Author: Robyn Carr
Whenever they came across a home or vehicle, they stopped and showed a picture of Paige and gave descriptions of the stolen truck and Wes Lassiter.
When they went back to Virgin River at eight, they found Buck Anderson and his three grown sons, Doug Carpenter and Fish Bristol, Ron and Bruce, and a few other men. Everyone took a glance at the map and this time they headed toward Highway 36, winding up into the mountains of Trinity County. Brie was able to tell them that the sheriff’s department and CHP had nothing new to report.
While the majority of the trucks of men pressed on, Jack, Preacher and Jim stopped in Clear River. While Preacher and Jim talked to people on the street, Jack went into an old, familiar haunt of his—a little bar served by a waitress he’d been seeing before Mel came into his life. He viewed sentimentally the way her eyes lit up when she saw him enter. Charmaine was a handsome woman, older than Jack by about ten years, and one of the most kindhearted women he knew.
“Hiya, Bub. It’s been a long time.”
“Charmaine,” he said with a nod. “I’m not here on a social call. Woman from our town has gone missing,” he said, flashing a picture. “We suspect an abusive ex-husband, recently released from jail. The woman, her name is Paige, is my cook’s girl.”
“Aw Jesus, Jack, that’s awful.”
“Everyone’s out looking. Can I get you to spread the word to anyone who happens in here for a drink?”
“You bet I will.”
So Jack described the missing truck, the ex-husband, and explained they weren’t positive of the connection, but it was likely he had her—Paige was afraid of him and wouldn’t have gone off. Her car and purse were left behind.
“I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen,” she promised.
“Thanks.” He turned to go and then turned back. “I’m married now.”
She gave a nod. “I heard that. Congratulations.”
“We have a new baby. A son. About six weeks ago.”
She smiled. “It worked out, then.”
He gave a nod.
“You wouldn’t have been worth a damn if it hadn’t.”
“That’s the God’s truth. Anything you can do about this, Charmaine, I’d consider it a personal favor.”
“I wouldn’t be doing it for you, Jack. We all help one another out in times like this. Bet it’s cold out there, even though it’s almost summer. I hope she’s okay.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”
When he left, a man in a denim jacket who wore a shady brady on his head slid down from the other end of the bar, sidling closer to Charmaine. “What was that?”
“You want to talk now?” she asked with a smile, giving the bar a wipe. “You probably heard—a woman from Virgin River’s gone missing. They suspect her ex-husband, just out of jail, maybe driving a stolen ’83 Ford truck. Tan.”
“That a fact?” He finished his beer, put down a ten dollar bill, touched his hat and quit the bar.
Paige understood what was happening now. Wes sat her on the ground, her back up against a tree, and with duct tape, bound her hands in front of her, her ankles together, and put a strip across her lips. “That looks good on you, Paige,” he said. “You can’t talk back for once.”
He positioned a couple of flashlights on her to bring her into sight in the dark. Then for the better part of an hour, sat on the ground not far from her and talked about the disappointments of his life, from the unhappy childhood he’d suffered to the short jail term, which to hear him describe it could’ve been years. He had many complaints about their marriage—apparently in his mind, the strife had been entirely her fault. She drove him to abuse with her needling, her dissidence. But he spoke slowly. He had the calm and stoic composure of a suicidal man.
He had decided that Paige would draw John in search, and perhaps Jack, as well; they weren’t far away from the town, which was why it had seemed he was driving in circles. Up here, he would see their vehicles approach. When Wes was done talking, he left the truck on the top of the hill in plain view, close to where she sat, flipped on the flashlights and went into the trees from where he could watch the approach of any rescuers. He planned to shoot John, then Paige and himself. “I’m done with this charade,” he said. “You win.” He smiled. “Sort of.”
Though Paige, tape across her lips, couldn’t respond, he couldn’t stop her from thinking. And what she thought was, you have no idea about John. John and his friends. They’re not only stronger than you, they’re smarter. And then she closed her eyes and prayed, Please let them be the most clever they’ve ever been.
By the time the moon was rising, the search party was up to more than twenty men, some of whom were grumbling about the wisdom of searching the dense wood for Paige at night when she could already be in San Francisco or even headed for Los Angeles. And if she were being held in the wood, it could be impossible—she might be lost in the vast acreage and never found.
“Are you worried about not finding her, Preach?” Rick asked him.
“I’m worried about finding her too late,” he said.
They had traversed mountain roads, old logging roads, paths and trails, shone strong flashlights into ravines and gullies, but there was nothing. In the back of Jack’s truck were harnesses and ropes in case they saw something down a hill and had to rapell down the steep glide to get close, but so far that had not been necessary. Most of them were fighting exhaustion, but Preacher was driven, and as long as he was driven his friends hung in there with him.
A man who had no name other than Dan had been having a drink at a bar in Clear River when he overheard the details of the search in the area and he thought he’d seen the truck earlier. There was probably more than one old tan Ford around these hills, but there had been a man and woman inside; the man was gripping the wheel pretty intensely, glaring through the windshield, driving nervously. Dan was a trained observer and he had taken note of that before even hearing of the suspected abduction.
Dan was a known illegal grower in the area. He’d gotten a little friendly with other growers over time; they were a real tight-knit group. Slow to trust. They could sniff one another out easily—they bought the stuff growers bought, they carried chicken manure to their grow sites in the back of trucks, pulled wads of stinky bills out of their pockets, but they never showed one another their sites or plants. After about three years, he’d gotten into their circle.
Most of them lived with their grow, but Dan preferred hired help. That gave him the freedom to move around at will, rather than being stuck in one place. It also allowed him to set up a lot of grow sites all around the three counties. And live somewhere else, away from all those folks he’d worked so hard to get tight with.
Dan didn’t offer to join the search—they might have a problem with that. Nor did he mention he’d poke around on his own. But he’d been in that Virgin River bar a few times and had seen the woman, the cook’s girl. The owner’s wife, the local midwife, had done him a favor a while back; a woman who worked for him had surprised him with a baby coming and he thought he’d better get some help. Turned out to be a damned good thing he had. Without Mel Sheridan’s help, that baby wouldn’t have made it. That was not to mention that he’d rear-ended the midwife not so long ago and they’d been real civilized about it.
He’d spent a lot of time roaming back here in these mountains and knew his way around. He decided to have a look in places maybe no one else would think of. If anything turned up, maybe he could return a favor. Anonymously.
He knew exactly where to hide his truck off the roads, exactly where the abandoned logging roads and hidden trails were. He didn’t always wear a sidearm, but on this mission he did. If the woman had indeed been taken by a dangerous ex, it could get ugly. The night was dark, but he knew where he was going and kept the flashlight on dim, pointed down. From time to time he’d see that search convoy whir by in a fleet of trucks, so he knew they weren’t looking where he was looking and that alone kept him going.
That young woman, the cook’s girl, she seemed a nice young woman, about the same age and size as Dan’s own wife. Ex-wife now, but he really couldn’t imagine what he’d have done if she’d been taken from him like that. He’d probably go crazy.
The moon was rising when he came upon the truck and the woman. One look told him something bad was going down. What was the point in leaving a woman tied up against a tree, flashlights illuminating her, the vehicle in sight, unless it was some kind of trap. He thought maybe she was dead and booby-trapped, but then he saw her move. She lifted her head, shivered and leaned her head back against the tree. Maybe she was alive and booby-trapped, and that made him sick to even think about it. As far as he could see, there was no one else there. He peered into the truck windows and bed—no one.
He tucked the flashlight into his belt and backed soundlessly down the dirt road. All the way down, until he could curve around to the left and start back up. The most obvious place to look would be right in front of her. Once he reached the bottom of the trail and prepared to start up, he was faced with two major challenges. One, he couldn’t use a flashlight and it was darker than Hades. And two, he couldn’t trip or slip in the dark and make a noise, in case he was right, and there was someone watching her.
He planned to cut a wide perimeter around the woman, and if he found nothing, no one, he’d move closer to her and assess. Look for some trap attached to her.
He’d barely begun the climb back up when the moon, high and full, cut a brightened path, for which he was incredibly grateful. Every time that nighttime breeze sifted through the branches of the tallest pines, creating a whispering and groaning effect, he’d cautiously place a foot. A couple of times he cracked a twig, and when that happened, he froze and listened. He was stone still; he didn’t even breathe.
He wasn’t very far up the hill when he could see there was someone at the top, hiding behind a tree. He heard the distant approach of vehicles and lifted his head. Under the cover of the engine noises, he rapidly made his descent back to the road. He chose his place under the cover of forest to stand in the road and, whirling his flashlight, flagged them down.
Jack lowered his window. “What the hell…?”
“This is it,” Dan said quietly. “Pass this hill slowly so it looks like you’re moving on, and up there on the left, there’s a wide space in the road. Take your trucks off road up there, come back on foot and I’ll take you up. Kill the flashlights. They’re up there,” he said, giving his head a jerk toward the hill. “Let’s do it.”
Preacher leaned forward. “She okay?”
“I think so, so far. Come on, come on, let’s not get his attention. Pass the hill.”
Jack threw the truck into gear and drove on, the man by the road directing the second truck with his flashlight.
Dan waited a few moments and then he could hear them coming on foot. When there were five men gathered around him, he said, “He’s got a plan. The woman is bound and in plain sight and I caught a glimpse of him in the trees, hiding. I couldn’t see him, but I bet he’s got a weapon on her, waiting. This old road goes to the top where he’s parked the truck. Someone can follow me up the back side of the hill—but there’s no path. Anyone here good at stepping light and soundless?”
“I am,” Jim said.
“I’ll keep your back—I’m pretty good,” Mike said.
“All right, we’ll circle up. You boys, take this road up nice and easy. Maybe one flashlight, dimmed, on the ground. Give us a head start—we don’t have a road. With any luck, we’ll meet up there.”
Before he could lead Jim and Mike around to the backside of the hill, he found his jacket grabbed up in Jack’s fist. “Why you doing this?”
