A Dark Love (25 page)

S
now continued to fall from a sky that had turned a cruel shade of slate.

Caroline jumped into the Porsche, her fingers shaking so badly she nearly dropped the keys.

The engine caught on the second try and the car roared to life.

An inch or two of snow was already on the ground, with more falling at a steady pace.

It would be much deeper up on the mountain.

Ken was there. Fighting for his life. And it was all her fault.

Her palms were so wet she had trouble keeping them on the wheel.

Gus yelled after her. “Alice, this isn’t safe! Come back!”

The rest of his words were lost as the Porsche took off. The rear wheels caught unevenly and spun, rotating the car in a slow quarter circle.

Gus tried to tell her something else but the working of the machine was the only sound Caroline heard.

The tires gained traction at last, propelling her down the drive.

Porter had tracked her down. Just as he promised.

Panic mounted inside her, constricting her chest and filling her ears with a buzzing that crowded out everything else. Her mind flashed to the cabin in the woods, miles away from help along a wilderness track, and the way Porter’s eyes turned flat and dead when he was sucked down into the vortex, their vortex, his and Caroline’s.

But this time someone else was being sucked down into it with them.

Despite the wind buffeting the Porsche Caroline felt she was going to suffocate.

She clung to the wheel, praying she could get there in time. Treetops did a wild dance in the wind, which was gusting all around. She needed all her concentration just to keep the sports car in check.

The drive was wet and slick, causing the Porsche to jerk to one side. Caroline tightened her grip and steered it back to center. The tires slid, and they careened onto the snow-covered grass while Caroline jerked the wheel again back to center. Pippin did a crazy dance on the leather seat beside her, his nails scrabbling to find a hold.

The end of the drive came upon her too soon. She jammed on the brakes, which sent the Porsche sailing out onto the blacktop, spinning in a slow circle across both lanes.

When the car finally came to a stop, straddling the double yellow lines, Pippin propped his front legs against the dash and let out a small cry as though he, too, was desperate to see what lay ahead.

Caroline clutched the wheel so tight her fingers hurt, lifted her foot from the brake, and eased up on the clutch. The car leaped forward again. She spun the
wheel northbound and gave it some gas, shifting directly into second on the slick pavement. This time the car held steady and picked up controlled speed, tires singing in the snow. Eventually, she risked shifting into third. Every second counted.

Leaning forward, she peered through the windshield, at a landscape that was alien to her, like the inside of a paperweight globe that’s been shaken. Leaves whirled through the air, mixing with snow on gusts of wind that shook the car as if the mountain itself was heaving in the throes of death. She flipped on the headlights and wipers, watching snowflakes careen past the windshield like a million tiny ghosts. Her heart pounded so loud the car was filled with the sound of it.

Her life was coming to an end, she thought dully. Today was her last one on this earth. Porter had told her many times she could never leave him, and Caroline knew she would never go back with him. But her relationship with Porter no longer mattered. All that mattered now was saving Ken. “Please, God,” she whispered, driving as fast as she dared. She had long ago lost any faith in a loving God, but she said the Lord’s Prayer now. It was the only one she could remember. She downshifted at the turnoff to the mountain road.

Her headlights flashed on a “Caution, Falling Rock Zone!” sign. Just beyond was another, warning motorists and hikers to avoid the area during periods of heavy rain or snow, due to limited access by law enforcement authorities.

Fear settled in the depths of her stomach with its cold, familiar weight. She tightened her grip on the wheel with fingers that were already numb, and braced herself for the first switchback.

Speed frightened her. She lifted her foot from the accelerator so the car slowed. The quieting of the engine gave her some reassurance. But the lack of acceleration caused the wheels to lose traction. The Porsche drifted into the switchback and spun out so Caroline felt like she was trapped inside an amusement park ride, the kind she had hated as a kid. Trees tilted crazily, and the granite side of the mountain flew at them close, too close. The Porsche skidded, slamming into the guardrail with a terrible sound of metal on metal. The car heaved at impact, and stalled.

After that everything was silent.

Caroline sat, gripping the wheel, afraid to move.

Pippin had somehow landed on the floor. He shook himself now and hopped back up on the seat.

Together they surveyed their surroundings. The car had taken impact on its side, and the guardrail had held. If it hadn’t, they’d be goners by now.

The Porsche sat, nose out, half on and half off the pavement.

The inside of Caroline’s mouth was so dry her tongue stuck to her teeth when she tried to swallow.

The next switchback was on the cliff side.

There was no time to waste. She pushed the clutch in and turned the key, praying the car would still run.

The engine whirred back to life. She shifted into second and eased up on the gas. The wheels spun, but the car remained where it was. She pressed the gas harder. The wheels spun in place, whining louder as the car vibrated with effort.

Pippin yelped.

Caroline applied the brakes. She looked around helplessly, wondering what to do. Then something she had
read once came back to her. She shifted into reverse and gave it a tiny bit of gas. The car moved an inch. Quickly she shifted back to second. The car rocked forward and got stuck again. She shifted back into reverse and gained another inch. Dropping back to second, faster now, she eased up slowly on the clutch until the car shot free, back up onto the road.

The wheels caught the pavement and the Porsche zoomed down the road. Directly into the next curve.

Caroline fought the impulse to brake as Ken’s words came back to her,
Make the engine work for you. Steer to the outside of the switchbacks,
he’d said.

Fighting every instinct she had, Caroline aimed the car at the guardrail on the outer edge of the curve. She pressed down, slow and steady, on the gas and dropped down into first as they entered the switchback. The engine whined but the car slowed, gripping the road. It took the turn. She let out the breath she’d been holding and allowed herself a grunt of triumph. Depressing the clutch and shifting back up to second, allowing the coupe to pick up speed on the straightaway. She wiggled her fingers to get her blood flowing through them again.

The clock on the dashboard showed it was eleven A.M.

Ken had been safe and sound on Nan’s couch four hours ago.

He had been alone with Porter for at least two hours.

The light grew dimmer the higher she climbed, even as the trees thinned out. By the time she neared the turnoff for the cabin, the forest was lit by an eerie twilight from the storm. At times, she could make out fresh tire tracks and she followed them, praying they would lead her to the right place.

She almost missed the turnoff. The headlights flashed on a snow-covered mound at the side of the road and she recognized it just in time, braking hard to make the turn. She remembered with a pang how Ken had explained it was a cairn, like the ones used in Stone Age times by Celts to mark their graves.

She recognized the metal taste in her mouth as fear. She was shaking so hard that her spine rocked against the seat, making it difficult to keep her foot in contact with the gas pedal.

She drove the Porsche as hard as she dared, careening along the dirt track, feeling out of control. She felt a tickle inside her shirt and realized it was icy perspiration. The snow was deeper up here, and it required all her concentration just to guide the Porsche from one skid into another.

Pippin bounced across the seat with each twist. The car finally swung off the track altogether, sinking into the soft snow at the side. The engine bucked once, then stalled. The sudden silence was eerie and terrifying. Caroline turned the key again and the engine started up, but it was no use. The wheels spun crazily when she tried to rock the car out. “Please,” she moaned softly. But the car just sank deeper into the rut she had created.

She tried to remember how far she’d driven with Ken, and gauge how much distance she’d covered just now. All she could recall, however, was the way the sunshine had played across Ken’s face as he rested one arm on the open window, pointing out sights to her, sharing with her the beauty he saw in the wilderness.

But that sun-drenched scene was gone, hidden today beneath a drifting, swirling gloom.

Caroline donned her gloves and left the keys dangling in the ignition. They were no longer of any use to her.

The air inside the Porsche was cold and still. Using clothes from her backpack, she crafted a nest for Pippin on the front seat, praying someone would find him soon. She scooped him up and kissed him good-bye before pulling the wool cap low on her face and zipping her parka as high as it would go.

She stepped out into the storm.

A branch snapped close by like a rifle shot.

Caroline jumped. She whirled around, expecting to see Porter standing there, waiting for her. But there was nothing. Only the wind and the trees, stretching into a gray eternity.

Pippin jumped out of the car.

“Pippin, no!” Caroline called. But it was too late. The dog scrambled off to investigate the snapping sound.

“Pippin,” Caroline called. “Come back!”

But he was gone.

“Good-bye, my friend,” she whispered. But the wind tore the words from her lips.

She started walking.

The woods were alive with swirling snow and moving branches that gave off a sound like moaning. But she was not afraid of the forest. She was beyond that. With the minutes of her life that were still allotted to her, she needed to rescue Ken. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that by now, at least, he knew whom he was dealing with. Perhaps he could fight back in time to save himself. She fought to shut out the images crowding her mind, images of Ken injured or worse…

After what seemed like forever but probably was no more than a mile, she saw an opening in the trees over
head and knew she was entering the mesa. Heart pounding and out of breath, she left the track and kept inside the tree line.

She pieced together a plan as best she could with her panicked mind. She would gain entry to the cabin and offer herself to Porter in exchange for Ken’s life. She had no doubt that Porter was vengeful enough to kill Ken in order to punish her. But if she found the right words perhaps she could persuade Porter to spare him. It was a slim chance but it was her only option.

She crept forward until the cabin came into view, and sought cover behind a tree.

Ken’s Jeep was parked in front of the cabin, ten feet from the door. A white Yukon was parked behind it.

The windows of the cabin showed light inside. There was no sign of movement.

The woods seemed empty.

She thought of the Smith & Wesson pistol Porter had kept, oiled and ready to use, and wondered what her next move should be. There was a hunting knife in the Jeep’s glove compartment. Caroline remembered how Ken had used it to gut the trout, the way the blade had glinted in the afternoon sun.

There were high-powered binoculars in there, too.

She remembered the tangle of stuff in the Jeep’s trunk, and wondered if there might be a gun. It didn’t seem likely. Only a fool would store a gun in with a heap of camping gear.

And Ken Kincaid was nobody’s fool.

The thought of Ken spurred her on and she inched closer to the edge of the tree line closest to the cabin’s front door.

At that moment the door swung open and a figure
appeared, a familiar contour even through the dim light of the storm, from his narrow shoulders to his precisely measured gait. His right hand hung stiff at his side, weighted with the unmistakable form of a gun. Caroline recognized him instantly. She would know him even in death, her husband.

Dr. Porter Moross.

C
aroline. Her real name. The sound of it was a melody in Ken’s ears, like the pealing of church bells on Sunday morning, or birds singing to greet the first light of dawn. Soaring. Elegant. Beautiful. Like her laughter or the expression on her face when she gazed up at the sky over Colorado. Impossible blue, she’d called it.

Caroline.

Just hearing her true name brought Ken joy.

He tried to shake his head, so he could tell Moross how wrong he was. Ken hadn’t stolen his wife. Nobody could steal Caroline. She was not some possession that could be taken. Nobody was. Caroline simply was Caroline. The name filled his mind like music. She just was, like the Aspen trees blazing with color in autumn, or the fields yellow with sunflowers in summer, or the snow that was falling thick and fast right now.

But Ken could no longer move his head. He shifted his gaze to Moross, took in the flat look in his eyes, the tight hold he kept on his pistol.

Moross continued to stare down at Ken, his gaze unmoving and blank, like a shark. “Nobody’s innocent,
Kincaid. Not you. Certainly not her,” Moross said, his voice a monotone, devoid of all emotion.

He dropped into an easy chair. “By now you’ve lost the ability to move, though you can see and hear everything around you. And you can still feel pain.” He chewed his lip and paused, long enough for Ken to realize Moross’s descent into madness was complete.

“We’ll get to that in a moment,” Porter continued. “But this issue of paralysis. It must be especially hard for you.” He considered Ken with genuine curiosity.

Ken watched the gun.

“There’s a certain poignancy to it. Irony, really.” He gave a small shrug. “But that’s just a matter of interest, a side note about the drug. Not that they’ll be able to trace it. By the time I get through with you, there won’t be enough left for a proper autopsy.” Porter turned his gaze to the Franklin stove. “It’s a shame, the way accidents happen even with the most experienced outdoorsman, even with a big he-man such as yourself.” His voice was thick now with sarcasm, and he laughed. “Caroline will take it hard.”

It required all of Ken’s strength to focus on his breathing. He closed his eyes. Nobody knew he was up here. Even if they did, the sheriff wouldn’t reach him anytime soon.

Forcing himself to stay calm, Ken ordered his thoughts based on a lifetime of rigid training. He was in the place he loved best, and he thanked his Creator for that. He filled his mind with images of other things that had touched him in this life. The lake on top of the mesa reflecting crystalline sky on a summer’s day, the scent of sage on a breeze. His father’s eyes, steady and strong. His mother’s face in the only memory he had of her,
squeezing water from a rubber frog he’d had for his bath. She laughed, and the sound flowed like silk. Caroline whispering his name, Ken.

Shoes scraped the floor.

Ken opened his eyes.

Moross stood. He let out a sad-sounding sigh and shook his head. “Such a waste. I never wanted it to come to this. But she’s a stubborn girl. More trouble than she’s worth, as you’ll soon agree. If only she had listened. I begged her to get help. But she is corrupt inside. She won’t admit that, no matter how much I try to help.”

Ken focused on Moross’s new hiking shoes as he paced the room.

“If anybody could have turned her around, it would have been me. Should have been me. She was just an ignorant girl when I met her. I married her and gave her a home, the first real home she’d ever known. I lived with her and worked on her for two years, and she blinded herself to the truth.” Moross’s voice rose, tinged with hysteria, on the final words.

Poor Caroline. The sunglasses, the baseball cap, the way she kept her head down. Ken recoiled at the thought of what she must have endured at the hands of the deranged man who paced his cabin. Ken realized now the risk she had taken in speaking to him, coming with him to his house that day. Not to mention the courage she’d shown by coming to Storm Pass to try to make a new life. He felt a rush of admiration for her. He was grateful for the joy these thoughts brought to him now, during what could well be the final moments of his life.

Moross walked to the cabin’s door.

The ache in Ken’s head was growing worse. Pressure was building behind his eyes.

Moross stopped with one hand on the knob. “I am one of the greatest and most respected psychoanalysts in the entire world, you know.” His voice shook. “It’s an art. And nobody appreciates it. Do you even know what I’m talking about?”

Ken kept his eyes on Moross’s feet. Moross could have the satisfaction of killing him but that was all. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of believing his twisted tirades had been heard. That was simply not going to happen. Not while Ken had a heartbeat or a breath remaining. Gus had taught his son to seek out the good in people, but Ken was also gifted with the ability to see things as they actually were. And right now, Ken knew he was in the presence of pure evil.

He braced himself for a bullet.

Instead, Moross opened the door.

Gray light spilled into the cabin with a gust of cold air, fresh and clean on Ken’s face.

“You’ll know soon enough, Kincaid. Death brings perfect understanding, if you believe Carl Jung. We’ll all be liberated. You first, of course.” With a laugh like broken glass, Moross stepped out into the storm.