

Death?
I glanced at Morgan. She had turned ash-gray.

“Two girls who don't know any better take a boat out and get caught in a storm. These things happen,” Wilson said.

Dean Lafayette stared at him for a moment. Then he freed my hands. I felt a surge of hope. He inspected my wrists.

“You're lucky there are no bruises or rope marks,” he said. He gestured to Nick. “What about him?”

“What about him?” Wilson echoed. “He's just a kid who's going to disappear—a runaway, like the others.”

Dean Lafayette shook his head. “I don't like it. That's four deaths.”

Four? Who was the fourth?

“
Two
,” Wilson said. “Two accidental deaths. One disappearance. One runaway. And you'll be in charge of the investigation. Relax, Dean.”

The two men locked eyes.

“Okay,” Lafayette said. “But it had better be convincing.”

“I'm sure you'll see to that,” Wilson said.

“Me? I'm having no part—”

“You're coming with us,” Wilson said. “You're helping. That way you won't be tempted to rat us out.”

Dean Lafayette tensed all over. Bruno gestured with the gun in his hand, and Dean Lafayette raised his arms just high enough to let Derek relieve him of his weapon.

“Good,” Wilson said. “Now, let's get this over with.” He turned to Bruno. “Untie the other girl's hands, too. Dean's right. If it's going to look like an accident, we don't want any bruises on their wrists. And see that they get dressed.”

“Get up,” Bruno said to Morgan. He yanked her to her feet. She let out a yelp, but he didn't care that he was hurting her. I kicked him hard. He doubled over, groaning. Derek pointed his gun at Nick.

“You make another move like that and he dies,” he said. “I mean it.”

I glanced at Nick. He shook his head. Larry Wilson threw a plastic bag at my feet.

“Get dressed,” he said.

Morgan looked at me in horror. Being kidnapped was terrifying. But from the look on her face, the thought of dressing in front of all these men was even scarier.

“Can we at least have a little privacy?” I said.

Wilson nodded.

“Over there,” Derek said, his gun on us.

There was a small stack of wooden crates. If we stood behind them, we could dress in relative modesty.

“You try anything, Nick's the first to get it,” Derek said.

I untied Morgan, and we dressed as quickly as we could with shaking hands. Then they led us back out to the dock and onto a boat. The rain was pelting down, and lightning flashed across the sky. Derek got into the boat first and held his gun on us while we followed. Someone shoved me down some steps into the boat's small cabin, where I tripped over something—a body. Phil Varton.

Morgan slammed into me and crashed to the floor. Then Nick stumbled in. The door slammed behind him, and I heard the click of a lock turning.

“My ankle,” Morgan moaned. “I think I broke it again.”

I rushed to her.

“Let me see, Morgan.” She cringed when I touched her ankle. The cast was wet but seemed okay otherwise. I glanced at Nick. I knew he was thinking the same thing that I was: the pain in her ankle was nothing compared to what was going to happen next. Nick knelt down beside Phil Varton.

“He's still alive,” he said. He bent down to look more closely at him. “He's chained, Robyn. Weights on him, too.”

They were planning to throw him overboard. Weighted down, he would never be found. I had no doubt that Dean Lafayette would have some story to explain his absence.

“What about us? What are they going to do?” Morgan said in a small voice.

More chains lay on the floor beside Phil Varton. I felt sick when I realized they were for Nick.