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  Katie’s foot slipped and her ankle bent. She cried out in pain and stopped walking. Carson tugged on the rope around her waist and then she felt it go slack, heard his feet as he came toward her.

  “Shut up,” he said. “Get moving.”

  She did as she was told. After Carson had slipped the shroud over her head, she’d heard him speak quietly to Leno but hadn’t understood their words. But she’d understood it well enough when the truck started up and Leno drove away.

  Leno had left her alone with Carson.

  Then Carson had started walking, towing her along behind him like a pack mule.

  “I twisted my ankle.” Her words sounded strange to her own ears. Like someone else was talking.

  You’re in shock…

  “I don’t give a shit about your ankle.”

  Carson walked away and the rope tautened. Katie felt a jerk and stumbled a few steps.

  “I said come on,” Carson griped. He was twenty feet away, give or take. The length of the rope.

  They’d been walking like this for a few minutes. How far were they going? How did he expect her to navigate the woods with a bag over her head? It was ludicrous. She put one foot in front of the other. One of her fingers felt fat and swollen – maybe not a break, but a definite sprain.

  It was slow-going, agonizing, and every few seconds Carson yanked on the rope, forcing her to move faster. She continued to stumble.

  “I can’t see my footsteps!”

  She kept going, bracing herself for his return. For his fists or his hot breath in her ear or his hands groping her.

  I’m going to kill you, she thought.

  It just came to her, as unadorned as any other thought, like, You’re in shock, or, I can’t see.

  I can’t see.

  I’m going to kill you.

  But he didn’t come back to her; instead, she heard Carson laugh.

  “Come on,” he said in an odd voice. “Buck up, little lady.” Like he was attempting to impersonate John Wayne.

  They kept moving, but Carson’s pace just wasn’t sustainable. Katie fell again, and got up. Then again – she banged her shin against a rock and felt the skin tear – and then a third time, and a sharp stone stabbed her kneecap with a brilliant bolt of pain.

  She dropped to her butt and held her knee and grunted and moaned.

  She could sense Carson looming over her.

  “Jesus,” he tutted. “You are a fucking disgrace.”

  “I can’t… see!”

  Katie felt a kind of fury she hadn’t known since she was a much younger woman. Leaving the school where her father had stuck her after her mother died – those had been the angry times. These days the most she flipped out was when her husband left the toilet seat up for the thousandth time. She felt like she could wrap her hands around Carson’s neck and squeeze. She could take him by his testicles and pull them until the skin broke.

  She didn’t know Carson’s face. It was a strange thing, sitting there, holding her throbbing knee, to realize that even though she had no idea what he looked like, there was a face she pictured.

  Maybe it was his voice. People made up faces for others based on the way they sounded, she thought, though it was probably never right.

  You’re in shock, Katie.

  -Yeah? So what?

  “I can’t see,” she repeated. “I don’t know how far we’re going, but there’s no way I’m going anywhere like this. I’m going to go slow; you’re going to keep yanking the rope. Then I’ll fall again. What if I hit my head on a rock?”

  She stopped talking, wishing she could retract the question.

  “Oh, this isn’t that bad.” Carson was condescending. “These woods are wide open. You’re just making it all up in your mind. Get up. Get walking.” He paused. She heard him breathing hard. “I told you what would happen if you gave me any more shit.”

  “I don’t care!” Katie pulsed with frustration, rage.

  Of course you care. You don’t want that. You never want that. That would be the end of everything, and you know it. You would never be the same.

  Think.

  He said ‘open woods.’ You’re not on a trail. There is no one around. How do you get out of this?

  She waited for him to make his move.

  “Get up,” he said, but it was half-hearted.

  “No. You can drag me.”

  “You want me to drag you? I will. I’ll drag you right up these fucking rocks.” He fell silent, as if thinking about it.

  When he spoke again his voice was different, like he was facing away from her. “We’re just at the beginning. We can’t keep doing this.”

  For a moment, he sounded almost human. She felt herself calming. “How far are we going?”

  “A ways.”

  “Just let me go, Carson. I haven’t seen your face.”

  He said nothing. He was quiet for so long she thought he was contemplating it.

  Katie felt hope seeping in. It doused the anger and softened her. Part of her mind protested the hope, warned against it, but she couldn’t help it. Carson was nuts. Maybe he was crazy enough to listen to her. Maybe he didn’t want to be here. Leno had put him up to all of it, she imagined, and Carson didn’t really like Leno. He wanted out.

  “Alright,” he said.

  She waited, her heart rate speeding up. Alright?

  Suddenly he tore the shroud from her head. The light filled her vision, everything a green blur.

  After a moment she was able to focus. The sun was shining in the forest; the trees gave off an almost iridescent color. The woods, like Carson said, were open. There was no maintained path, but he was following the semblance of a stream, runnels of rainwater threading the dirt and rocks.

  The ground sloped up in a gradual incline. But further ahead she could see where the land was steeper, the trees thicker.

  She looked up at Carson, right beside her, standing there in his balaclava mask.

  She quickly turned away, heart slamming in her ribs again. Seeing him alone, no Leno around to keep him leashed, was a kind of confirmation. This was really happening. She was being forced into the woods, alone with an angry, dangerous man.

  She stared down the slope at the direction they’d come, and then squeezed her eyes shut.

  Stop it. Focus on—

  He tapped her on the shoulder.

  She turned and saw his outstretched hand. “Come on, Katie. Let’s go.”

  She got herself standing without accepting his help. Kept her eyes downcast.

  Carson chuckled again. “Hey, listen, give yourself a round of applause, right? Now you can see, right? No bag over your head. I have to keep mine, though – hot and sweaty and making me fuckin… making me resent you. That’s the word. Making me want you to pay. Good negotiating, Katie. Oh wait – you can’t applaud yourself, can you? Hold on.”

  Carson set down the duffel he had tucked under one arm and clapped for her, slowly. Each slap of his hands sent a shock wave through her. The clapping reverberated off the maple trees.

  “Well done,” he said in a bad British accent, muffled by the mask. “Well done, Katie. Good show.”

  She didn’t move. He was right there beside her, and all she could do was stare at the ground.

  “Please,” she said.

  As soon as the word left her lips she felt a sinking despair. Not just because of his threats and innuendos, but because at some point, without realizing it, she’d decided not to give up her power. It was about more than disallowing her abductors their satisfaction. It was knowing – somehow, deep down – that she wouldn’t make it through this if she relinquished that power. Maybe it was for her physical protection, but mostly it was for her mental protection.

  “Please,” he echoed. “Yeah. Please. Please, oh please. I know. I hear you, Katie. Come on, let’s go.”

  He started up the shallow stream.

  She felt like she was going to cry. This was just what she’d been trying so hard to avoid. After all
Carson had done to her. After all she’d been through, after forgiving herself for falling for the crying-baby trick, and now here she was, whimpering, asking for mercy.

  Carson tugged the rope. “Come on, Katie. You can see now. No excuses.”

  She did as she was told. After a few minutes of walking, the despair and self-loathing faded away. The stream was cold, her sneakers soaked through. A kind of numbness filled her.

  The birds were tweeting in the forest. The sun blinked through the canopy overhead. Here and there a squirrel darted across the path and charged up a tree.

  They parted from the stream. The terrain grew steep, and she had to use her hands to climb over some of the larger boulders. She started to think about where they were, but apathy washed it away. What did it matter? Did knowing her position help her at all? She’d been naïve. Thinking if she could keep track of their travel in the van, it would help. Thinking that by dropping some stupid receipt from her pocket, the police – or maybe her husband – would miraculously pick it up, know where she was, and rush to her aid.

  Because that was what she’d thought, if she was honest. That somehow David, who was a musician, a former chef, and occasional carpenter, was also some kind of a super-human. That he would be able to find her because she left her little clues behind. That she needed to stay proactive, assist in her own rescue by staying vigilantly aware of where she was and what was happening.

  It had been stupid and pointless. She was being led into the woods – who knew where, or who cared? – by a sicko calling himself Carson. No one following her trail now, not in here, not in all this wilderness…

  “Come on, Katie,” he called. “Come on, Katie, Katie Katie Katie… What’s that bug called? A katydid? ‘Katie did, Katie didn’t, yes she did, no she didn’t…’”

  Think.

  Carson had to know where they were. Didn’t he?

  They weren’t using a well-trod hiking trail, they were off the map. How did he know where he was going? Compass? This was wild forest. Carson didn’t strike her as some experienced outdoor guide. He seemed like city trash, or some horrible suburban mutation. At any rate, probably an ex-convict.

  He had to be using something.

  Like a GPS.

  That was the only explanation. He wasn’t just leading her blindly somewhere – he knew where he was going, a place to keep her while Leno, presumably, negotiated a ransom.

  If Carson was using a GPS, maybe she could get it from him. Then escape him, find her way out.

  Have to get free of the rope first. It was knotted around her waist, cinched tight, but she might be able to shimmy out of it if her hands were free.

  Something.

  She had to do something, or she was going to die.

  She could sense it. Could see it in Carson’s dark eyes.

  He was insane.

  Chapter Twelve

  It took Cross an hour to get to the Dodge Caravan. The troopers had barricaded the dirt area off Route 8 outside of Bakers Mills. Nothing around but woods, and across the road, a river, low in the late summer.

  Cross approached the barricade and slipped under the tape. He stopped short when he noticed the multiple tire tracks crisscrossing the dirt. There would be little chance of getting anything useable. It was a rest stop and dozens of cars pulled on and off every day.

  Trooper Rowe approached and introduced himself. Cross said he wanted to have a look at the vehicle.

  Rowe hesitated but didn’t question it. “Right this way.”

  They were careful, walking single-file, preserving the scene. But a tally was running in Cross’s head – how much time was wasted protecting evidence? Katie Calumet was potentially drifting further away and falling into greater danger. Every second counted.

  “You found the receipt here?”

  “Yep,” said Rowe. “It would have blown away, maybe, but got stuck right here under the tire.”

  The minivan looked generic. No noticeable dings or scratches. The Tremblays were a retired couple and had told Detective Gates they kept a minivan because of their growing passel of grandchildren. Cross peered in through the windows and saw a child’s car seat in the very back.

  Rowe showed Cross the receipt, which he’d stuck in a plastic baggie. Cross gave it a quick look – crinkled, dated two months ago, and as Rowe had said, traceable to the Kinney drug store in Hazleton. The bank had already confirmed Katie’s debit card had made the purchases the receipt listed.

  This was their van.

  “Forensics coming?” Rowe raised his considerable eyebrows.

  “Dr. Britney Silas and her crime scene crew. They’re right behind us. We’re going to turn the scene over to her. So, you’re on patrol, you get the BOLO this morning – how long until you spotted the vehicle?”

  “Ten minutes. I was actually coming back to the house; my shift ended at eleven.”

  “Well, I appreciate you hanging around, staying with the scene.”

  “I can handle the overtime. What’s the story on the reg? It’s a hot car?”

  “Yup. Boosted from an older couple from Ogdensburg. I’m waiting on more details. Right now we know they woke up and their car was gone. So, maybe sometime late last night, early this morning.”

  The trooper scowled. “They hadn’t called in the theft yet? I’ve been on since last night, I didn’t get anything over the MDT.”

  “No – there was some confusion about a relative of theirs they thought might’ve taken it. Mr. Tremblay has some health issues, and the wife has early onset dementia. Like I said, awaiting more info there.”

  They talked a bit more about the details of Katie Calumet’s abduction but Cross continued to feel like time was slipping away. He wanted to get into that minivan and felt a wave of relief when Brit Silas arrived.

  With her usual commanding presence, Silas whipped everyone into shape. Not a toe was to touch the cordoned-off area, now a crime scene. The photographer started clicking shots, while Silas and Cross suited up to have a better look inside the van.

  It was hotter inside the vehicle and smelled like fermented fruit. They lingered over the child seat in the back.

  Cross looked over the rear bench seat. “The Tremblays have six grandkids. There are impressions right there in the cushion – see that? Another child seat was strapped in. Maybe we’ll find it tossed somewhere, prints on it.”

  “Little bits of food everywhere.” Silas sighed. The two of them stood hunched over, shoulders touching. “What are those, peanuts? And popcorn there. And some sticky stuff right there, like spit. And that – it looks like blood but it could be grape juice.”

  “They left one child seat,” Cross continued. “Why? This creepy baby trick they pull… However they do it, I don’t know, maybe a doll in the seat. Using a real baby, that’s too unpredictable. This way they can control it. The van windows are tinted. Maybe, you know, you hear the fake cries, you give it a look, and you think there’s a kid in here, sweltering in the heat.”

  “This van is a total mess,” Silas said. “It’s going to take a long time to process, get samples.”

  “How long?”

  She gave him a look in the tight space. “All day. Longer. I mean, what – I need elimination prints from six grandkids and their two grandparents? Parents, too? Hairs, clothing fibers, liquids…” She shook her head woefully. “This is a nightmare.”

  Cross had never heard Silas quite so pessimistic.

  He squeezed toward the front and looked at the steering wheel. “We gotta prioritize. Steering wheel, shifter, console.” He popped open the glove compartment, fished around for a second. Just vehicle information and what looked like some scripts for pills. He read one: head-meds for dementia. He put it back.

  The minivan was getting stiflingly hot. He didn’t envy Silas or her crew the task ahead.

  Cross got out and walked carefully around the vehicle, pulling off his latex gloves. Why had the abductors left it? Were they now on foot? More likely they’d ditched the van
for another ride. In the process, Katie had been smart enough – and courageous enough – to pull the receipt from her pocket and drop it. But he doubted they’d spent the time to clean the minivan; it was a mess. Maybe they didn’t care?

  The rest area had its share of trash. A faded can of Bud Light near the bushes, an empty bag of Doritos stirring in the breeze.

  He looked up the road, winding on alongside the river. He didn’t think there would be any more breadcrumbs like the rattle or the receipt. This was it. These people had Katie now and it was anyone’s guess where they were headed.

  He returned to Rowe and got the lay of the land. As Cross suspected, no one lived near enough the rest area to have seen anything.

  Cross traversed the road and stood at the guardrail, looking down at the burbling river, more rocks than water. Too low for anyone out boating. Maybe an angler, though, a fly-fisherman – but no one was in sight. He didn’t even know if it was a fishing river or not.

  He drew a deep breath, let it out slow.

  The gentle breeze tousled his hair. It was a warm day, everything still green, but with the faintest presage of autumn in the air.

  Katie Calumet was in the wind, as they say.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She didn’t think she could keep up the pace much longer. Carson had removed her shroud and walked up ahead, keeping his back to her, but she was aching all over. Her knee still smarted from the rock – every step felt like someone driving a nail into her patella. Her muscles cramped. She hadn’t had a thing to drink since dawn. Coffee. She was surprised – and relieved – she hadn’t had to pee yet, but now she was parched.

  “I need something to drink.”

  “I give you a drink, then you’ll have to urinate.”

  He’d already been thinking about it, apparently.

  “Well, if I pass out, then you’ll have to drag me along.”

  “You pass out, I’ll shove a stick up your ass. Be back on your feet.”

  His comments were chilling, but she was growing inured to his more casual threats.