Page 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

A spen had been whispering a constant stream of prayers ever since she’d been locked in the trunk. The first couple of verses of the ninety-first Psalm filled her mind and her heart as she begged God for help. I dwell in the secret place of the Most High. I abide in Your shadow. You’re my refuge. I trust in You.

She couldn’t remember the rest of the words, only that the Psalm promised protection. Protect me, Father.

Save me.

Only He could save her now. She was defenseless.

Utterly defenseless.

The car hadn’t traveled far when it slowed down and took a sharp turn. It stopped, and she heard a mechanical hum, which lasted only a few seconds before it stopped. The car moved forward slowly.

Salcito had pulled into a garage. Were they at his house? Garrett had said there were only summer homes higher up the mountain. Maybe Salcito owned one. But why would he own a summer home in the town where he lived?

She didn’t understand.

Not that it mattered.

They were here, wherever here was, and Salcito was going to kill her.

Even so, she would trust in God.

The only person who cared whether she lived or died was thousands of miles away, spreading the gospel in Kathmandu. Aspen had never really had her mother’s love. Her father had adored her, but he was gone.

There was Garrett. If Dean was telling the truth, he cared for her. He’d be sorry if she didn’t survive.

The thought of him brought a sob. She’d treated him so poorly. She should have trusted him. She should have at least let him explain. If she could go back and undo one thing, that would be it.

If she’d believed in him, then he would have been at the house with her. She wouldn’t be where she was. None of this would be happening.

She’d been stupid.

Maybe Garrett wouldn’t forgive her, even if she were given the chance to apologize. But Aspen wasn’t defined by the people who loved her or didn’t love her. Her worth wasn’t wrapped up in other people’s opinions.

Her future wasn’t defined by her past. It certainly wasn’t defined by her parents’ past.

Maybe she was the daughter of a murderer. Maybe she was the daughter of two murderers. But before either her mother or her father had existed, God had known Aspen. He’d loved her. He’d chosen her. He’d died for her.

She was her father’s daughter. Her mother’s daughter. But mostly, she was God’s daughter. He got to decide who she was. He decided her worth.

And God thought Aspen was priceless.

A car door opened and closed. Then there was nothing but silence that stretched for minutes that felt like hours. She kept praying. It was all she could do.

Her head pounded, but it was better than it had been. The blood on the back of her head didn’t seem to be flowing anymore. The low ache of nausea that had plagued her since the blow at the house, even more so in the trunk of a moving car, faded.

She’d suffered a concussion, no doubt. That wouldn’t be what killed her.

She figured a gunshot would do that job.

Please, Father. Please save me.

Suddenly, the trunk lid opened, and light filled her vision, sending shard-like pain into her head. She closed her eyes against it, then opened them slowly, shielding them with her hand until they adjusted.

Brent grabbed her arm and yanked her up. “Let’s go.” He helped her step out of the trunk and onto the concrete floor of a garage. Two cars were already parked there, including a silver sedan with a dented front fender and a long scratch along its right side.

The car that had forced her off the road two nights before. Which reminded her. “You’re supposed to be in Maine.”

“I was. I stole a friend’s keys and drove his car back here, then switched it with the car my friends leave here year-round. I’ll have their dent fixed by the time they come up this summer.”

“Nobody’ll miss you at the retreat?”

“I’ll show up for the dinner tonight. My car’s been there all along. The whole point of the retreat is to spend time alone with God, so yes, nobody’ll miss me.”

Clever. Diabolical.

“How’d you get to my house?”

“I walked. It’s less than a mile, all downhill. Glad I didn’t have to walk back up.”

Past the car, a door led into the house, but with a firm grip on her, Salcito pulled her the other direction to the driveway. After they stepped outside, he tapped a keypad on the threshold, and the garage door lowered.

The snow was coming fast, covering everything in a veneer of white. It would hide whatever tracks they’d leave.

Cold wind had her shuddering as Salcito led her around the garage and onto a walkway that had been recently shoveled. They took it to the back and rounded the house toward a deck covered with inches of snow. When they reached the stairs leading up to it, he said, “Sit here.”

She did. Melting snow seeped through her jeans seconds after she sat. Her knees were already wet from crawling through ice water on her kitchen floor. She wore no coat, no gloves, no hat.

He could simply tie her to the railing and leave her there, and she’d freeze to death. She looked past him at an amazing vista. The trees dropped off, giving her a beautiful view of the lake and the mountains on the far side of town.

At least it was a pretty place to die.

He looked down at her. “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

Her teeth chattered. “You would much rather have k-k-killed me two nights ago on the road, I g-g-guess.”

“It would have been easier,” he admitted. “Easier still if you’d just recorded what you’d learned in your laptop. I hacked into it, but I didn’t find anything about what you’d figured out.”

So he’d been the one to break into her house. “You should have stolen my n-n-notebook.” He might as well have, for all the good it’d done her. All her careful planning, and here she was, about to die.

If she got out of this, she was going to burn her notebook. She’d rather follow God’s plans for her life than her own, anyway. Like Garrett had said, the notebook didn’t keep her sane. If anything, her compulsive need to follow her carefully laid-out blueprint had thrown her off course.

Nope. From now on, she’d trust God with her future. If she had one.

Unlike her, the mayor was properly dressed in a puffy parka, a black skull cap, and black gloves. “I was really trying to avoid the conversation you and I have to have now.”

She crossed her arms against the chill and tucked her fingers beneath her armpits. It didn’t help much. “C-c-c-conversation?”

“You know where your mother is. I need to know.”

“I don’t understand.” She paused through a chill. “You didn’t kill her, so why do you c-c-care?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

Which part? She’d ask the question, but she was pretty sure her jaw was freezing shut.

Her toes were already numb. Her fingers stung.

How long would it take to die of hypothermia? Surely longer than she’d been outside, but she was so cold. She’d never been so cold in her life.

“Why don’t you think I killed her,” Brent asked.

“If you d-d-d-did”—she shivered violently—“you’d know where she is.”

He leaned against the railing beside her. “That’s a logical conclusion.” He blew out a long breath. “You’re nothing like her. You look like her, no question. Your voice is so similar, it’s eerie. But you’re so…rational.”

Aspen didn’t know what to say to that.

“If Jane were in your position, she’d be panicking or making baseless threats. She’d be screaming, thrashing, trying to get away.”

“What would be the p-p-point? Nobody’s going to hear m-m-m…” She couldn’t finish the sentence for trembling that took over.

His smile was sad. “See what I mean? Rational. If Jane had only been a little more rational…” He didn’t finish his sentence, either, though not, she guessed, because of the cold.

“Tell me where Jane is.”

“So you can k-k-k-kill me f-f-faster?”

“At least you’ll be out of your misery.”

“Your concern for my well-being is t-t-t-touching.”

He crouched down until his face was inches from hers. “Tell me where she is.”

“D-don’t know.”

“I was outside when Dean was at your house. I heard you tell him you knew where she was. And that you hadn’t yet told Cote.”

He’d listened to their entire conversation? No wonder he’d killed Dean. But Dean had confessed everything to Deborah, and Deborah would tell Cote. Did Deborah know that Salcito had worked with Aspen’s mother?

If so, then even if Dean died, Salcito was going down.

“D-d-deborah knows. She’ll t-t-t-tell.”

“I heard all the lies Dean spun,” he said. “One thing I’ve learned in my years as a lawyer and a politician is that, when an unexpected situation crops up, you work the problem in front of you. I’ll deal with Deborah later. First I need to find your mother. Where is she?”

Aspen shuddered, both from the cold and from his words. How would he deal with Deborah?

Would he have another murder on his conscience?

Assuming he had a conscience?

“Not until you”—she paused through another shudder—“tell me what happened.”

“If I do, you’ll tell me where she is?”

“So you can let me f-f-freeze to d-d-d-death?”

He shrugged out of his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders. His lingering body heat enveloped her as she pushed her hands into his sleeves. He zipped it up, his closeness sending a whole different kind of quaking through her body. But he backed away quickly. “Better?”

She nodded, hating herself for loving the warmth he’d given her. She took a few breaths and forced herself to calm. She was still cold, but it was tolerable with the jacket on. “I came to find out what happened to her. At least give me that.”

He sat beside her on the stoop. The narrow staircase had him too close, but she wasn’t going to complain if it meant she’d get to breathe for a few more minutes. “Everything went according to plan until we got there that night. The building was dark. But there was a car in the parking lot. We’d decided that if we thought anybody was there, we’d leave. But Jane…” He shook his head slowly. “When she decided to do something, nothing could stop her.”