Page 93 of A Deeper Darkness

“Follow the man,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.

Sam tried to keep her fear in check. She’d come up here to be bait, yes. So Fletcher and Whitfield could talk. Traipsing off into the forest with a killer wasn’t on the menu.

She had one trick left in her arsenal. She took a deep breath through her nose and started to scream.

Whitfield turned and slammed his hand over her mouth, cutting her lip with the force.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispered. “You want to get dead, too? Keep quiet or I’ll gag you. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve done worse things today.”

Sam shook her head. She could taste the blood in her mouth. Behind the shades, she could see his eyes boring into hers. She was trapped. Testing, he lifted his hand, and she spit the blood out. It landed on his boot. He just looked at it and sighed.

“You are not the first. Come on.”

* * *

They walked for what felt like an eternity. Sam didn’t exactly have the right gear—she’d worn fine leather boots and wool trousers—and the forest wasn’t kind to either. She was cold. They were climbing higher, up into the mountains, but she’d left her jacket in the car.

Smooth move, Owens. Now you’ve really gotten yourself screwed.

She assumed the woman at her rear was Karen Fisher. She was grim, determined and forceful. When Sam started to lag, she pushed her from behind with the gun in the small of Sam’s back.

She took heart in the fact that the dogs would be able to get her scent off her coat. If Fletcher woke up and was able to lead them back to the place they’d been ambushed. If. If. If.

She tried to engage them in conversation multiple times, asking questions about Donovan and Croswell and Everett, until Xander rounded back on her and said, “If you keep talking, we’ll never get there. Now shut up and walk.”

She listened. They were the ones with the guns, after all.

They hiked until the sun grew low in the sky. After what felt like ages—climbing through the woods, crossing streams, carefully sneaking over a barbed-wire fence—they followed a steepening path that opened to a glade. A sturdy log cabin sat in the middle, with smoke rising from the chimney. There was a huge pile of wood under a tarp, an ATV and a Jeep with the plastic pulled back. Sam saw laundry hanging from the line in the backyard. Children’s clothes. They’d set up quite a nice little house up here. A sweet little family estate in the woods.

Sam heard a joyous bark and a black-and-tan German shepherd bounded across the grass toward them.

Whitfield dropped the gun and let the dog leap into his arms. “Who’s a good boy?”

Big tough guy, undone by a puppy. That was it, she’d had enough. She’d been frightened, coerced, marched through the woods at gunpoint by strangers, hadn’t eaten and was scared witless. She did the only thing she knew to do.

“What’s his name?”

Whitfield turned to her in surprise. “Thor.”

“May I?” She held out a hand. The dog eyed her warily, stiff legged and alert until Xander said a word she didn’t understand. Thor relaxed and came willingly, cuddling up against her leg and giving her hand a good lick. She would pay for that. It only took a few moments for the itching to start, but she ignored it.

A little girl came flying out the cabin door, running down the porch stairs, calling, “They’re back, they’re back. It’s okay, it’s only Mommy and Xander.” Two boys followed her out more cautiously, staying on the porch instead of running to their mother. The taller of the two held a rifle in his arms, the barrel pointed toward the porch floor.

The woman smiled and grabbed the girl up in a hug. The girl said, “We missed you,” then turned to the stranger in their midst. “Who areyou?Are you one of the bad guys?”

Sam’s heart tugged. Good grief, he’d brought his family into this, too?

“No. I’m Sam. Who are you?”

“Jennifer Jill Lyons. I’m six.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jennifer.” The name registered. Lyons. Sam looked at the girl’s mother. This wasn’t Karen Fisher. It must be…

“I’m Maggie Lyons,” the woman said. “Sorry about that back there. We didn’t have a choice.”

“I thought you were Karen Fisher.”

“Hardly.” Maggie’s face tightened, and Sam felt like she was missing something. Of course, she’d felt like that for days.