Colder Than Ice (28 page)

“Blackberry is lucky to have a woman like you living here.”

Beth seemed to sense his eyes on her, met them through the ever growing throng, found them, clung to them. He saw something he had never seen before shining there amid the tears that seemed to be gathering.

He saw peace.

 

Mordecai drove past the old house slowly, because driving quickly would have been impossible, with the cars, pickups and SUVs lining both sides of the road. People were exiting vehicles, some of them carrying covered dishes, others empty-handed. They were bundled in coats, their breath making steam clouds in the chilly air. The house blazed with light and movement. It looked as if there were a party going on inside.

He glanced down at the newspaper on the seat beside him. “No doubt they're rallying around her. This pile of garbage makes her sound like a saint. No mention of her lies, her betrayal.”

He kept driving, knowing he couldn't get close to her tonight. “What if she leaves before I get to her?” he asked.

Don't you think we would have told you if she were about to flee? Where is your faith, Mordecai?

He sighed. “The newspaper says—”

Stop speculating and trust Spirit.

He closed his eyes and prayed for patience, pulling his car, a gas efficient blue hatchback this time, onto the shoulder near the end of the line of vehicles. No one would notice one more in the pack. Then he got out, hopped over the ditch and moved carefully through the scrub lot beside the Bickham property. He kept to the cover of scraggly trees and brush, tall dry weeds and grasses brushing his legs as he walked. It was dark. He wouldn't be seen. He needed to get a closer look at what was going on at the house, and he thought the woods in the rear would be the safest vantage point.

He half expected the guides to forbid him from this little expedition, but no voices rose in objection. It was cold tonight, a visitation perhaps from the icy breath of the winter ahead or the death to come. To her, maybe to both of them. Maybe if they couldn't be together in life, they could be in death. Assuming he could cleanse the stains from her soul in time to save her from hell. And assuming, of course, he could get to the boy in time. The guides wouldn't let him leave until he had connected to his heir—done whatever they wanted him to do to leave his powers behind.

He trudged through the waist-high weeds until he reached the denser cover of the woods; then he moved behind the house, keeping just inside the tree line.

But before he'd decided on the perfect spot from which to approach the house for a closer look, he heard a harsh whisper.

“What in the heck is going on in there?”

A boy's voice. Mordecai went motionless, straining his eyes in the darkness.

“I don't know, Bry. But we're never going to get in there now,” a female whispered back.

It was the boy and his little girlfriend, Mordecai realized. All day he'd been wondering where the young man and his female companion were hiding, whether they had told anyone where Mordecai was staying or what sort of car he was driving when they'd seen him. He'd spent the entire day preparing, in case he should have to flee the house. Everything was ready. He'd taken the computers down and stored them in the back seat of the newest car. Oh, he had no doubt a good forensics team could prove he had been in the house with little effort—a stray hair, a used water glass, a thousand other minuscule traces of his presence would remain long after he left the house behind. He didn't plan to leave a house for them to search. The name on the rental agreement was that of the unfortunate Oliver Abercrombie, a man whose body might never be found. The house would not be readily connected to
him.
He'd covered everything.

“I'm going for a closer look,” the girl whispered. And then she was out of the trees, her body silhouetted in the lights that spilled from the house as she crept closer. She wore a down-filled coat, and her hair was bundled up beneath a knit cap.

Who was she?

The girl is unimportant. She'll only distract you from your purpose here. It's the boy you need to get to. Don't forget, Mordecai, that boy is
his
son.

“But she knows where I'm staying as well as he does,” he whispered.

Where you're staying doesn't matter. It's your mission that matters, Mordecai.

His mission. God, it all got so twisted around in his mind. He had come here to destroy Lizzie. To tear everything away from her and make her realize the error of her ways. To humble her before the living God, to bring her to her knees before Him.

And then to kill her. Unless the guides changed that order.

But that wasn't the entirety of it, and he knew that too well. His priorities were skewed due to the power of his emotions. He was too human to be entirely detached. He needed clarity of mind, and God, it was getting harder and harder to cling to that. His mission was to locate and train his heir, the child who would carry on when Mordecai left this world. That child was Bryan.

The guides were right. The girl didn't matter.

He approached the boy, moving silently, slowly. But before he reached the lad, the girl came creeping back to his side. “I can't get close enough without being seen, Bry. Maybe we should get out of here, try again tomorrow.”

“No way. We need to tell someone where Mordecai is hiding out. Tonight. Even if it means blowing our cover and admitting I never left town.”

The girl's head bent lower, and she sighed.

Mordecai moved closer, closer, and then stepped on a twig that snapped like a gunshot in the night. Bryan's head swung toward him, his eyes widening as they picked out Mordecai's face, locked with his steady gaze. The girl stared, too, but the lights from the house stood at her back, so she was little more than a dark silhouette.

Bryan choked out one word, his wide eyes fixed to Mordecai's in the darkness. “Run!” Then he turned into the forest, clasping the girl's hand, and followed his own advice.

B
ryan ran, Dawn's hand in his own. He had no idea where they were going, except away from Mordecai Young. God, he wished Dawn had taken off in the opposite direction. He wished he'd thought to hide her in some brush and keep on running. He didn't think Young had realized who she was yet, and he was afraid to think of what would happen if he ever found out. So they ran, and the man ran after them.

Chills raced up Bryan's spine as his brain tried to wrap itself around this situation. It didn't seem real that he was being chased through the forest by a crazed killer.

“Bryan! Wait, I must talk with you!”

Bryan didn't reply, because doing so would take much-needed air, and he was already starting to run out of breath. Beside him, Dawn panted roughly, and her hand jerked tighter on his at the sound of the man's voice. That he had called out
to Bryan, not to Dawn, confirmed Bryan's suspicion: Mordecai didn't know that it was his own daughter he was chasing through the night.

Running wasn't easy. The woods grew thicker, darker, with every yard they gained. Roots and stumps tripped him every third step, and when he wasn't stumbling over them, Dawn was. He tried to help her, tried to use his arms to push limbs and low branches aside, but they were both being smacked repeatedly anyway. The ground sloped upward, and the farther they ran, the steeper the slope.

After twenty minutes of nonstop, panic-powered flight, Bryan paused, bending over, hands on his thighs, breaths rushing in and out of his lungs as his heart pounded. Dawn sank to her knees, gasping for breath.

Bryan tried his cell phone, then hers. No signal. He looked behind them, knowing he couldn't listen for their pursuer the way he was panting, with his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears. His face was hot. He couldn't see anyone coming, but then again, the forest was thick with darkness. He could only see clearly for a distance of about a yard. “I think we lost him,” he whispered. Then, sighing, breathing a little easier, Bryan rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. “Of course we lost him. The guy has to be in his forties. No way could he keep up with a pair of teens in the peak of health, running uphill, in the dark.”

Dawn lifted her head, stared at him. “He's forty-eight,” she whispered. “And don't underestimate him.”

Something moved behind and below them, and then a voice came, clear and kind. “Why are you running from me, Bryan?”

Bryan straightened up so fast he almost lost his balance, and Dawn shot to her feet and gripped his arm.

“I'm not going to hurt you, son. I only want to talk to you.”

“How the hell did he keep up with us?” Bryan whispered. “He doesn't even sound winded.”

Tugging his hand, Dawn started moving again, angling toward the left this time. In seconds they were moving fast again, pouring it on, lunging up the hill with every ounce of energy they possessed. Bryan tripped once, fell on his face on the damp, spongy ground, and because she was holding on so tightly, Dawn fell, too, landing right beside him. They pushed themselves up, helping each other, and kept right on going. They pushed, pushed, pushed, and Bryan kept thinking they would have to come to a road or a town or
something
sooner or later, and then he could flag someone down and get some help. Or find a phone and call his father.

God, he would love to be able to hear his father's voice right now.

But they didn't come to a road or a town. The woods only got thicker and darker, the hillside steeper. And, grimly, Bryan remembered Beth's warning. She'd told him the forest spanned some twenty thousand acres.

God, would they ever find help? And what if they didn't?

When he didn't think either of them could go another step, Bryan stopped, leaned back against a tree, fought the urge to suck loud gasps of air into his starving lungs. He'd pushed so hard his thigh muscles were quivering. And Dawn…God, Dawn was rasping and hot to the touch. But she wouldn't say a word about stopping to rest—hell, he thought, if left up to her, they would still be moving. But when he stopped, she stopped, too, leaned on a tree of her own, fought to catch her breath.

“Maybe we finally outran him,” Bryan whispered between gasps.

“Maybe,” she whispered back.

Please, God, he thought. And he tried to listen over the pulse beating in his temples. It was quiet for so many minutes he began to think they were safe. But then…

“Bryyy-annn.”

The call chilled his blood. And the look in Dawn's eyes when they shot to his was enough to freeze it entirely.

“Come, on Bryan. I'm not going to give up. Just talk to me.”

“Jesus,” Bryan whispered. “You told me he had powers. But you didn't mention that he was superhuman.”

 

Josh managed to make his way closer to Beth through the dozen or so neighbors gathered around her. They were coming and going, mostly. Walking in with a gift, a bottle of wine, a casserole, a pie. Telling her how proud they were to have her living in their town, asking if she needed anything, if they could do anything to help. Some stayed long enough to share in the snacks and casseroles that had appeared on the buffet. Amazing, the change in attitude a simple newspaper article could make.

Arthur Stanton and Chief Frankie were handling crowd control, watching everyone carefully. Frankie seemed to know everyone, which eased Josh's mind considerably. If a stranger showed up, Frankie would spot him. Though Josh doubted Mordecai Young would make his move among a crowd. Still, the man was unpredictable.

“How are you doing?” he asked when he got close enough to Beth.

She looked up at him, smiled a little. “I'm a little overwhelmed. People keep telling me they want me to stay.”

He nodded. “You've become their new hometown hero.”

She lowered her eyes then. “That won't last long. Only until one of them gets caught in the cross fire.”

“We're not gonna let that happen.”

“It could happen right now. Tonight. Look at them all. Don't they realize they're standing around a live target?”

He followed her gaze, scanned the people milling around.

“Will Ahearn was here,” Beth said. “He told me that if I still wanted my deposit back, he'd return it and tear up the contract.”

“Really? What did you say?”

“I told him I couldn't think about it right now.”

“That's probably for the best.” Then he said, “I think they're starting to thin out.”

“I wish they'd hurry it up.”

He frowned, then, as a sound made its way to him. “Is that the phone?”

Beth tipped her head, listening, then nodded. “I'll get it.” She turned to head toward the telephone, but Josh kept pace. He didn't want to be far from her tonight. Something was off; he felt it in his gut, a nervous, hyperalert state. Maybe it was because he expected her write-up in the paper to spur Mordecai into action. Or maybe it was instinct. He didn't know which, and he wasn't willing to take any chances.

Beth reached the phone first, picked it up, then handed it to Joshua. “It's for you.”

He took it, covered the mouthpiece. “Stay close, okay, Beth?”

Her lips pulled into a slight smile, and she nodded.

Josh brought the phone to his ear. “This is Joshua Kendall.”

“Josh, hi. Mark Malone. We just wanted to call and see whether you had any idea exactly when Bryan will be coming out.”

For a second Josh went blank. “You mean—when he'll be coming back here?”

“No, when he'll be flying out here.”

His throat went dry, and his eyes sought Beth's. She frowned at him and rose to her feet. “Mark, Bryan was supposed to have arrived yesterday. Are you telling me he never got there?”

He heard the swift intake of breath before the other man said, “We had a call from Bry. He told us there'd been a change of plans, that he'd be coming out in a couple of days.”

“Bryan's not there.” The words fell flatly from Joshua's lips.

“No, Joshua, he's not here. Are you telling me he's not with you?”

“No. Listen, I have to go. If you hear from him again, call me immediately. All right?”

“Sure. Damn, Joshua, I'm so sorry about this. If there's anything—”

“I know. Just…just call if you hear from him.” Josh put down the phone. He felt dizzy, shocky and slightly panicked—not like a trained law enforcement professional at all. More like a frightened parent.

Beth was gripping his shoulders. “Bryan didn't go to California?”

He shook his head.

“God, where is he?”

“I don't know. I don't…”

Beth turned, saw that some of the others in the room had noticed something was up, were watching her and Josh, speaking softly, looking worried. She signaled to Arthur Stanton, who frowned at her, glanced at Josh, and then rushed across the room.

“Bryan never got to California,” Beth told him.

“What?”

Josh lifted his head, forced himself to recount the facts. “He phoned the people he was supposed to be visiting, told them his plans had changed. Jesus, Art, I don't know where my son is.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. Did he board the flight?”

Josh looked at Beth, shook his head. “I don't know. We dropped him at the airport. God, I should have stayed, seen him off. Damn security. I should have insisted.”

“This isn't your fault, Josh,” Beth said. She looked to Arthur. “You can find out, can't you? That way at least we'll know where to start looking.”

“I can find out. Five minutes. I need the flight info.”

Josh looked down at the notepad on the table beside the phone, where he'd scrawled the flight information when he'd ordered the ticket. He tore off the page and handed it to Arthur. Art took it, pulled a cell phone from his pocket and walked away while punching numbers.

“He didn't want to go,” Josh said softly. “He threw a fit about it, and then all of a sudden, he changed his mind.”

“If he called them, Josh, he must have been all right.”

“We don't know that.”

She closed her eyes, and Josh knew she was as afraid for his son as he was.

Arthur was coming back, Chief Frankie at his side, her eyes worried. “He never boarded the flight,” Arthur said. “Which means your son is probably still here in town, Joshua.”

“Yeah,” Josh murmured. “And so is Mordecai Young.”

“It's not a big place. We'll find him.”

“Get me a photograph,” Frankie said. “We'll get flyers made
immediately.” Then she turned to the people still gathered in the room. “People, can I have your attention? We have a situation here. And we could sure use your help.”

Beth looked out the window. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “It's starting to snow.”

 

Bryan's mind was working overtime. Just when the sound of the lunatic's friendly voice had him ready to bolt, he stopped himself, gripped Dawn's arm and stopped her, too. “Don't run, Dawn.”

“Are you crazy?”

He shook his head. “I think that's what he wants us to do.”

She frowned at him, but remained still—stiff, alert and terrified, but still. And poised to take flight at the slightest movement from Mordecai's direction.

“He can't see us any more than we can see him,” Bryan whispered. “It's pitch-black in these woods. We can't even see each other unless we're standing as close as we are right now. The only way he can keep following us is by sound. We keep crashing through the forest, plowing into limbs and tripping over stumps. We've been making it easy for him.”

“He knows we're here,” she whispered. “He could be creeping closer, even now.”

“Every time we stop, he stops, too. Then he calls out to us, tries to shake us up, get us running again, so he can hear where we are.”

“But we can't just sit here and wait for him.”

“We're not going to. We're gonna move, but we're gonna be so quiet, the bastard can't follow us. Okay?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide in the darkness, but she nodded. “Okay.”

He pushed himself upright, off the tree where he'd stopped to rest, looked around. He could see a distance of about three feet in any direction. No farther. He picked a direction, not angling up and left as he'd been doing, but instead veering sharply to the right. He walked, placing his feet lightly, carefully. Dawn did the same.

“Bryan, where are you?” Mordecai called. “Come on, you can't hide from me forever.”

Wanna bet, you sick bastard?
Bryan stepped again, slowly, carefully. He made no sound, and Dawn was as quiet as he was—maybe even a little quieter. He heard nothing to indicate that Mordecai was following. So he kept going.