Run to Me (18 page)

Throughout the procedure she remained distracted, seeming more intent on sounds from outside – a gust of wind, a car going past, the scrabble of dry leaves across the roof – than to any discomfort she might have experienced. He held off on the small talk this time, in
part because the procedure demanded his full attention but also because he doubted she’d hear it.

Ten stitches and a tetanus shot later he rose from the stool. ‘Shyler, this cut was obviously more extensive than the one to your thumb, and you didn’t manage to keep it as clean. I’d like to give you a course of antibiotics, just to be on the safe side.’

‘Yes, all right.’

He went to the cupboard
and dispensed the tablets. When he turned back she was standing by the door.

‘Before you go, there’s one other thing.’ He took up a pen and pad from his desk. ‘It seems you forgot to leave your details with Elaine last time. If you’ll just write them down for me I’d be grateful.’

She glanced towards the door. ‘Doctor, I –’

‘It’ll only take a second. Address and phone number is all I need.’

For a moment he thought she was going to run. Then she took the pen, scrawled some words across the pad and handed them back. After assuring himself he could read her writing he held out the bottle – but didn’t let go when she reached to take it.

Startled, she looked up, their hands overlapped.

‘It’s getting cold out. Would you like a hot drink before you go?’

The offer surprised him as much
as her. The urge to detain her had hit him suddenly. If he kept her here he could keep an eye on her, make sure she took the pills he’d given her, see she didn’t have any more accidents, keep her safe from whatever dangers were lurking outside.

But she was already pulling the bottle from his hand, stepping away. ‘I . . . I’m sorry, I forgot to bring something to barter this time. I –’ She stopped,
her gaze fixed on something behind him.

Turning around, he saw it was the row of carved wooden figures that lined the shelf behind his desk.

He shrugged and smiled. ‘I’m a fan of your work.’

It was dusk when she reached her driveway again but beneath the trees it seemed much later. Rounding a bend, her headlights glinted off the stranger’s car standing where it had been when she’d driven out.

She slowed as she neared it. Something was wrong. Something had changed. From her current perspective she ought to have been able to see . . .

But, no, she couldn’t. Not even when
she pulled up twenty feet away and shone her beams directly on the spot where he’d fallen.

The body was gone.

Twisting in her seat, she strained to see out into the surrounding gloom. She’d hit him so hard, she was sure she’d killed him. Where could he be? Was someone else here? Had they dragged him away?

A sudden thought snapped her gaze towards the cabin. Was that person right now inside
her home, intent on finishing what his partner had started?

She unclipped her belt and reached for the rifle on the seat beside her. Even as her fingers closed on its barrel her door flew open. Hands thrust in, grabbed for her throat.

He pushed her back. She tore at his arms, struck at his face, but his grip was relentless. Forced sideways, she groped the seat again. The rifle was gone, knocked
to the floor.

She stamped with her foot, hit the accelerator. The car shot forward, churning wheels throwing up rocks and debris.

Incredibly the man held on. But the force he exerted as he hung from her neck, legs dragging, threatened to wrench her from the seat. She yanked the wheel, turning the car to sideswipe a bush. With a final shout, the man fell away.

Shyler sped on. She drove around
to the front of the cabin, threw wide her door, found the rifle and jumped from the car. By the time she’d cleared the side of the porch all she could see of her attacker was his car’s tail lights disappearing down her driveway.

The rifle trembled in her hands as she stood gasping. Her heart was a time bomb inside her chest. Had he really left? Had he called for help while she’d been gone? Was
someone else here?

‘Well, well, look who it is.’

She spun at the sound of the voice from behind her. No one was there. They’d sounded so close. How could the person have vanished so –

‘Some mother you are.’

A different voice. Yet somehow familiar, as the other had been. She swivelled again, but again there was no one.

She raised the rifle and stepped towards the woods. ‘Where are you? Show
yourselves.’

‘Here.’

She swung back.

All at once they were standing around her. Scarecrow with his flaxen hair, Beret, Snake, Puppet with his twitching hands . . .

‘Where’s Jesse? What have you done to him?’

Fish Hook jerked his head towards the cabin, ignoring the rifle she aimed at his chest. ‘Didn’t look after him very well, did you?’

‘What do you mean
didn’t
?’

‘What kinda mom leaves
her sick kid alone?’ Scarecrow leered.

‘I went to get medicine.’

‘Ain’t gonna do him much good now,’ Puppet whispered across her shoulder.

She whirled to face him. ‘No. You’re lying.’

‘Getting it off with the doctor, were you?’ Fish Hook bent closer. ‘You liked those big strong hands of his, didn’t you? The way he touched you, pretended to care.’

She bowed her head, squeezed shut her eyes.
No. No
.

‘Been a while, hasn’t it? Yeah, we know. And I’m sure the kid would’ve understood. If only you’d got back in time to explain it to him.’

‘No! You’re lying!’

Pushing past them, she ran for the cabin. She charged up the steps, burst through the door, then fell against it, slamming it shut.

A small still figure lay on the couch. She flew to his side, dropped to her knees and placed her
hand on his smooth, dry, over-heated brow.

A sob clawed its way up her throat. Hot, not cold. Jesse was alive.

She jumped up again and raced to the window. Not the slightest movement or deeper shadow disturbed the near-total darkness outside. Fish Hook and his gang were gone.

If they
’
d ever been there at all
.

Nolan stumbled through his cabin’s back door, head screaming, vision blurred. It
was a miracle he hadn’t killed himself driving back. Several times he’d veered off the road, twice to the shoulder, once into the oncoming lane. Thank God this hick town had so few people there hadn’t been anyone coming the other way.

He groped to the kitchen and hunched over the sink. Judging by how dark it had been when he’d woken, he’d lain unconscious on the forest floor for several hours.
Only moments after he’d pushed to his feet, he’d spotted headlights coming through the trees, giving him the seconds he needed to hide. But when the woman had pulled up right in front of him, he’d lunged at her car with one thought in mind – to snap the fucking bitch’s neck.

But even that had been too much for him. After she’d scraped him off her car it had been all he could do to get back into
his own and drive away. He knew what Tragg would say of his efforts but there was just no way he could deal with the bitch in his present condition. Especially seeing as she had a rifle and he was unarmed.

He turned and stumbled into the bathroom. Light hurt his eyes but he needed to survey the damage. Bracing himself, he flicked the switch.

A rivulet of blood streaked his face from scalp to
chin. Gingerly he probed for the source, wincing when his fingers touched an egg-sized lump in the centre of his crown. He wet a washcloth, swiped at his face, then staggered out again.

Somehow he ended up in the living area. He eased himself down onto the couch, lay back and closed his eyes. He had to rest. Just for a while. Just until the room stopped spinning. Then he’d work out what to do
next.

The sudden jolt of her head lolling forward snapped Shyler from her doze. Instantly alert, she looked around. The cabin was quiet, the room lit only by the gentle glow of the hurricane lamp beside the couch. An occasional crack and sputter from the fire was all that disturbed the pre-dawn stillness.

She checked the clock above the hearth. Four twenty-five. She hadn’t been dozing for
more than a few minutes but she couldn’t risk nodding off again. She got up, threw another log on the fire and walked to one of the windows that faced the front porch.

The full moon’s light revealed not a single unfamiliar shape in the clearing outside – no figures, no movement. Were they hiding further back in the trees where the light couldn’t reach? Somehow she sensed the answer was no. They
weren’t here yet, but they were coming. Soon. Probably when it got a bit lighter.

She looked at the rifle in her hands and felt sick. A single weapon. Against all of them. It would never be enough. They’d encircle the cabin, create a diversion, attack from one side to draw her attention. And while she was busy defending that front, one of them would sneak in and –

She turned to Jesse asleep
on the couch. Maybe she should
take him away after all. Someplace where they’d never be found. But was he well enough? His fever hadn’t broken yet. Could she risk taking him out in the cold?

She let the curtain fall back and went to him. Even from several paces away she could hear the difference in his breathing – deeper and steadier than it had been all night. She bent and lay her hand on his
brow. It might only be her imagination but his skin seemed cooler.

She stood gazing down at him, her heart constricting. Her beautiful boy – how big he was growing. Those almond-shaped eyes with their long dark lashes. Those glorious dark curls – wildly untidy at the moment, of course, but then he was sick. As soon as he was well again she’d brush out the tangles. As soon as they were safe .
. .

The thought went crashing around her head. She clutched the rifle to her chest. One weapon. Against all of them. Never enough. But there were other alternatives to guns. Ways to level the odds a bit. Eliminate as many of them as possible, before they even reached the cabin. Yes, there were ways.

With a final look at the sleeping boy she went to the door. She watched through its window, assuring
herself as much as possible no one was there. Then she slipped out and closed it silently behind her.

Chase rubbed his eyes and took a sip of his extra-strong coffee. The clinic was having a quiet morning – two early appointments, the third one cancelled, his next not until that afternoon. It was just as well. He wasn’t yet firing on all cylinders.

Shyler’s visit the previous day had preyed
on his mind through much of the night. Her agitation. Her hyper-vigilance. Jumping at every sound she heard. Two injuries in as many days, one that
possibly wasn’t an accident . . . She had assured him there wasn’t a problem but could he believe that? Would she have told him even if there was?

He tapped his shirt pocket, felt the slip of paper she’d written on. The only thing easing his fears
at the moment was knowing he now had her contact details. He could go and see her whenever he wanted.

But the very fact she’d given them to him had alleviated one reason he should. Contrary to what Elaine suspected, Shyler hadn’t been withholding her details. And surely that alone suggested he had less cause for concern.

Still, it was a comfort to know where she was. He could go and see her
today if he wanted. Drop by to check how she was doing – pretend he was making an old-fashioned house call.

Yet, why pretend? Why not just call her? Ask her out? A picnic on the lake. A drive to Presque Isle for dinner and a movie. If she got to know him, maybe she’d open up to him more. Then he could stop all this second guessing.

Yes, why not?

With his worries for the moment allayed he stepped
from the treatment room into the office. ‘Elaine, did you find that paper I left on your desk?’

‘The one with Ms O’Neil’s contact details? Yes, I found it. I meant to ask you, who gave them to you?’

‘She did. She came in yesterday after you’d left. I made sure I got them from her this time.’

Elaine stopped typing and shook her head. ‘Which is why you’re the doctor and I’m the receptionist.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘That address she gave you doesn’t exist.’

‘What?’

‘There’s no Pine Tree Drive in the Deadwater area. Here, see
for yourself.’ She smiled faintly as he studied the map she’d pulled from a drawer. ‘You sure your mind wasn’t on other things when you wrote that down?’

‘I didn’t write it, she did. That’s just a copy I made for you. Hers is right here.’

He pulled the
paper from his pocket. Elaine fished her copy out of the trash. They set the two side by side on the desk.

They were the same.

Chase straightened slowly. He took up the phone, punched in the number inscribed on the page, then gently set the receiver back at hearing the out-of-service recording.

‘Elaine, I have to go out for a while.’

Chase turned onto the doctor’s road and saw a moving van dead ahead. Pulling his Land Rover up behind it, he spotted Dan Muir standing in the yard talking with one of the moving men.

The doctor broke off his conversation and came towards Chase as he climbed from his car. ‘Lucky you caught me. I was just saying goodbye to the place. Heading to Caribou to be near my daughter.’

‘That’s
great, Dan. I’m sure you’ll love it there.’

‘Probably gain twenty pounds the first month. That woman is just too good a cook. So, what can I do for you?’ The man gave him a knowing smile. ‘This still about Shyler?’

‘I won’t step around it, I’m worried about her. She came to see me again yesterday. Another laceration, ten sutures this time. That’s two in three days, Dan.’

‘I don’t see what’s
so strange about that. She works with tools. You ever seen a carpenter’s hands?’

‘The larger cut had three distinct notches.’

Muir went still, his face growing dark. ‘Hesitation marks?’

‘That’s what they looked like.’

‘Aw, no.’ The man slumped and closed his eyes.