In the Woods (30 page)

The blonde woman was standing over him, firing off words. ‘Each of us alone is powerless,' she said, ‘but all of us together might succeed.'

Wait. Hold on. That was his rallying cry – the idea that even thin sticks, bound together, would be unbreakable. It was true, and this woman understood. She recognized his wisdom even when his own people had rejected and shunned him.

Well, it wasn't their fault, really. It was Josh. Josh had turned them against him. Josh. He should have locked him up years ago – animal cruelty. Vandalism. The list went on. Better yet, he should have eliminated Josh altogether, should have shoved him into the bog or the lake, held him under. Or shot him dead in his Bog Man costume, exposing his fakery to the outsiders.

But it was no good thinking about should-haves. It was too late. Josh had taken over. Slader kept seeing it happen, again and again. Mavis – hell. How many nights had he spent in her bed? Yet, when he'd needed her to stand with him, she'd walked away. And Hiram, his oldest friend, had turned his back. And Ax – how many times had he let Ax slide for driving under the influence? And Moose? He'd taught Moose to shoot a rifle – helped him bag his first buck. All of them had abandoned him. Annie, Wade – every single one of them. He couldn't stop listing the betrayals, seeing the backs turn. But now, this little blonde was talking about unity and power, staring at him. Why? What did she want from him? Couldn't she see that he was shattered? A broken, bleeding corpse of a man? A failure as a leader? What was the point of her repeating his words? His people would rather follow Josh on a suicide mission than follow him and survive. He was finished. His life over.

But the blonde woman was still watching him. Asking, ‘You in?'

In what? He tried to recall what she'd said. Something to do with the stick thing, probably. Unity. Her eyes were bright, expectant. Strong. Yet they met his with a kind of shyness. No, not shyness. Deference? Yes. And respect. She looked at him the way enlisted men looked at officers, the way he deserved to be looked at. As if she wanted his leadership. He glanced around the room at the other faces. They were all three watching him, all waiting for his reply. These people – this ragtag little band of resistance – needed him.

Slader chewed his lip. Remembering his rules: A good leader responded to the needs of his people. A good leader put his personal needs aside for the sake of others. A true leader didn't dodge responsibility. Clearly, this little group was crying out for his help. For the sake of others, he would have to absorb the shock and pain of his own loss, muster his strength, rise to the challenge, and respond to the call.

‘Yes, ma'am.' He got to his feet. ‘I'm in.'

‘So what are they planning?' Harper asked. ‘What can you tell us?'

Slader pursed his lips, didn't respond.

‘Just say it. They're going to kill us, aren't they?' Angela lay back on her cot, her voice flat. ‘I know it. We're never getting out of here.'

‘It's going to be tough.' Slader sounded grave. ‘They intend to use us as an example.'

‘An example of what?' Jim stopped pacing. ‘I'm just a regular guy who works for a living. I haven't done anything—'

Harper cut him off, addressed Slader. ‘Have you heard anything about my husband? He went to the ranger's station to get help for Angela—'

Slader looked away. ‘He's been delayed.'

Delayed? How? Harper stopped breathing. Was Hank hurt? Oh God. ‘What happened?'

Slader sighed, met her eyes. ‘He found your trail and was following it with the cops and the ranger. I figured out that your trail was leading them here, to the compound, so I had to slow him down.'

‘What did you do?' Harper stepped toward him, leaned up toward his face.

Slader backed away. ‘Look, I was protecting my people – delaying the search party until I could get here and find out what the hell was happening.'

‘Where's my husband?' Harper's voice trembled. Her fists tightened. Slader was a lot bigger than she was, but she didn't care. She'd taken down larger men.

Slader took another step back. ‘Don't worry. He'll be fine.'

‘Did you hurt him?'

‘No – calm down. Nothing like that. I just made him take a detour. Look – if I'd known what Josh was planning, I wouldn't have done it. All I did was mention that you and your husband had been fighting—'

‘But that's not true.'

‘—and given that there was blood at your campsite, and that you were gone, I suggested that, statistically, maybe he'd done you in.'

Oh God. ‘Where's Hank now?'

Slader paused. ‘Last time I saw him, he was being questioned by state cops.'

Help wasn't coming.

‘Asshole.' Harper couldn't help it. Her fist caught Slader on the jaw, sent him flying backwards onto a cot.

Harper rubbed her knuckles, turned away. Jim hopped from foot to foot, hugging himself. Staring.

‘Great,' Angela said. ‘They don't have to kill us. We can kill ourselves.'

Slader held his face, sat up. His lip was bleeding. ‘Look, they won't keep him long. They have no evidence. I just made sure they'd question him. It's protocol.'

Protocol? To divert a search party? To interfere with – no, to prevent a rescue?

‘Sorry,' he said. ‘Like I said, I didn't know what was going on.'

Harper closed her eyes, saw Hank in custody.

‘Point is,' Slader went on, ‘it's getting dark soon. Even if they get back to it, the search party might not be able to track us here before that. So we're on our own. We'll have to take care of ourselves.'

‘So what do we do?' Jim was quaking.

‘My guess is they'll wait until it's late, when campers and hunters are asleep and no one's around. Then they'll come for us. So we have a few hours.'

A few hours?

Angela moaned that she didn't want to die. Jim crouched in a corner. Harper sat down beside Slader, put her hand in her pocket, and held her lemon.

‘So? What are we going to do?' Jim asked. ‘Just sit here?'

‘Nothing we can do,' Angela said. ‘We're all dead.'

Jim held up a metal rod. ‘We've got these.' He turned to Harper. ‘We can take apart the other cots, make more. When they come for us, we can rush them – like you said before, we'd have the element of surprise.'

Harper nodded. ‘We can do that.'

Like she'd said before? When? Slader tried to follow. Where had that metal thing come from? He looked around, saw that he'd been sitting on a legless cot, placed on top of a normal one. This group had been enterprising, making weapons. Obviously, they didn't realize the arsenal they were up against.

‘You might get one of them with a stick like that – even two. But the others'll shoot you.' He stood, smeared the blood off his lip. ‘Our only hope is the ladder.' He pointed to the trapdoor. ‘Once they lower it, we wait and let them send someone down. As soon as he comes through, we pull the ladder down so fast he can't help but fall. Before he can get up, we take his weapon. And we have a hostage, a gun, as well as the ladder—'

‘They'll lock the hatch,' Jim said. ‘What good's the ladder?'

‘They only have one in the compound. They'll have to get another. So that buys us time. And in that time, who knows? The search party might find us.'

Harper didn't think much of Slader's plan. But she didn't say anything, didn't want to squelch the kernel of hope that Slader was planting. Didn't have a better idea.

‘That plan sucks,' Angela said. ‘Buying us time won't change anything. Nobody's coming for us, thanks to you. And even if they did manage to get here, they wouldn't find us. We're hidden under the floor. Stop pretending that there's hope. We're trapped here, and we're going to die here – all of us—'

‘Shut up! Will you just shut up?' Jim turned to Harper. ‘Make her stop. She's making things worse. I swear if she doesn't stop, I'll lose it.'

‘Angela,' Harper began, but Angela let out a yowl, sobbing.

‘No, Jim's right. This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if not for me.'

‘That's ridiculous,' Harper said. ‘No one's to blame but the locals.'

‘No. I brought it on.' Angela kept crying, sniffing. ‘Oh God. What was I thinking? If I hadn't brought Phil here, he'd still be alive – everything would be different. It's my fault. It's karma. What have I done?'

Nobody said anything. The others were absorbed in their own thoughts, preparing for the worst.

Karma? Slader leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching Angela Russo. His cop antennae had begun buzzing. Experience had taught him to look for incongruities, things that didn't match up. And this Russo woman, well, her behavior was over the top. She'd lost her husband, but hadn't displayed much grief – in fact, her main emotion had been hatred for her ex-husband, Stan. That and self-pity. For sure, there was something off about her. It occurred to him that he'd been too preoccupied with the Hunt Club, hadn't really questioned Angela about her whereabouts when her husband had been shot. Hadn't asked if she'd fired a gun, or how their marriage had been going. Hadn't focused on the odd coincidence that she'd led investigators right to her ex-husband's campsite, right to his weapons and ammunition.

Fact was, Angela Russo had known about her ex's campsite near the bog; she'd camped with him in that very same spot for years. She must also have known what weapons he had, where he kept them. Slader looked her over, sizing her up. Figured that, if she'd wanted to, she could easily have snuck into Stan's camp early, while he was asleep, taken his rifle, shot Phil, and returned the gun without Stan knowing. Dagnabbit. The widow might have killed her husband and framed her ex.

Not that it mattered any more. With Josh in charge of the Hunt Club, they were all going to die.

Still, he was a cop. Couldn't let it alone.

‘How come you say all this is your fault?' he asked. ‘Care to explain?'

Angela froze like a hunted rabbit. ‘Well, it's not really my fault. I just meant none of this would have happened if we'd stayed home. Phil would be home, raking the leaves. His body wouldn't have been carved and propped up like a scarecrow—'

‘But I believe you said “none of it” would have happened if not for you. What about Al? Jim's partner? Wouldn't he still be dead?'

Angela looked away. ‘I don't know about that.'

But she did know about her husband? Slader didn't back down. ‘Tell us about your husband. How did you two get along?'

‘Why are you asking me that? Phil was the love of my life.'

Really. ‘I thought that would have been Stan.'

‘What?' Her face blotched with red. ‘No way. Stan's a snake—'

‘You seem to have a lot of unfinished business with him.'

‘Not at all.'

‘Really? Because most times when a woman's done with a man, she doesn't care about him one way or another, as long as he steers clear of her. But you, well. the way you behaved, it was clear you still have feelings for Stan, even if those feelings show up as anger.'

Angela didn't answer. She glared at Slader, closed her mouth.

‘How do you feel about his wife?'

‘Wife?' Angela's eyes flamed. ‘That title doesn't change anything. She's nothing but a slut.'

‘She's wearing his ring.'

‘That bitch pretended to be my best friend just so she could get close to Stan. They're both slime and I hope they rot in hell. What did they expect? That I'd just lie down and let them walk all over me?'

‘They underestimated you, didn't they?'

‘Damn right.' Angela's face was bright red, camouflaging her freckles.

For a few seconds, nobody said anything.

Slader studied Angela. She was still fuming mad, not the least bit repentant. ‘Ma'am, did you know that Al Rogers and your husband were both shot with the same caliber bullets?'

‘How would I know that?'

‘I might have mentioned it. I know I told Daniels.'

‘So? Lots of people use the same ammunition.'

Slader nodded. ‘True enough.' He waited before going on. Looked around at his little group. Jim sat on the floor, no longer pacing, paying rapt attention to the exchange. Harper sat to his left on the cot, watching Angela with narrowed eyes. She'd outranked him in the military, but this was civilian life, and he was in charge. He was confident that he could count on both of them if he needed help with the suspect.

Not that it mattered, since they were all going to be killed.

Still, he was a leader. And a good leader served until his last breath.

‘Thing is, both men were killed at about the same time, shot not far from each other. And they were both about the same size. Both wearing blue caps and blue plaid shirts.'

‘So?' Angela's shoulders tightened. Her gaze wavered ever so slightly.

‘So, it's possible that, from a distance, one of them could have been confused with the other.'

‘What are you saying? That the killer got them mixed up? They were killed by the same person?' Jim's brows furrowed. ‘Wait. So the locals killed her husband because they mistook him for Al, who was working for the pipeline?'

Slader kept his eyes on Angela. ‘Maybe,' he said. ‘Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the locals didn't kill either of them. Maybe someone killed Al, intending to kill Phil Russo.'

‘Stan?' Angela's voice was flat. ‘You're saying Stan killed them both?'

‘Or someone wanted to make it look that way. Someone who knew where Stan was camped. Where he kept his guns and ammunition. Someone who could sneak into his campsite, take a rifle, use it, and return it without being seen.'

Angela didn't move. ‘That's crazy.'