Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (21 page)

Since Murphy shot at them earlier, he hadn’t tried again.

Portia handed another cup to Dunne and glanced outside. “They haven’t found him yet?”

“Not yet. But don’t worry. He shouldn’t be hard to track in this mud. We found evidence of his stand up there in the spruces. He was there, all right.”

Boone pointed to the side of the house. “And that bullet in the siding should be enough evidence that he’s after Portia, Sheriff.”

Dunne’s eyes turned to her, narrowing. “Have you told me everything now, young lady?”

She lowered her eyes, backing up. “Um, yeah. Pretty much.”

“You know, if we’d had the whole truth when you first came home, we might’ve caught him at his cabin where you knocked him out. He might be in jail as we speak, instead of wreaking havoc on your family.”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff.” She sank onto a kitchen chair. “I thought I’d killed him. I was afraid you’d arrest me.”

Dunne snorted a laugh. “For self-defense? No charges would’ve stuck.”

She stiffened. “But you hear about it all the time on television. You know, where innocent women are put in prison for killing their abusers.”

“Well, maybe. But in real life, when a woman’s been kidnapped like you, and kept in bondage for years…there wouldn’t be much doubt about your doing it to protect yourself. Least that’s how I see it.” He waved his hands as if getting rid of a pesky fly. “But that’s in the past. Right now we’ve gotta keep you safe.”

Her father stepped toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to come to New York with me.”

A shock wave ran through her. “What?”

“You’ll be safer there,” Boone said. “It’s you Murphy wants. And it’d be easier to protect you in a big hotel with secure entry.”

Portia stood and faced her father. “Dad. Listen. Much as I want to be there for Mom, I can’t leave. I can’t run anymore. I need to be here, I need to find my dogs, I need to be sure the horses are okay.”

Her father didn’t look surprised. He knew her too well. “I thought I’d try.”

“I know.” She leaned in to hug him. “But the Sheriff here will take care of us. And I’ve got three strong men to help protect me.”

Sheriff Dunne turned to them. “We’ll catch the sicko. You can bet on that.”

“But, Portia.” Boone’s shoulders sank a half-inch. “You’re not safe here. Look how close he came to killing you today.”

“I know. I do. But I can’t run anymore, Boone. I just can’t.”

His lips tightened. “Okay. Well, if that’s the way it is, I’ll be here for you. I won’t leave your side until we catch the bastard.”

“Me, neither,” Ned added from the living room.

Portia smiled at Boone, feeling a sense of warmth invade her for his support. “Thank you, Boone.” She called to Ned, too. “Thank you.”

“You watch my girls for me, men. You take good care of them. Don’t let that filthy bastard near them.” Her father nodded to Boone, Ned, and Anderson, and the rest of the officers in the room. The sound of the helicopter came over the hills, and he hurried to Daisy’s side. “They’re here, baby. We’re bringing you back to Dr. Kareem.”

Chapter 49

S
he woke at three thirty in the morning to the sound of dogs barking. With a start, she sat bolt upright in bed.

Cupcake. Boomer.

Did I dream it?

Grace snored softly beside her, mouth open and one arm thrown over her head. She’d insisted on sleeping with Portia, and had left poor Anderson alone in the guest room.

Racing to the window, she drew back the curtains and peered into the dark, throwing open the window to feel the cool night air on her face. The barking came again, and it sounded like it was coming from the barn.

She slid into her sneakers and was down the steps in a flash, pulling on her bathrobe over her pajamas.

Heavy footsteps came behind her, and she turned to see Boone in his cutoffs. She’d forgotten he was sleeping in her parents’ bedroom.

“Did you hear that?” she said. “It’s the dogs.”

He touched her arm when they got to the bottom of the steps. “Wait. It could be a trap.”

She whirled on him, sick of him trying to order her around. “There’s a policeman outside, sitting in his car. We’ll get him to go with us if you’re afraid.”

His eyes widened. “Afraid?” He snorted, then faced her, almost nose-to-nose. “I’m trying to save your damned life, Portia. Get with the program.”

She stood taller, ready to argue with him, then noticed the empty spot on the couch where Ned had been sleeping. “Where’s your brother?”

He swung his gaze to the couch. “Ned?” Four long paces took him to the back of the room, where he glanced into the bathroom. “Buddy?”

Portia checked the kitchen. “He’s not in here. Maybe he already went out to check on the barking.”

Boone grabbed his rifle and picked up his phone, dialing Ned’s number. He waited, watching outside. “No answer. Let’s get the cop’s attention. He told me to flick the lights if we wanted him.”

Portia ran to the porch light fixture and turned them on and off three times.

Nothing.

“Maybe he fell asleep?” she said, worry creeping into her voice.

“Maybe.”

Anderson came down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” He wore his pajama bottoms and slippers.

“Dogs sound like they’re out in the barn, barking up a storm,” Boone said. “I can’t rouse the cop. And Ned’s missing.”

Anderson came to full alert. “Oh, shit. Did you call Dunne?”

“Not yet. I just want to be sure it’s not a false alarm. Ned could be right outside. Let’s head outside together, lights off. We won’t make a target that way.”

Anderson grabbed his rifle and shrugged into a shirt hanging on the coat rack. “Okay. Portia, you stay inside.”

Portia followed them to the door. “No way in hell. I’m coming with you.”

Both men heaved sighs.

“I want to see my dogs. I need to know they’re okay.”

Boone didn’t argue this time. “Stand between us, and put on this sweatshirt, and pull the hood up.” He grabbed Ned’s navy blue sweatshirt from the back of a kitchen chair. “Tuck your hair inside. Don’t say a word. Maybe he’ll think you’re one of us guys.”

“If he’s still out there,” Anderson said. “The cops think he’s taken off.” He flicked off the kitchen and porch lights and they slipped out onto the porch.

Silence.

Boone motioned to Anderson. “Check the officer in the car. We’ll look in the barn.”

Anderson disappeared into the darkness.

With his arm through Portia’s, Boone led her to the barn. He didn’t enter through the main door, but around the side, through a smaller access door. Barely audible, he whispered, “He’d expect us to come through the big door. If he’s in there, that is.”

Portia shivered, finally realizing how foolish she’d been. Boone was right. It could be a trap. And she might’ve made him walk right into it.

They reached the door and slid inside.

Horses nickered and stuck their heads out the stall doors. Mirage kicked his stall door and snorted.

Inch by inch, they worked their way down the aisle, patting horses heads and checking inside each stall.

“The tack room,” she whispered. “I hear scratching at the door.”

When they reached the door, he motioned her back. “Stay flat against this wall. Don’t move.”

He pulled the door open and aimed his rifle inside, swinging it right to left. “Oh, shit.”

Before she could react to his words, Boomer and Cupcake leapt outside, whining and heading straight for Portia. She sank to the ground and welcomed them into her arms, letting them lick her and cuddle their wiggling bodies against her. “Oh, my poor babies. My poor little doggies. Are you okay?” They covered her in dog-kisses, telling her their story.

“Portia. Come here.”

She leapt to her feet and hurried to Boone’s side, where she found him inside the tack room, leaning over Ned’s prone body.

“Call 911.” He thrust his phone into her hands and rolled his brother over.

“Oh my God. Is he okay?”

“He’s out cold. But he’s breathing. And where the hell is Anderson?”

A chill ran down Portia’s spine. “Oh, no.”

Boone still whispered. “Make the call.”

She punched in the numbers and summoned the cavalry.

Chapter 50

W
hen Portia hung up, Boone took her by the shoulders and locked eyes with her. “I’m shutting you in here with Ned and the dogs. No arguments this time.” He picked up his brother’s rifle, which lay on the floor beside him. “Take this. And wait for me.”

Portia nodded. “Okay.”

Boone worried that she was just placating him, and that she’d burst out of the barn at just the wrong time to be shot by Murphy. “I’m serious, Portia. Murphy’s out here. He’s already put one of us out of commission.”

“I understand. I’ll wait until the sheriff gets here.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she whispered, glancing down at Ned. “Will he be okay?”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

Boone shut the door behind him, leaving Portia hunkered against the wall with both dogs on her lap and the rifle propped beside her. He slid out the side door again and flattened himself against the outer wall.

Wait. Count to ten, then slide around the corner.

It was still pitch black outside, and he hoped he blended into the night. Breathing steadily, he held his rifle firmly at his side.

Slipping around the barn corner, he stopped and listened. Was that a moan? Someone nearby? He hurried closer to the patrol car, and noticed the back door hung wide open, and the dome light shone dully on a body on the ground.

Boone’s heart sprang to life, banging hard beneath his ribs. He ran to the car, noticing at once that the cop was also lying sideways on the front seat. Anderson groaned, then tried to say something.

Boone leaned over him. “What is it, buddy? Are you okay?”

“Trap,” Anderson spluttered. “Behind you.”

Boone whirled in time to see the heavy club swinging toward his face.

The world turned black.

***

Portia waited a full fifteen minutes.

Still no police.

Still no Boone.

What the hell was happening out there?

She picked up the rifle and cracked open the door to the tack room. “Boone?”

The dogs followed her, inches from her legs, as if they’d been separated for years instead of hours. She was grateful for their company, and patted them with her free hand. “It’s okay, pups. We’re just gonna see what’s going on.”

Carefully, she inched out the doorway, listening hard. “Boone?” She hissed the words. “Where are you?”

She heard a door slam in the house, and a vehicle start up. The patrol car?

Hurrying, she peeked out the barn door to see the patrol car skid past her, turn in a circle, and speed down the dirt road, away from the house.

Had the cop seen someone? Was he giving chase?

Her heart jumped when she made out three figures on the ground.

Three bodies.

Fear clenched her, sending shivers down her spine. She raced out to the driveway, realizing in seconds that the police officer, Anderson, and Boone lay unconscious on the cold gravel.

How had he done it? How could he disable four men in such a short time?

The dogs sniffed and licked the men, tails wagging, but whines emitted from both of them as if they knew something was terribly wrong.

“Are they alive?” she croaked, feeling for Boone’s pulse first.

There it was, strong and steady.

Anderson was next. His heartbeat throbbed beneath her fingers, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed a big bloody gash on his head.

The cop lay unresponsive, too, she saw his chest rise and fall. Then she caught the whiff of chloroform.

Oh, God. He’d used it again, just like he did with her.

“They’re alive,” she said, grabbing Boone’s phone that she still had in her robe pocket. “I’m calling for help.” She picked up her rifle and glanced wildly at the road.

This time she punched in Dunne’s cell that Boone had programmed onto his favorites. He answered on the first ring.

“Boone? We’re almost there. What’s happening?”

Portia spilled her words fast. “This is Portia, Sheriff Dunne. Murphy came back. He knocked out your officer, Ned, Anderson, and Boone.” She waited for a second, then her voice became shrill. “I’m not kidding.”

Dunne barked his questions to her. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

“I’m outside, I…”

“Get into the house. Now.”

“Okay. I…”

“Where’s Murphy? Can you see anything? Hear anything?”

“No. I think he just stole your police car.”

“Wait a minute.” There were sounds of shouts and radios blasting in the background. Confusion. Yelling. The squeal of tires and a crash. After what seemed like eons, she heard him talking into his radio. “Christ almighty. The bastard just knocked us off the road.” She heard fumbling, as if he were reaching for the phone. “Portia? You still there?”

“Yes. Are you okay?”

“Hold on. I’ve gotta call for reinforcements. Maybe they can head him off at the highway. And I think I need a tow truck to get us out of this ditch. Go inside and wait. Lock your doors. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She hung up and dropped to her knees beside Boone, tearing off the duct tape that bound his hands and feet. He stirred, and she laid his head on her lap, feeling as if her heart would break. “Shh. It’s okay.”

Anderson lay still, but she heard him breathing. Murphy hadn’t bothered to restrain him or the cop. He’d probably chloroformed them both. And poor Ned still lay alone in the barn.

With a start, she looked back at the house. “I need help. We need Grace. Come on.” She settled Boone back on the ground and jumped up. “Boomer, Cupcake. Let’s go get her.”

She ran to the house and burst into the kitchen, calling her sister’s name.
How the hell had she slept through all this?

“Grace, we’ve got trouble. Anderson’s hurt. Come on. I need you.”

She pounded up the steps, getting angrier with every step. “Grace! For crying out loud, wake up.”