Shelter Mountain (33 page)

Paige walked out the bar’s back door with a plastic garbage bag in her hand, tied off tightly so as to not let a whiff of garbage escape to tempt the wildlife. She went across the wide dirt yard where she, John, Jack and often Rick liked to park their vehicles. The Dumpster sat under a big old tree and was used by everyone on the street, not just the bar. She lifted the heavy lid, but before she could toss the bag in, her wrist was grabbed in a vicelike grip and she was pulled around to the side, out of sight of the
bar or the street. The garbage bag dropped to the ground and she felt something hard and cold under chin. She gasped, staring into the lethal eyes of her ex-husband, the business end of a rifle lifting her chin.

“You made this easy,” Wes Lassiter said, his voice low and dangerous. “I thought I’d have to go in after you. We have two choices. You can come with me right now, nice and quiet, or we can walk back in through that door, do a little shooting in the right places, and get my son.”

“Wes,” she whispered. “God. No.”

“You did this to me, Paige. You could always find a way to provoke me, to make me crazy. You sent me to fucking
prison!
”

“Please,” she begged softly. “Anything…”

“Go ahead, Paige. Try me. It’s just you, right now. Or the three of us, and him out of the picture.”

She blinked once, tears squeezing out of her eyes and running down her cheeks. Instead of praying John would hear and come, she prayed he wouldn’t. If it was just her, Christopher would be all right. John would never let anything happen to him, would raise him right. She let herself be led to an old truck that sat behind the Dumpster. He pushed her in through the driver’s door, slipping in next to her.

“Wes,” she said, her voice shaking, tears running down her cheeks. “You’re just going to make this so much worse. Not just for me, but for you.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed, but even so she could see that his pupils were pinpoints. He was high. He laughed cruelly. “I don’t think so, Paige,” he said. “I’m finally going to get out of this mess.” He started the truck, cut a U-turn behind the Dumpster and drove in the opposite direction of the bar rather than past it. Paige strained, but didn’t see a single person on the street, no one on their porches. And no one saw her as far as she could tell.

She knew better than to try to reason with him. This surpassed any nightmare of her life. She knew that John wouldn’t let very much time pass before looking out the kitchen’s back door to see that bag of trash lying there, abandoned. She made up her mind—she would throw herself from the truck and if she survived it, she’d run. But not until they were farther away from town. Not until John had time to see something was terribly wrong and could protect himself and Christopher.

Wes didn’t speak. The rifle lay across his lap and he sat forward in the truck, gripping the steering wheel. That tense jaw and the narrowed eyes that she remembered too well bore down on the road as they trundled along. The shocks on the truck were bad, the seat hard, bouncing her around. They were driving down the mountain, heading in the direction of Highway 101, which could take them to any of the local cities where they bought supplies—Garberville, Fortuna or Eureka. Or even as far south as L.A. if he kept going. They only passed a few vehicles, and none that she recognized.

After ten minutes of a silent drive, he exited at Alderpoint and went back up the mountain in the direction of Virgin River. This road could take them not through Virgin River, but around it. At least she knew roughly where she was. In a sudden and desperate move, she grabbed at the handle on the door and furiously tried to open it. She looked around for a lock, pushing on the door at the same time, but it wouldn’t give. She popped the little button on the door next to the window—up and down, up and down, moving the handle, pushing. Nothing.

Her upper arm was gripped hard and she turned her watering, terrified eyes toward Wes. He scowled blackly, then his frown dissolved into mean grin. “Jammed, Paige. How stupid do you think I am?”

She swallowed hard and asked, “Do you plan to leave our son without a mother?”

“Absolutely,” he said with terrifying calm. “But not until I’m sure I’m leaving him without a potential stepfather.”

“God,” she whispered weakly. “Why, Wes? John hasn’t done anything to you!”

“No?” he asked. “Only took my family away from me. Got my family to turn against me.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what happened, Wes. I ran from you.”

“Sure you did, Paige. And if it wasn’t for that guy, you’d still be running. Running and running, and I would find you and find you. But what you did—ending it forever and sending me to fucking
prison,
that was
his
doing. We both know you don’t have the guts for that.” He turned his head toward her and grinned meanly. “He’ll come after you, you know he will.”

I’m bait, she thought. Nothing but bait.

“I wouldn’t mind a piece of that other one, either,” he said. “Sheridan.”

Something came over Paige. It seemed to rise within her from her core.
You don’t have the guts for that….
The thought that this dangerous lunatic would ruthlessly, without conscience, hurt John and his own son sizzled inside her like boiling oil. Her fear slowly gave way to rage. “You’re going to burn in hell,” she whispered. But he couldn’t hear her above the noise of the old pickup.

When Brie and Mike walked into the bar it was deserted, but they could hear Preacher in the kitchen, and even muffled, his voice sounded riled up. Mike walked back to the kitchen to find him pacing with the phone in his hand, talking faster than Mike could ever remember; Preacher never said much, and when he did, it was measured and slow. Not so now. Before he could get a
grasp of what Preacher was saying, he heard, “Mike’s back. Come on, then. Right now.”

Preacher hung up the phone and looked at Mike. “Something’s wrong. Something happened. Paige. She took out some trash and she’s gone. It’s lying out there on the ground by the Dumpster and she didn’t come back in. I’ve got Chris sleeping upstairs and can’t leave. I called Jack—he’s coming back to town.”

“Did you call Connie’s? Doc’s?”

“Yeah, she’s not there.”

“How long ago?” Mike asked.

“Fifteen minutes or less. I would’ve looked outside sooner, but I was rolling dough and thought maybe she’d slipped by me and just went to our room. I gotta go down the street, see if she’s around….”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go, too,” Mike said. “Brie will stay here, stay with Chris.”

“It’s wrong,” Preacher said, shaking his head. “This is all wrong. She doesn’t do things like this. She always says where she’s going. She’s real, real careful.”

Mike and Brie connected eyes. Brie frowned. “Go check with the neighbors.” She slipped a hand inside her purse and pulled out a wallet. She opened it and withdrew a business card and lifted the phone off the hook. Preacher was out the back door, fast.

“What are you thinking?” Mike asked.

She leveled her steady gaze on him. “That it’s wrong, like he said. Go on, and hurry back. Maybe you can get one of the neighbors to help you knock on doors. I’ll make a couple of calls. See if I can learn anything.”

Mike went the other direction, back to his SUV. He unlocked the glove box and pulled out his revolver, just to be ready. He hooked it on his belt and caught up with Preacher down the street. By the time they got down to Joy’s house and the Carpenters’, they had two women
who were willing to do the door-knocking so they could go back to the bar. “Be sure to ask, everywhere you go, if any strange vehicles have been seen, if any unusual noises were heard,” Mike instructed.

Just as they returned, Jack was getting out of his truck followed by Mel with the baby bundled against her. Rick pulled up behind the bar, reporting to work after school. They all walked in together to find Brie standing behind the bar, a very unhappy look on her face. “Okay,” she said. “The A.D.A. is contacting the sheriff and local police in the larger towns. Someone is going to try to locate Lassiter in L.A., see if he can be found. I’ve reported Paige missing. Maybe this can be cleared up with a few phone calls. Meanwhile, let’s see if we can find her around here.”

Preacher’s face fell. “Oh, Jesus,” he said in a breath. “He did this. I know he did this….”

“We don’t know that he came here, Preacher,” Brie said.

“That’s the only thing that could’ve happened. Paige wouldn’t disappear like that. Her car’s here, f’chrissakes. Her purse. Her
son!
”

“There’s no evidence of a crime. Yet,” Brie said. She reached into her purse again, this time pulling out a Glock 9 mm. She slid it out of its holster and checked it for a full magazine and one in the chamber, then returned it, tucking it into the holster and her purse. “You men should go look around town, call the outlying farms and ranches from Connie’s and Doc’s to keep this phone clear. Somebody look in that old church, very carefully,” she said. “Mel and I will stay here with Chris, and if we have any trouble, I can take care of it. I’ll answer the phone here.”

“You’re carrying?” Mike asked, stepping toward her.

“Hmm. It was necessary,” she said. “And yes, I know how to use it. And no, I’m not afraid to do so.”

Preacher was already out the door when Jack said, “Necessary?”

“It’s not all that unusual to be threatened,” she said. “Not for a person in my job. The people I prosecute are dangerous, often violent. And…I no longer have an armed husband in the house, you’ll remember.”

“Brie…”

“Not now, Jack.”

“Yeah,” he said unhappily. The idea of his baby sister being threatened just added to the tension he was suddenly feeling. He agreed with Preacher—something bad was going on. Paige had relaxed quite a bit, but she was still very skittish about being far from Preacher—it had only been about eight weeks since Lassiter got out of jail. He went to use Doc’s phone to get Jim Post en route to Virgin River from Grace Valley, in case they had to extend their search. Jim had worked undercover for the DEA before retiring and marrying June Hudson and he knew a lot about hidden camps back in the mountains.

In an hour nothing turned up in town, nor had anyone on the ranches and farms they called seen or heard anything. But then the bad news came via phone. A couple of calls had revealed that Wes Lassiter had purchased airfare to Eureka from L.A. the day before. He couldn’t possibly have carried a firearm with him unless it had been secretly and illegally packed in checked baggage, but he had rented a car. And there had been one truck theft in Fortuna in the early hours of the morning. A farmer’s ’83 Ford, tan, went missing. There had been a rifle in the rack.

“He’s got her,” Preacher said. “That’s it, he’s got her.”

“If that’s true, they’re going to find that rented car not far from the farmer’s property,” Brie said. “Fortuna police are taking a look around immediately.”

Preacher went straight to his quarters while everyone stood around, looking at one another. Within five minutes he was back, putting a couple of vests, rifles and sidearms
on one of the tables. He also had jackets and flashlights, because night would come and it would get cold and dark. He was ready to move, whether or not he had more information.

Mike went to his vehicle and came back with his own rifle, bulletproof vest and down vest. There was no reason for him to carry a bulletproof vest in his vehicle, but when he worked gangs he always had it with him, in case anything that included gunfire was going down when he was in the area. Ever since Lassiter was released, he’d been at the ready.

Jack shook his head and left to fetch gear from the back of his own truck. When he’d been throwing stuff in the back of the truck, he’d been thinking—she’ll turn up. It’ll end up she was down the street, sitting on Lydie Sudder’s porch, having tea, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. But Preacher didn’t overreact, and on the off chance something sinister was going on, Jack wanted to be prepared. Mel had said, “Oh, for the love of God! Isn’t this a little over the top?”

“I hope so,” he had said. “I really hope so.”

When he got back inside, Rick was putting on one of the bulletproof vests. “Uh, Rick. I’m thinking the women could use someone here in town….”

“Get Doc,” Rick said, pulling on the vest, very big on him because it was one of Preacher’s, and slapping the Velcro straps tight. “Doc can help over here. He’s a fair shot.”

Now, shrugging into his own flak jacket, Jack said to Preacher, “Tell me your plan.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. My head is empty. I just know I have to try to find her.”

“Right. Okay, here’s the deal. The sheriff, Highway Patrol and Department of Forestry will be getting descriptions of vehicles and Paige. They’ll have control of the roads, so we’ll concentrate on going back in the
woods. We’ll look for old logging roads or broken-down brush indicating a vehicle passage. If he has that old truck, he won’t be off road—he’ll need a road to traverse. We’ll wait for Jim Post. He knows the area pretty well—maybe better than we do. We’ll concentrate on finding campsites, evidence of movement, maybe a hidden vehicle….”

“He could be far away by now,” Rick interrupted.

“No, he’s not going far,” Preacher said. “He can’t get away, not with Paige. Paige has changed since him—she doesn’t go along quietly anymore. This show-off guy with the three-million-dollar house—he’s not running back to L.A., to some cheap-ass hovel with the woman he thinks is his woman. If he’s got her, he had to kidnap her. He’s not running. He’s hiding. He’s gonna do something bad.”

“Preacher could be right,” Mike said. “Rick, we need maps of Trinity and Humboldt counties. Run over to Connie’s and get some. We’ll plot a course, select rendezvous points. That way we can get back here for new information. Jack, got a couple cases of bottled water?”

“Done.”

“Preacher, are there pictures of Paige somewhere? Maybe in her wallet?”

“I’ll see,” he said, going immediately.

People started moving again, getting things handled. About forty minutes had passed as they gathered up weapons and studied maps when Jim Post walked in, already fully dressed out—the flak jacket under his shirt obvious, wearing sidearms. He took a glance at the search rings and rendezvous points when the phone rang in the kitchen. Brie went to answer it and came back into the bar, grim-faced. “It’s not good news. Fortuna found the rented car. I’m afraid it’s got to be him. In the truck.”