The place never changed.
Gabriel McQueen actually liked that about his hometown, Wilson Creek, Maine. He liked the continuity of it, the security, the solidarity. He liked that his seven-year-old son, Sam, was seeing the town almost exactly as Gabriel himself had seen it growing up. He liked that Sam was building some of the same memories he had.
He liked the little town as it looked during the march of seasons: the budding of spring, the green of summer, the rioting colors of autumn when the twin white steeples pierced a deep blue sky, but his favorite time of the year was right now. The last few weeks leading up to Christmas were special, when excitement and anticipation seemed to grip everyone and the little kids were almost giddy from it all. He could barely wait to see Sam enjoying the same things he'd enjoyed at that age.
He drove his black four-wheel-drive Ford F-250 through the town square, smiling as he saw that every storefront was decorated with tinsel and twinkling multicolored lights, that the big fir tree in front of the courthouse was festooned with so many lights that it looked like a solid blaze that even the cold, steady, miserable mist of rain dripping from the ugly leaden sky couldn't dim.
There was an empty parking space at the end of the metered row in front of the courthouse, and he squeezed the big pickup between the white lines. Jamming his weatherproof cap on his head, he got out and fed enough change into the old-fashioned meter to buy him two hours. He wouldn't be there that long, but he erred on the side of caution because it would be embarrassing as hell for the sheriff's son to get a parking ticket in front of the courthouse on his first day home—not to him, but to his father. Not embarrassing his father was well worth a couple of quarters.
The mist of rain blew in his face; the last weather report he'd checked predicted snow later on tonight when the temperature dropped. Ducking his head against the wind, he quick-timed up the courthouse steps, opened the double glass doors, then took the stairs on the right down to the basement. The sheriff's department still occupied the basement of the courthouse even though the jail was on the top floor and the arrangement was damned inconvenient, but that was how things had always been and Gabriel figured they would still be that way when he died.
The sheriff's department was the first door on the left. The door opened into an area filled with four desks, three women, and a lot of attitude. Behind them was another door, and stenciled on it was Harlan McQueen, Sheriff. The stencil had been done almost thirty years before, and in some places the lettering was almost gone, but Gabriel knew his dad was thinking of retiring—had been for the past five or ten years—so, as a thrifty Mainer, he didn't see any sense in having the doors relettered.
All three women looked up when Gabriel entered, their faces immediately wreathing in smiles. All three jumped up with disconcertingly girlish squeals, considering the youngest was a good fifteen years older than he was, and rushed at him; you'd think he hadn't seen any of them in a year, instead of just two months. Somehow he managed to almost get his arms around them all; he was a big guy, but three women were a lot for any man, especially when one of the women was pleasantly hefty.
Two of the women wore brown sheriff's department uniforms; Judith Fournier and Evelyn Thomas were sisters, and their resemblance was strong enough that when they were in uniform and their hair was pulled back and secured per regulations, they were almost indistinguishable. Patsy Hutt, the queen of the outer office, was soft and round and crowned with snow-white hair. Today she wore thick-soled boots, jeans, and a wool sweater decorated with sequined snowflakes. She looked like the most benign woman in the world, but Gabriel had a very clear memory of her swatting his ass when he was about seven and full of self-importance because his dad was the sheriff.
Among the three women, they controlled the outer office and access to the sheriff, ran most of the department, and knew everything there was to know about everyone in the county.
"It's about time you got here," Patsy scolded. "I was getting worried, with you driving in and meeting this storm head-on."
"Storm?" He went on alert, adrenaline surging. "I checked the weather forecast before I headed out; the rain was supposed to turn to snow tonight, but that was all." That had been this morning, at a motel in Pennsylvania. Before leaving North Carolina he'd put snow tires on his truck because, hell, December in Maine meant snow. That was a no-brainer. Since leaving, though, he'd been listening to XM, so he wasn't up to the minute on the weather forecast.
Patsy's concern meant something, however. Mainers were accustomed to winter weather and knew how to handle it, so any looming storm severe enough to get their attention told him a lot about the potential for danger.
Before she could answer, the door behind them opened and all four looked around. "Gabe," said his father, a wealth of affection and something close to relief in his lined face, and Gabriel tore himself from the clutches of the outer-office tyrants to stride across the floor. He exchanged a brief bear hug with his dad, they clapped each other on the back, then Harlan said, "I'm glad you made it. The weather is turning nasty in a hurry and I need help."
Gabriel's level of alertness ratcheted upward several more degrees. If Harlan McQueen was admitting he needed help, then something serious was going on.
"You got it," he said as they moved on into Harlan's office, which tended more toward cramped than spacious. The county hadn't splurged on the department's offices, that was for damn certain. "What's up?"
His father's sharp gaze showed appreciation for Gabriel's unhesitating support and willingness to act. When he'd been younger, that natural inclination toward action—any action—had sometimes landed his ass in hot water, but as a sergeant in the military police, he'd been able to channel that aggression and decisiveness into the job, which was good for both him and the army.
"This damn weather system is dipping our way," Harlan said tersely. "We were supposed to get snow, with the ice staying northeast, but now the weather service is saying we're going to get hammered by the ice. They issued the storm warning just a little over an hour ago, and we're scrambling to get ready, plus there's an accident tying up three deputies when I can't spare even one."
Shit, an ice storm. Gabriel was on full alert now, his eyes narrowing, his stance subtly shifting as if he could take on the storm in a bare-knuckle brawl. Ice was ten times worse than a blizzard, in terms of damage. Maine had taken two hits from ice in the past ten or twelve years, but both times the storm had missed this area. That was good then, but bad now, because it meant there was a lot of weakened timber that had been spared before but would now be coming down under the weight of the ice, crushing cars and houses, taking down power lines and leaving hundreds of square miles in the cold and dark. Ice was like a crystal hurricane, destroying everything it touched.
"What can I do?"
"Drive out to the old Helton place and check on Lolly. I haven't been able to get her on her cell phone, and she may not know this weather system has shifted our way."
Lolly Helton? Gabriel almost groaned aloud. Of all the people—
"What's she doing here?" he asked, trying to disguise his sudden hostility, which was the way Lolly Helton had always affected him. "I thought the whole family had moved away."
"They did, but they kept the house for summer vacations. Now they're thinking about selling it, and Lolly's here to check things out and, hell, what difference does it make? She's out there by herself, with no way of calling for help if she gets hurt."
Despite his reluctance to put himself out for Lolly Helton, Gabriel immediately grasped the logistics of what his father was saying. Anyone who wasn't from Maine might not be able to read between the lines, but he could. Cell service was spotty at best; if she'd been safely here in town, Harlan would have been able to reach her on her cell phone, but out by the Helton place a cell phone was useless for anything except throwing. And because no one lived in the old house now, the land-line phone service had long ago been disconnected. Probably there wouldn't be any televisions in the place either, for the same reason. Unless Lolly happened to drive into town and was listening to her car radio, she'd be unaware of looming disaster.
Fuck. There was no way out of it. He had to go after her.
"I'll take care of it," he said, striding to the door. "How much time do I have?"
"I don't know. That's a higher elevation, the icing will start sooner than it does here. The weather service is saying it could begin here as soon as sundown."
Gabriel glanced at his watch. Three p.m. This far north, sunset was around four p.m., which didn't give him much time. "Shit," he said. "I won't have time to see Sam."
"You will if you hurry. The kids were let out of school as soon as the weather service changed the forecast, so your mom has already picked him up. I'll call her to get some coffee and food ready for you, stop by there on the way, then haul ass."
He was out the door, moving fast, before Harlan had stopped talking. The coffee and food were more of a necessity than a comfort. He'd been driving all day, he was tired, and in severe weather conditions having something to eat and drink could make the difference between living and dying. He didn't know what kind of situation he'd be in, once he left the main road and started the long, winding climb toward the Helton place, so it was better to have the provisions and not need them than it was to not have them and maybe die because of it.
The wind slapped him in the face as soon as he opened the courthouse door and stepped out. That wasn't good. The air had been fairly calm when he went inside, but now, barely ten or fifteen minutes later, it was really blowing. Wind made the tree limbs and power lines come down faster, besides sapping the body heat of every poor fool who was outside, or who was being sent to rescue some bad-tempered bitch with a snotty attitude who was as likely to tell him to go to hell as she was to park her dainty ass in his truck.
Nevertheless, an unholy grin split his face as he sprinted for his truck, unlocking it with the remote while he was still about ten feet away. He wrenched the door open and vaulted inside. Lolly Helton! Damn, nobody else had ever locked horns with him the way Lolly had, or got on his wrong side so easily. He probably owed his success in the army to the early training she had given him; after all, how much trouble could the most fractious recruit be compared to Miss Hoity-Toity Helton?
Lollipop! Want me to lick you, Lollipop?
Putting the gear in reverse, he powered out of the parking space in an arc that left him facing the direction he wanted. His grin grew wider as he shifted into drive and put his boot down on the accelerator. The memory echoed in his head, the taunt that he'd known would drive her over the edge, the laughter of his buddies, the way her tight, unfriendly expression had gotten even tighter as she stared at him as if he were an insect she'd stepped on and smashed flat.
That was the thing about Lolly Helton. Even as a little girl, she'd been so convinced that she was so much better than everyone else in town that nothing he or anyone else had said to her had put a dent in that superiority. Her father was the mayor, and she never forgot it, or let anyone else forget it. If she'd been especially pretty, or especially smart, or anything else out of the ordinary maybe she'd have been more popular in school, but there hadn't been anything special about her. He remembered her frizzy brown hair, and that nothing she wore had ever looked very good on her, and that was it. Well, except for the way her expression had said Eat shit and die, peasant.
There had to be something wrong with him to actually feel a sort of anticipation at seeing her—and probably arguing with her—again.
Keeping a steady hand on the wheel, he switched the radio from XM to a local station so he could catch any weather updates. Within a few minutes he left the city limits of Wilson Creek behind, speeding up to gain whatever extra seconds he could. Another kind of anticipation built inside him, sharp and strong. Sam. He was going to see his kid again in just a few minutes, and his heart began pounding with joy.
Four miles down the road he turned between two huge spruce trees onto a concrete driveway. Behind the spruce trees was a sprawling white house with neat black shutters and a three-car detached garage. The back door was already slamming open as he lurched to a stop, a small, dark-haired dynamo erupting from the house yelling, "Dad! Dad!"
Gabriel left the truck running and leapt out, barely in time because Sam launched himself upward. He grabbed the kid out of midair, and skinny arms wrapped around his neck so tightly he could barely breathe. He didn't need to breathe. He just needed to hold his son.
"We got out of school early!" Sam said, beaming at him. "There's going to be an ice storm. Gran's making plenty of soup, because she said we'd probably need it."
"That's good to hear," Gabriel said. Sam was wearing a coat but it wasn't zipped, and the hood had fallen back so the cold rain was falling on his bare head. Gabriel pulled the hood up, then opened the truck's back door to grab his duffel, shouldering the door shut. Holding his son in one arm and the duffel with the other, he ran through the rain to the back porch. His mother was standing there, trim and capable-looking in her jeans and boots, the wide smile on her face not quite disguising the concern in her green eyes.
"He wouldn't wait," she said, throwing her arms around Gabriel and hugging him, then planting a swift kiss on Sam's cheek as well.
"Ah, Gran," he said, squirming, but he didn't wipe his cheek. Gabriel grinned, remembering how mortifying it had been at that age for his mother to kiss him. Sam might as well get used to it, because nothing stopped Valerie McQueen from kissing the people she loved.
He dropped his duffel, set Sam on his feet, then squatted and began rifling through the duffel for his knife and flashlight. "The coffee's almost ready," his mom said. "I already have one thermos filled with soup, and here's one of your father's insulated rain ponchos." She gave him the poncho, then turned and hurried back into the kitchen.
"Thanks," he said, hoping he wouldn't need it. His boots were all-weather and insulated, so his feet should stay warm and dry, but he tucked an extra pair of socks in his coat pocket, just in case. His coat was thick and heavy and he had gloves in the truck, as well as a blanket that Sam had shoved under the backseat over a year ago and which he'd never gotten around to dragging out. He figured he was as ready for a quick trip up the mountain as he was going to get.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked as he watched the preparations. "You just got here." Disappointment laced his tone, edging into sulky.
"I have to rescue a woman from her house on a mountain," Gabriel replied, keeping his own tone brisk so Sam would know this wasn't the time for an argument, but he put his arm around him for a quick, hard hug. "I don't want to leave either, but when something needs doing, someone has to step up and do it."
Sam mulled that over. With Gabriel being career army and his grandfather a sheriff, in his short life he'd heard a lot about responsibility, and seen it in action. He might not like it, but he understood it. "Is she hurt?"
"I don't think so, but your grandpa wants me to get her before the ice storm leaves her stranded."
Sam gave a solemn nod. "Okay," he finally said. "If you have to. But be careful."
"I will," Gabriel promised, wanting to grin but keeping his expression grave. His little guy was learning how to step up to the plate himself.
Valerie returned, and he stood to take the two big thermos bottles from her. "Be careful," she said needlessly, echoing Sam, but now that he was a parent himself he understood that the worry never stopped, no matter how old or how capable he was.
"Aren't I always?" he asked, knowing that would make her roll her eyes, which it did. He kissed her cheek, then knelt to give Sam another, extra-big hug. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Can you take care of Gran until then?"
Sam nodded solemnly, and he squared his thin shoulders. "I'll do my best," he replied, though the look he gave his grandmother said that he doubted he could control her. Gabriel bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a grin.
"Bring Lolly here," Valerie said briskly. "Don't try to take her into town and then make it back. We have plenty of room and plenty of food, so there's no point in pushing your luck with this weather."
"Yes, ma'am," he said obediently, but inside he was thinking: Oh, shit, I'll be stranded with Lolly Helton.
Maybe she wouldn't be there. Maybe she was somewhere safe in town, and had simply turned off her cell phone. Maybe he'd slide off the road and have to walk back, and wouldn't be able to make it up the mountain to the Helton place. Maybe, even if she was there, she'd refuse to go anywhere with him. Yeah, he could see that.
Then that weird sense of anticipation rose in him again, the antsy feeling he got when he knew he was going to be in a fight and was actually looking forward to it. He'd been in a lot worse situations than this, he thought. He'd waded into brawls with nothing but his fists, kicking ass and breaking heads, and come out of it okay. Lolly had a tongue like a scorpion, but that was about it. He could handle her and anything she dished out. "Thanks," he said to his mother. "I'll see you in about an hour." Then he dashed back out into the cold rain and the deepening gloom, off to fetch the spoiled princess from her mountain.
Earlier that afternoon
The old white Blazer, crusted with grime and salt, turned into the small parking lot of the local grocery store. A skinny, ill-kempt man with straggly, dirty-blond hair pulled the Blazer so it was facing the road and put the gear in park. "Ready," he said, drumming his fingers rapidly on the steering wheel. "I'm ready. Ready to go." The words were fast and abrupt. "You got the gun?"
"Right here," the woman beside him said, shoving a pistol into her stained, red canvas tote bag. She was as skinny and straggly as he was, her eyes and cheeks sunken, her long, dark hair plastered to her head so that her ears stuck out through the strands. Her gaze roved restlessly around the parking lot, darted to the front of the grocery store, back to the parking lot. She put her hand on the door handle and shoved the door open, then quickly closed it again when another vehicle turned into the parking lot and drove past. She watched as a black Mercedes SUV, driven by a lone woman, went past them with tires hissing on the wet pavement and parked in a slot close to the store door.
"What're you waiting for?" the man asked, still drumming his fingers. He shifted restlessly in the seat. His name was Darwin Girard, and he hadn't slept in three or four days, maybe even longer. Despite that, he felt as if he might explode with energy, and just sitting there was almost more than he could handle.
"That woman looked at me." Niki Vann indicated the driver of the black Mercedes as the woman got out of the small SUV and pointed a remote at it. The lights blinked, signaling that the vehicle was locked, and the woman hurried through the rain into the little grocery store.
"She did?" Darwin asked, his attention zeroing in on the woman like a laser. No one was supposed to notice them. That was the plan, and he didn't like people messing with his plans. Feral hostility glowed in his sunken eyes as he glared at the door through which she'd passed.
"Yeah. Bitch," Niki growled, for no reason other than that the other woman was driving a Mercedes. Then an idea began to squirm in her brain. "I bet she's got a lot of money in her purse. Look at what she's driving. I bet she's got more than that rinky-dink little grocery, and she's by herself."
Darwin drummed his fingers faster, faster. "What're you thinking?" he asked, as if he didn't know, grinning at her. Niki was even better than he was at seeing an opportunity and not hesitating to act on it. Because of her, their supply of meth was fairly steady. She was always looking for a way to get more money.
She shoved the Blazer door open again, and got out. "Be back in a minute," she said before closing the door, then she darted through the rain, her thin body almost dwarfed by the huge green jacket she wore.
Inside the store, Lolly Helton grabbed a cart and headed down the first aisle. She didn't need much, just some cans of soup and a couple of sandwich items, maybe a couple of magazines to read, and she wanted to be home before dark so she was in a hurry. Because she was in a hurry, of course, she was stopped almost immediately.
"Lolly!" said a woman wearing a bright red apron that covered her from neck to knees, looking around from where she was neatening the stacks of produce that had been disordered by customers picking through them for a perfect head of cabbage, or apples that were either firm or soft according to their individual tastes. "I heard you were back. You're looking well."
"Thank you," said Lolly, good manners making her pause. "You, too. How have you been?" Mr. and Mrs. Richard had owned the little grocery store for as long as she could remember, and she'd always liked Mrs. Richard, who loved to joke and gossip and never had anything negative to say about anyone. The door opened behind her and a gust of cold air swept in. She didn't look around, but moved her cart to the side so the newcomer could pass by.
"Well. Busy, this time of year, with all the holiday cooking." She wiped her hands on the apron, her gaze moving beyond Lolly to whoever had entered the store behind her. She gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, then turned her attention back to Lolly. "Where are you staying tonight?"
"At home," said Lolly, a little startled. Where else would she be?
"Goodness, child, haven't you been listening to the radio? They're predicting ice for tonight."
An ice storm! As if she could see the approaching storm, Lolly turned and looked out the window, her gaze sliding past the woman who had entered behind her. It wasn't anyone she knew—didn't look like anyone she'd want to know—so she didn't make eye contact. "I haven't had the radio on," she admitted. She seldom listened to the radio anyway, preferring her own CD collection for music.
"You can't stay way out there by yourself. If you don't have anyone you could stay with, Joseph and I have an extra bedroom—two of them, in fact, now that the boys are married and gone."
Lolly's mind raced. She didn't have any old school friends she could stay with for the duration of the storm, mainly because she hadn't really been friends with anyone. Her school years hadn't been good ones. She was much better at making friends now, but that meant all of them were back in Portland. She didn't like the idea of staying with Mr. and Mrs. Richard—she liked them, but she wasn't close to them—but with an ice storm looming she had to make some fast decisions.
"Thank you, I'll take you up on that offer, at least for tonight," she said, lifting her purse from the cart. She wouldn't need any groceries, after all. "I need to go home and get some of my things. How much time do I have?"
"The weather service said it should start around dark. Don't tarry."
Lolly checked the time. She had a few hours, but the icing could start sooner than that at home because the house was at a higher elevation. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate the offer."
Mrs. Richard made a shooing motion with her hand. "Go on, hurry!"
Lolly did, though she took the time to return the cart to the small corral, pushing it past the woman wearing an oversized green jacket and carrying a dirty red canvas tote, as if that was her nod to the Christmas season. A sense of urgency drove her to almost run back to her vehicle; an ice storm was nothing to dismiss. Snow was nothing, at least to a native Mainer, but ice was unbelievably destructive. She could have been stranded for days, even weeks, if she hadn't happened to stop by the grocery store and talked to Mrs. Richard.
So much for her plans, she thought ruefully as she wheeled out of the parking lot, but a looming ice storm trumped packing. There weren't even that many personal items left to pack up, so it wasn't as if she had to get everything done right now. The house had been used so seldom in the past several years, there was just the bare minimum of furniture and some odds and ends left, anyway. She had intended to take her time packing—in fact, her actual plans for the night had been to heat some soup, turn on the gas fireplace, and read, leaving packing for tomorrow morning. She enjoyed the peace and quiet, and there was something about being snug in a warm house on a snowy night that deeply appealed to her.
She had come here this week wanting to enjoy a few leisurely days in the house where she'd grown up, wallowing in warm fuzzy memories and, in her own way, saying good-bye to the house and to Wilson Creek. With her parents in Florida and her job keeping her busy in Portland, there was no need for a vacation home that was so rarely used.
The Helton house had once been the finest in the county, a large and somewhat extravagant—for the area—two-story house on the mountainside, just outside of town. For a lot of years all the important local political meetings and parties had been held there, which Lolly found slightly ironic, as she was the only family member left in Maine and she had no interest in politics and even less in partying. She'd outgrown some of her youthful awkward shyness, but she'd never be outgoing. She much preferred an evening at home to a night on the town.
She didn't look forward to staying with the Richards, preferring to be on her own, but she'd deal. She worked for an insurance company and had learned, out of necessity, how to interact with people. As a child and, even worse, a teenager, she'd always hung back, never knowing exactly what to say and certain no one wanted to talk to her anyway. She'd hidden all those painful insecurities behind a wall of hostility, so it wasn't surprising she hadn't had any real friends here. She didn't know why she kept coming back, but she managed at least one trip almost every year. She wished she could afford to live here, in the house where she'd grown up, but Wilson Creek simply didn't have much in the way of job opportunities, and she didn't have the money to open her own small business.
The windshield wipers swished back and forth, clearing away the light rain that hadn't varied in intensity all day. There was something unnerving about the sheer unchanging relentlessness of the rain, as if the very lightness of it was proof that Mother Nature didn't need to make a dramatic statement to squash civilization like a bug. All it took was a rain not much heavier than a mist, and some cold air in the right position, to wreak havoc. She felt a chill run up her spine; even though it was hours yet until nightfall, the gloom was deepening, and she had to turn on her headlights. She hadn't met any traffic since turning on this road, and that in itself was kind of spooky. For a moment she felt the urge to turn around, buy some pajamas and underwear in town, and dart for the safety of the Richards' house.
Then she saw the blur of a vehicle behind her, too far for her to make out any details, but just knowing she wasn't alone on the road was enough to settle her nerves. She'd allow herself fifteen minutes, no more, to gather what she needed and head back to town. She should be safe and secure well ahead of the storm's arrival.
Within minutes she had turned off the main road and was carefully navigating the narrower road that wound up the side of the mountain toward the house. She still knew every curve, every tree and rock, of this road, because she had driven it so often after she'd gotten her driver's license. Even before that, her mother had taken her to school every day, and picked her up in the afternoons, so for almost her entire life she'd had at least two trips a day up and down this mountain. The road held no surprises for her, no fears; it was the weather that made her anxious.
Her sure-footed SUV, bought used three years ago because she'd needed a dependable four-wheel-drive vehicle, climbed steadily. Visibility dropped as the mist grew heavier. She took a quick glance at the outside temperature gauge and saw that the temp was just a couple of degrees above freezing. The trees had a faint silvery cast to them; was ice already beginning to form?
Then she turned into the driveway, powering up the long slope toward home. It wouldn't be "home" much longer, she thought, but right now it still looked welcoming and somehow just right. Never mind that the house was almost sixty years old, had faded a bit, and sagged here and there; it was still large and solid, offering a warm, safe refuge on a wintry night. Too bad she couldn't stay here, but if she got iced in it would be a couple of weeks before she could get off the mountain, depending on how bad the damage was and how many trees came down.
Much as she loved this place, she knew it was time for the house she'd grown up in to be home to a family again, as it had been home to her. Once the few remaining personal effects here were packed away, sold, or stored, her childhood home would go on the market, and it would no longer be hers in any way. Too bad she wouldn't have the few days of escaping into the past that she'd wanted, but the weather had other plans.
She didn't bother with parking in the detached garage, just pulled up close to the front porch. Keys in hand, she hurried up the steps and unlocked the front door. As soon as she let herself in she shed her heavy, hooded winter coat, tossing it over the newel post and dropping her purse on the bottom step. Detouring to the back, she grabbed her snow boots from the mud room and brought them to join her coat and purse.
She didn't know when she'd be able to come back, she thought as she started up the stairs. Was there anything in the refrigerator she needed to clean out? No, she didn't think so. She'd been eating granola bars for breakfast, not bothering even with milk for cereal, and at night she'd either had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or picked up a sandwich in town. She knew how to turn off the water at the valve, and turn off the gas to the water heater; other than locking the door, that was all she could do to get the house ready to withstand the coming storm.
She was halfway up the stairs when she heard the rumble of a vehicle. She stopped, then reversed her path. Knowing the people here as she did, she wouldn't be at all surprised if someone had heard about the storm, realized she was here with no television or phone, and come to collect her. This had always been the kind of community where neighbors looked after neighbors, and she missed that—some days. She was both glad for the company and concerned at the delay.
Crossing her fingers that she wouldn't have any trouble getting down the hill, Lolly opened the front door. She expected to find someone she knew, an old friend of her parents or the closest thing she had to a neighbor, and a welcoming smile was on her face. The smile froze when she realized she didn't know the rough-looking couple coming up the porch steps, though the woman looked vaguely familiar. Then Lolly remembered seeing her in the grocery store earlier, recognized her even though the stringy dark hair was now partially covered by a knit cap, and a thick coat disguised her thinness.
A couple of possibilities rapidly crossed her mind. Were they lost? Looking for shelter? Maybe they were unfamiliar with the area and didn't know that they did not want to be stuck here on the mountain if the ice was as bad as predicted.
"I'm just on my way out …" Lolly began.
The man right behind the stringy-haired woman pulled a gun from his parka pocket. Shock hit Lolly like a slap in the face; she gaped at the gun, barely comprehending what she saw, then she sucked in a quick breath and instinctively stepped back. The man and woman both rushed at her, shoving her back inside so roughly that she slammed hard into the newel post, staggered, saved herself from falling with a desperate grab at the wood.
The man shoved the door shut behind them. The woman glanced around, at the living room on the left, the flight of stairs straight ahead, the dining room on the right. She smiled, showing discolored and rotten teeth. "See, baby, I told you she was alone."
Lolly clung to the newel post, literally frozen under the sudden lash of terror, her brain numb, coherent thoughts scattered before they could even form. She groped for understanding, and finally, like a switch being flipped, her sluggish brain began to function. Home invasion—here, in Wilson Creek! It was so wrong, that something like this could happen here, that sheer indignation abruptly shoved terror aside and suddenly she could move, was already moving even before she realized. She ran, ran for her life.
The man shouted, "You bitch! Fuck!" as Lolly darted through the dining room, dodging around the table, grabbing one of the heavy chairs and slinging it in his path then racing into the kitchen. Footsteps thudded behind her but she didn't look, didn't spare even a split second, just ran for her life. If she could just get outside—
She grabbed for the doorknob, and a hand grabbed her hair. Pain laced her scalp; her head jerked back and she was sent spinning away from the door. Her feet went out from under her and she fell to the floor, the man's grip cruelly tight on her hair. He shoved her down and she hit the cold, hard linoleum face-first.
Lolly screamed, then caught her breath and held it. She grabbed for her hair, trying to pry his hands away. The sudden weight of his body on hers was heavy and hot. He pressed her into the floor, forcing her breath out, and she couldn't take another.
"Now you got me all excited," he whispered in her ear, grinding himself against her bottom. His breath was hot and fetid, and a rough stubble scratched her cheek. She turned her head away from the stink and roughness, but she couldn't move far. Her fingers scrabbled at the linoleum, trying to find purchase, trying to find something, anything—
There was nothing. A kitchen was full of weapons, but none of them were on the floor.
He began tugging at her jeans, trying to pull them down.
Damn it, no! Both panicked and enraged, she instinctively fought back, slinging her elbows back as far as they would go, trying to hit him. She wiggled and bucked and squirmed, trying to throw him off, but he was too heavy and she was in a helpless position, flat on her stomach on the floor.
He couldn't get her jeans down. He shoved his hand under her and fumbled with the button and zipper, grunting like an animal. Lolly pressed her hips harder to the floor, trying to mash his hand so he couldn't get the zipper down, but he jerked her head up and slammed it down on the floor again and white spots swam in her vision. Dazed with pain, she went limp for a second and he shoved his rough hand inside her jeans, against her bare belly.
She was going to die. He was going to rape her, and kill her. Her last minutes alive would be filled with unspeakable terror.
Tears filled her eyes, and she screamed. The sound was rough and raw, like an animal's, the noise tearing from her throat. She didn't want to die; she didn't want her last memory made in this house to be a nightmare. She screamed again and again, unable to stop herself.
He shifted upward, lifting his weight from her. She gulped in a deep breath and tried to gather her strength, then he rolled her over and started yanking again at her jeans.
"Don't," she said, sobbing. "Please. Please don't." She hated to beg but she couldn't seem to stop herself, and what did pride matter anyway? She'd do anything to get him to stop. Desperately she searched for some reason she could give him, something that would appeal to him. "I can pay you. I can give you all the money I have."
He didn't seem to hear her at all.
The kitchen was dim, with only the scant light from the window, but she could see that he was almost as thin as the woman, most of his teeth were dark with rot, and his eyes … they were strangely wide open and feral, glittering with something that was inhuman.
Drugs. He had to be on drugs, both of them did. There wouldn't be any reasoning with him, so she stopped trying. He continued jerking at her clothes and she kicked, she screamed, she clawed at any patch of skin on him she could reach, but his coat was heavy and protected him from her nails, so she went for his face. He couldn't hold both her hands and undress her at the same time, so she punched and clawed at him with every ounce of strength she had, but the blows didn't seem to affect him at all.
He got her jeans halfway down and reared back to unzip his own pants. Laughing, he clamped one hand around her throat and leaned his weight on it. She couldn't breathe, couldn't reach him … her vision grayed, and she couldn't see anything except his grinning face above hers. Tunnel vision, she thought vaguely, and knew she was about to pass out. If she did, she'd be entirely helpless, and his maniacal face with the rotten teeth would be the last thing she ever saw.
Desperate, on the verge of unconsciousness, she tried to jerk her knee up. He shifted, blocking the movement, and laughed.
"Darwin, you son of a bitch!" the woman yelled in a grating tone.
The overhead light came on, the lights shining right in Lolly's eyes and blinding her. The weight on her throat eased and she coughed, sucking in air. Darwin was very still. "I was just having a little fun," he said sulkily.
The woman with the stringy hair stood over them both, and with blurred vision Lolly looked up at her. There was no sympathy in the woman's face, no woman-to-woman empathy, nothing but fury. She had a gun, too, and she had it pointed at Darwin's head. "Get up."
"Now, Niki," he began, belatedly placating as he realized where the pistol was pointing. "Baby, I—"
"Don't 'baby' me, you two-timing son of a bitch."
Darwin's gaze shifted from Niki, back to Lolly. She saw the animal in his eyes, saw him weighing his options. He smiled a little, and then he forced Lolly's thighs farther apart.
Niki swung her pistol and hit Darwin on the side of the head with it. He yelped, and finally … finally … moved off of Lolly. "Fuck, Niki, you could've killed me!" he shouted, getting to his feet and pulling up his pants from where they'd drooped over his skinny ass. "Are you fucking crazy?" He grabbed a dish towel and pressed it to the bleeding wound on the side of his head, where the pistol had split the skin.
Lolly struggled to pull her jeans up, scooting across the floor as she did, toward the back door and icy freedom. Maybe these two bags of shit would kill each other. She was dimly shocked by the violence of her own thoughts, but if she could just get away, she didn't care what happened to them.
Niki's gaze swiveled from Darwin to Lolly, and so did the pistol barrel. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" she spat, then glanced at something in her hand. Lolly froze, blinking. "Lorelei Helton. Portland," Niki said, and Lolly realized the something was her own driver's license. Niki had apparently been going through Lolly's purse while Darwin had been trying to rape her. "What the hell kind of name is 'Lorelei'? It sounds like a hooker."
Lolly didn't bother arguing, just nodded her head in agreement.
"Get up," Niki said, and Lolly obeyed, using the motion to take another step back, toward the door. Could she beat both of them, and a bullet? They were druggies, they were likely high right now … their eyes were wide, the pupils shrunk down to tiny dots. How clearly could they think?
Clearly enough. Darwin suddenly said, "Whoa there, bitch," and lunged across the kitchen to place himself between her and the back door. He shoved her forward.
Niki shook her head and stuck the driver's license in the front pocket of her baggy jeans. "For a woman driving a Mercedes, you don't have much money on you," she growled. "Where's the rest?"
Lolly tried to think, to reason. Her heart was pounding, she was shaking from head to toe and nausea roiled her stomach, but she could still think. Right now, her brain was the only weapon she had. "In the bank. We can go to town and I'll give it all to you, I swear I will, just … don't kill me." She shot a glance toward Darwin. "And don't let him near me." If she could actually get to town with these druggies, she'd find a way to escape … to get help.
"They'd be closed now, right?" Niki asked, looking at the last gleam of light that pressed against the windows.
Dear God, she couldn't spend the night in the house with these two. Her stomach lurched, and she barely controlled the urge to vomit. "Yes, but I know the bank manager," she lied. She had no idea who the manager was now, and she had never banked here anyway. The first and only account she'd ever opened was in Portland. Would they realize that, if she lived in Portland, she wasn't likely to have an account here? Desperately she plunged ahead. "He'll open up for me. We can leave right now."
Niki considered it, her head tilted to the side and her feral, too-wide gaze locked on Lolly, but after a couple of seconds she shook her head. "No, he'd get suspicious if you did that. We'll wait until morning."
Lolly's heart lurched, just like her stomach. She felt the hard beats hammering inside her chest. The ice was coming; by morning there would be no way down the hill. The road would be a sheet of ice, and she'd be stuck here with these two. She heard what sounded like frozen rain hitting the kitchen windows; maybe it was already too late.
Niki gestured with the gun, waving Lolly forward. Lolly followed the silent direction, passing the woman with the gun more closely than she liked, exiting the kitchen and walking through the dining room with Niki directly behind. When they reached the living room, Lolly saw the contents of her purse scattered across the couch and floor. Her key ring, with the key to the Mercedes between the key to this house and the one to her apartment door, was resting between two cushions. If she could get to the Mercedes, she'd take her chances driving on ice. Even if she slid off the side of the mountain, that was better than being stranded with these two. She needed those keys …
Niki gave Lolly a shove toward the staircase. "Go on," she said, jabbing the pistol barrel hard into Lolly's spine. Lolly took the stairs, her knees shaking so badly she half-expected to fall at any moment. Niki led her to the bedroom closest to the head of the stairs, which happened to be Lolly's own room. "Any guns in the house?" Niki asked brusquely as she switched on the lights and looked around the neat, sparsely furnished room. "And don't lie, because if you say no and we find some, I'll shoot you in the face. Got it?"
"No, no guns," Lolly said, her voice shaking so much her words were barely understandable.
Niki opened all the drawers, gave the contents of the closet a cursory glance, and was satisfied. There wasn't much here, so searching wasn't exactly a chore. There was Lolly's underwear in the top drawer of the chest, some pajamas, and four clean changes of clothing hanging in the closet. Niki looked out the dark window, noting the two-story distance between the window and the ground with some satisfaction. Lolly looked, too, but at the window. Was that a film of ice already forming on the glass?
Niki's crossed the room, and Lolly stepped out of her way. "I'll be watching this door from downstairs," she snarled. "If it opens even a crack, I'm going to send Darwin up here to deal with you." She glanced at the simple lock on the doorknob, and smiled. "And don't think that flimsy lock will do you any good, not when we have these keys." She indicated the pistol in her hand and took imaginary aim at the lock, making a shooting noise, then she grinned.
The sight of those rotten teeth made Lolly shudder, but suddenly something she'd heard, or read, clicked in her brain, and she realized what drug these two were likely on:
It was meth—another type of ice, and just as deadly.
Dazed, Lolly listened to Niki's footsteps as the woman descended the stairs. Voices drifted up from the living room, angry at first, and then softer. Darwin laughed. The sound sent a shudder rolling through her body, which seemed to be the signal that now her brain could allow her body to feel again because she suddenly felt like one huge, head-to-toe ache.
She began trembling. Her shoulder and side hurt from being shoved into the newel post, her scalp ached from her hair being pulled so viciously, and her cheek and one side of her head throbbed from being slammed into the linoleum. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might yet be sick, and she felt both sweaty and icy cold at the same time.
Shock, she thought, just before her knees wobbled and she collapsed on the side of the bed. That didn't help much; her vision tilted, as if the world was turning over, and she toppled to the side. She lay there panting, trying to control her breathing, but the raw, ragged sound of her gasps filled the quiet room.
Knowing what was wrong didn't make her feel any better. If Darwin had come through the door right then, she'd have been completely helpless.
Dear God. What should she do? What could she do?
She didn't know what she could do, but one thing she did know: she'd rather die than let Darwin touch her again.
The thought propelled her to a sitting position, and though her head swam she forced herself to stay erect. There was a very strong probability she was going to die anyway, but she'd be damned if she'd huddle there, sniveling, waiting for them to do whatever they wanted with her. She'd rather freeze to death in the ice storm than just sit here like a helpless idiot.
One thing she wouldn't do was make things easy for them. Moving as cautiously as she could, both because she was still dizzy and because she didn't want them to hear her moving around, she eased over to the door and turned the lock. Niki was right: the lock was too insubstantial to stop them for long, but at least she'd have a moment of warning before they walked in on her.
With any luck she wouldn't be here when they decided to return, because she'd rather take her chances with the ice than with them. She took a deep breath, willing her head to stop spinning, and went to the window to look out. Yes, there was definitely ice on the window, and very little light left as the pressing clouds brought a premature twilight. She didn't have much time, because conditions were only going to get worse.
The ground below looked so far away that her instincts screamed she'd kill herself if she jumped, but she didn't intend to jump. It was a straight drop from her window to the ground below, with no roofline or eave to assist her, but there were sheets and a couple of thin blankets on the bed. The down comforter was probably too thick and bulky to be useful, but if she tied the bottom sheet to the top sheet to the blanket and then tied the makeshift rope off well, she'd be able to get close enough to the ground to drop down safely.
Swiftly she ripped all the covers from the bed and began tying her makeshift rope. The sheets were easiest, because they were the thinnest. She knotted the first corner to the foot of the bed, tugging hard to make certain the knot would hold; she'd never been a Girl Scout, wasn't a sailor, didn't know a damn thing about knots beyond tying her shoes. She just hoped a regular old knot would be sufficient.
After the sheets came the two thin wool blankets. She would love to have one of the blankets to huddle in as she made her escape, but she needed both of them for length, since the best place to tie off the rope was the end of the bed and it was eight, maybe ten feet from the window. She had always loved the spaciousness of the house, but now that space was working against her. She couldn't move the bed, not without attracting more attention than she wanted. She had to get out, and she had to do it quietly.
When that task was finished, she forced herself to sit quietly for a minute, to give her racing heart time to slow. She was sweating a little, and that wasn't good. One of the first rules of surviving in the cold was not to overexert yourself, because that caused sweating, which would freeze on the body and cause hypothermia to set in even faster.
Then she shook her head at herself. Hell, it was raining; she was going to get wet, anyway. How was a little sweat going to make things worse? She must still be a little shocky, addled but functioning. She just needed to function a little faster, because at any time they might come up those stairs to check on her.
She took every piece of clothing available out of the closet and the chest of drawers, tossing them onto the bed. Before she went out the window, she needed to get as many clothes on her body as possible. Her big, heavy, weatherproof coat and boots were downstairs, so her only chance of surviving the cold rain and ice was to keep dry as long as possible, and that meant layers … a lot of them.
Quickly she kicked off her shoes, then stripped off her jeans and sweatshirt and began pulling on thin layers. She'd brought a pair of insulated long underwear and she put that on first, then began pulling on T-shirts, the thinnest first, the looser ones on top. One flannel shirt, the one she wore while lazing about, she laid aside to tie over her head. There was one pair of old sweats, as well as the sweatshirt she'd been wearing, but before putting on the bulky stuff she stopped to tug on as many pairs of socks as she could fit on her feet.
Her shoes weren't waterproof; her feet would get wet, no way around it. The only question was whether she'd be able to get down the mountain before hypothermia killed her. If she managed that, then she'd worry about losing her feet to frostbite.
Then an idea occurred to her, and as quietly as possible she hauled her suitcase out of the closet. She had brought a jar of Vaseline, which she used to remove mascara. She hadn't bothered with any makeup since she'd been here, so she hadn't even gotten the Vaseline out of the suitcase. Thank goodness she hadn't, or it would now be in the bathroom down the hall with her other toiletries.
Vaseline was waterproof, wasn't it? It was at least water resistant, and might be just the edge she needed. It wouldn't keep out the cold, but every little bit helped.
She pulled off her socks and coated her feet with the Vaseline, especially her toes, then put her socks back on, and another pair on top of that. Two pairs of socks was all she could manage and still get her feet in her shoes, so that would have to do.
Next came her jeans, then a pair of old sweatpants. Once her pants were on, she coated the outside of the socks with Vaseline, put on her shoes, then smeared the remainder of the stuff on the leather. That was as waterproof as she could make her feet; maybe, just maybe, the multiple layers would do the trick. After pulling on the two sweatshirts, she felt like the Michelin Man, but she was as ready as she could get.
Lolly tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear to the wood, holding her breath as she listened. The intruders seemed to be right at the foot of the stairs, but from years of living in this house she knew that sounds from both the living room on one side and the dining room on the other carried right up the stairs, because when she was young she'd often listened to the parties downstairs.
The argument over Darwin's attack hadn't lasted long. The voices were lower now, and the occasional bout of laughter sent chills down her spine. She didn't think for one minute she'd survive until morning. Right now Niki planned to take her to the bank tomorrow morning for a big withdrawal, but that plan wasn't going to last. One of them would come to their senses and realize it wasn't going to work, or they'd realize they were iced in. One of them would get carried away, and Lolly would end up dead long before morning.
The voices and laughter stopped. She strained her ears and after a moment she caught some grunting and the occasional moan. Her stomach heaved, but thank God they were otherwise occupied. Now would be the best time to make her escape.
She took one quick look around the room, to see if there was anything else she could use. Only the pillowcases were left, but any covering was better than none, so she stripped them from the pillows and tied them over her head. Her pajama shirt doubled as a muffler. Over that she tied the remaining flannel shirt, and she was as ready as she could get.
Grasping her makeshift rope, once more she tugged on the knot securing it to the bed. Walking backward to the window, she tested the other knots as well. They seemed solid enough; they would have to do.
It was now or never. She unlocked the window and pulled upward on the handle. Nothing happened. She pulled again, putting more muscle into it. Still nothing. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. The stupid damn window was stuck, and if she couldn't somehow get it open, then she was stuck, too. Desperately she gripped the handle with both hands, bending her knees and putting her leg muscles into the effort too, and with what sounded like a deafening noise the window rose a scant inch before stopping again.
She leaned her head against the cold glass, only vaguely noticing how good the chill felt against her forehead. She could do this. She had to do this. If necessary, she'd break the glass and take her chances that the noise would be heard. One way or another, she was getting out of this house.
Something thunked against the side of the house, just below the window, and she almost jumped out of her skin. She didn't know what had made the sound, but what if Niki and Darwin had heard it, and came to investigate? She turned her head to stare in frozen agony at the door, trying to hear if they were coming up the stairs, but this far from the door she couldn't hear anything. Frantic, almost sobbing, she grabbed the window handle and began tugging viciously.
A man's head suddenly appeared on the other side of the window. A squeal almost popped out and she choked, slapping a hand over her mouth. She stared, so frightened she could barely move, and abruptly she recognized him. Her heart leapt, and her knees almost buckled. The relief that washed through her was as warm as the sun she longed for at this moment.
Gabriel McQueen.
By the time Gabriel reached the turn off the main road, the combination of rain and low clouds had deepened to the point that he needed his headlights on to see. The wind had picked up, too, tossing the trees and whistling around the truck. Wind was bad; it would make the limbs and trees begin coming down just that much sooner.
He would much rather have been with Sam, but he never once thought of turning around and simply telling his dad that he hadn't been able to make it up the mountain. Giving up wasn't in his DNA; he'd fetch Lolly off the mountain if he had to drag her down by the hair, which probably wasn't what his father had had in mind when he sent Gabriel on this mission, but then the sheriff didn't know Lolly the way Gabriel knew Lolly.
She'd always been a spoiled brat, nose in the air, convinced she was better than anyone else. Some kids took teasing well; Lolly wasn't one of them. Hostility had rolled off her in waves. Once she'd looked at him with complete disdain and said, "Worm!" He'd hidden his reaction, but inside he'd been furious that she'd dismissed him so completely with that one word. He was the sheriff's son, he was popular and athletic and invited everywhere, and she thought he was a worm? Who the hell did she think she was? Oh, right, she was a Helton, and she didn't associate with people like him.
She had held herself separate from everyone else, not part of a crowd, never at any of the parties. Looking back, Gabriel wondered now if she'd ever been invited to any of the parties. Probably—but only because she was the mayor's daughter. None of the kids had liked her, and wouldn't have willingly invited her anywhere. He didn't know if that had bothered her, because she certainly hadn't been a joiner. The only school activity she'd been involved in was keeping her nose buried in a book, if that counted.
He wondered if she was still that way—different, and alone. From the distance of years, he could now also wonder which had come first: her attitude, or the teasing. His own parents seemed to like her well enough. Would his dad have bothered to send him on this errand if it had been anyone other than Lolly Helton who was out of cell range and possibly unaware of what was coming? Harlan McQueen had been lifelong friends with the Heltons, and that hadn't changed just because the Heltons had moved to Florida, trading ice storms and snow for the occasional hurricane.
Meeting up with her again after all these years should be interesting. He just hoped she wouldn't give him any grief about coming back to town with him.
A new weather bulletin came on the radio, and he turned up the volume to listen; evidently it looked as if the storm was going to take a turn for the worst, and faster than expected. He slowed down, looking at the trees, checking for icing. Surely even Lolly would see the wisdom of getting off this mountain before she got stuck here for possibly weeks, without electricity. Unless she had laid in a lot of provisions, she'd be out of food, too. If enough ice coated the trees some of them would come down, blocking the road. Clearing this road wouldn't be a high priority for the county, because the Helton house was the only one on it. Once there had been a couple of other houses, but one of them had burned years ago, and the other had been so neglected the county had condemned it and had it torn down.
One way or another, he didn't want to waste even an extra minute of time on this assignment. He was going to do as he'd been told, then get his ass off the mountain while he could. He missed Sam every day, but at the base he could bury himself in work. Now, with the kid so close, being away from him was an almost physical pain.