Girl, Stolen (19 page)

“What?” Griffin didn’t even feel shock. He just felt – nothing. Like he was falling, and there would never be anything to catch him.

“Roy’s always had a temper, you know that,” Jimbo said, shrugging. “Well, things went crossways between him and Janie when you were in the hospital. She was always ragging on him about you getting burned. And one night he gave her a little shove when she had been getting into his face. She tripped and her head hit the fireplace. He left her there to teach her a lesson, and went to bed. And when he got up, she was stone-cold dead.”

“No,” Griffin said. He shook his head violently, not caring that it might jostle his leg. “No.” Even though he could picture it in his head, even though he could see it more clearly than he could see Jimbo and TJ. He started to stand, needing to get to his feet, and then fell back with a cry. His mother was dead?

“Look at him,” Jimbo said in a flat, unaccented voice, like a hypnotist’s. “If we leave him here, then how long is he going to last? I mean, look at him.” TJ turned and together the two men regarded Griffin as calmly as if he were something they had found by the side of the road. “His skin’s already kind of blue. We’ll just tell Roy we never saw him and let nature take its course. And that way we’ll know he’ll never tell anybody about the money.”

It was like Griffin wasn’t even there.

TJ cocked his head to one side. “But what about Roy?”

“That’s not our problem, dummy,” Jimbo said. “If he wants to come out in the woods and start looking, then so be it. We’ll be long gone by then.”

“You’re just going to let him freeze to death?” TJ seemed to have finally grasped what Jimbo was saying.

“He’s already halfway there,” Jimbo said calmly. “Why do we have to intervene?”

Griffin thought it couldn’t get much worse, but his blood turned to ice at TJ’s next words.

“Jeez, if I had a dog like that, I’d shoot him.” TJ pointed his handgun at Griffin’s midsection.

Griffin froze.

Jimbo pushed the barrel of the gun aside. “Don’t be stupid. You do that, they’ll go looking for who shot him. You leave him just like he is, and it will be clear what happened. He caught his foot in a hole, he broke his ankle, and he died. End of story. Nobody asks any questions, and nobody’s in trouble.”

“I’m not stupid. We’ll bury him out here. I’m tired of you saying I’m stupid.”

Griffin’s hand closed on a fist-sized rock. It was ridiculous – like using a slingshot against a bazooka – but he wasn’t going to die just lying on his back on the icy ground.

“I told you,” TJ repeated when Jimbo didn’t respond. “Don’t call me stupid.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.” Jimbo shrugged. “You
are
stupid. It’s way too much work to bury him. But that’s just like you – you never think things through.”

Then a gun went off. And Griffin’s heart stopped.

But it was Jimbo who collapsed on the pine needles.

“There,” TJ said. “Who’s stupid now? Who’s stupid now, Jimbo?” He was breathing hard.

Griffin’s ears were ringing. He did not move a muscle. He was dead now. It was only a matter of time until TJ made it official.

But then TJ dropped the gun and leaned over, his hands on his knees. Vomit splattered on the pine needles.

Griffin cut his eyes toward Jimbo and then wished he hadn’t. He adjusted his head a couple of inches so that he wouldn’t accidentally see the body again.

Straightening up, TJ wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “I’ve never done that before,” he said. “It’s different than you think.”

Griffin was afraid to even meet TJ’s eyes. When he finally did, he saw TJ’s pupils looked too big. And his face looked like he was about ready to laugh or cry – or both.

“Oh, well,” TJ said, “there is one good thing. Jimbo finally, finally shut up.” His laugh was high-pitched. It sounded like glass breaking.

Griffin heard TJ go over to the body, but he still refused to look. Jimbo had landed on his side. He heard TJ pull the backpack off Jimbo’s back.

TJ walked back into Griffin’s line of sight. “It’s half yours,” he said, hefting the backpack.

“That’s okay. I don’t need any.”

TJ unzipped the backpack. There was a long silence. “It’s wet. Why is the money all wet?” His voice arced higher. He reached in and grabbed a fistful of money, pulled it out. Red drops speckled the snow. “It’s blood. Oh, my God, it’s blood!”

He dropped the money and then the backpack. A bill floated down and landed by Griffin’s hand. One end of it looked like it had been dipped in red paint.

TJ found a little patch of snow. He knelt down and began to wipe his hands on it like it was a towel. Washing his hands in snow. It quickly turned slushy and pink. And then he stood up, without saying another word to Griffin, and walked away. Leaving Griffin with a broken ankle, a bloody backpack filled with a quarter of a million dollars, two guns, and a dead man.

C
rouched behind a huge tree, Cheyenne tried to be as quiet as possible. She was too winded to hold her breath, so she panted shallowly, openmouthed. The cold air scraped her lungs. Her eyes watered, but she refused to cough. Any second they would find her. Thirty minutes ago she had heard the sound of a gunshot, not close, but not far away, either. It had spurred her to walk even faster.

Then five minutes ago she had heard the faint sound of a car engine. She must be near the road! That meant there were people up ahead, people who could help her. And then this whole long ordeal would be over.

She had hurried forward, mindless of branches that lashed her legs, of ground so rough she stumbled and nearly fell a half-dozen times. Her only thought had been to flag down the driver, even though part of her knew that he was surely long gone.

But then she had heard it. Someone running through the trees. Running right for her. And who else would be out in the woods? The driver of the car wouldn’t suddenly get out, because he wouldn’t have any idea she was here. It must be one of the three men. She had gotten lucky when Griffin had turned out to be one of the good guys.

She didn’t think she would get lucky twice.

So Cheyenne had hidden behind the biggest tree she could find and concentrated on remaining absolutely still.

It was the hardest thing in the world. She wanted to jump up and start waving her arms and screaming. Just to get the inevitable over with. Was her killer even now aiming a gun at her?

Cheyenne tried to think of a plan. Knowing she was probably going to die gave her a certain amount of freedom. Maybe she could rush whoever it was – TJ, Jimbo, or Roy – and wrestle the gun away before he overcame his amazement at her suicidal charge. Although it was more likely that she would just end up with a fist-sized hole in her chest.

Still, something inside of her refused to give up. Not after she had gotten so far, risked so much, done so many things she would have said were impossible just a week earlier.

Then words rang out through the cold, still air.

“Freeze! Police! Hold it right there!”

An electric shock jolted from Cheyenne’s head to her heels.

Not the bad guys, then.

Cheyenne was going to live. She had made it!

She didn’t obey the cop. She couldn’t. She stood up and ran toward his voice, heedless of what might be in her way.

“Help me, oh, please help me!” Something sharp tore through her pants, gouging her left calf. Shaking herself free, she ran on, holding her hands high overhead so he would know she didn’t constitute a threat. Her only goal was to close the gap between herself and the cop as fast as she could. She wanted to finally be safe. “Help me!” she yelled again. “I’ve been kidnapped.”

A firm hand gripped her shoulder. “Slow down there, little lady. What are you saying?” There was a faint sound of amusement in the cop’s rough voice. Did he think she was playing some kind of game?

“I’m Cheyenne Wilder. I was kidnapped from the Woodlands Experience shopping mall two days ago.”

“Wait a minute – they mentioned you at roll call this morning. Are you really Cheyenne Wilder? The daughter of Nike’s president?” She could feel him inspecting her. Cheyenne imagined how she must look, her clothes muddy and torn, her face scratched, and her tangled curls filled with old leaves, pine needles, and broken sticks. But her appearance would serve as proof. The only way anyone could look the way she did was if she had been running blind through the woods all night long.

“Jeez,” he said, half to himself. His voice was hoarse, like he was just getting over a cold. “I’m out looking for people jacking deer and instead I find the girl they’re searching for in three states.” She heard his feet shift, and she imagined him looking around. “Where are these guys? Did they follow you?”

“No, no. I was so afraid.” A little sigh escaped her now that she could let go of the fear. “I was so afraid you were one of them. I thought they had finally found me.”

He let out a two-note laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you now. You’re safe. I’d better call in with the good news.” She heard him punch some buttons. “Guess who I’ve got? Cheyenne Wilder! And she appears to be in good condition. Over.”

She could hear a faint, tinny voice, but couldn’t make out the words.

“Roger that,” the cop said. “You can stop searching for her.”

“Let me talk to my father,” she begged, holding out her empty hand. “Please.”

“Oh, he’s not at my station, Cheyenne.” Then the cop spoke to the voice at the other end of the line. “Could you get in contact with Mr. Wilder and have him ring me back? Someone here would very much like to speak to him. Meanwhile, I’m bringing her in. Over and out.” His voice changed, and she could tell he was talking to her again. “My car’s about a half mile down the road. Do you think you could walk there if I guided you?”

“I just made it through the woods. A road’s no problem.” There was no way Cheyenne was going to let the cop get more than five feet from her. She couldn’t stand the idea of being alone, even for a second. What if one of the men popped out of the woods behind her while she was waiting?

He took her elbow, and they began to walk. They hadn’t gone more than a hundred paces when their feet crunched on gravel and then, a few steps later, on smooth blacktop. They had reached the road. So Cheyenne hadn’t been imagining it when she thought she heard a car. If the cop hadn’t come along, she still might have been able to flag down someone. At least now she didn’t have to worry about getting accidentally run over in the process.

“You said you escaped the men who kidnapped you. How did you do that? Did you have help?”

Cheyenne stopped in her tracks, causing the man to bump into her. “Oh, my God! I should have told you right away. You need to call out a search party. This guy Griffin is out in the woods someplace. He’s hurt. He told me to go on without him and he would draw them away.” Turning, she put her free hand on the cop’s wrist. “He needs medical attention immediately.” She tried not to think of him dead, but immediately she saw Griffin in her mind’s eye, as clearly as she had seen him when they had been talking in his bedroom. He lay flat on his back on the frozen ground, his skin as pale as wax, his wide eyes staring up at the gray sky.

He’s alive
, Cheyenne scolded herself.
He’s alive, and you’d better start laying the groundwork with the police now. If not for acquittal, then maybe probation
.

“Griffin’s just this kid who lives at the house where I was being held. His father was the one who demanded the ransom money. And there were two other men there. Griffin protected me from them.” Cheyenne felt her cheeks get hot. Would he think she had been raped? “He kept me safe. But the men decided they weren’t going to let me go, in case I could identify them. Griffin found out what they were planning, so he helped me get away.” Cheyenne decided not to mention who had kidnapped her, hoping it might help Griffin. “Please, please, you have to ask them to go out and find him.”

“Are his injuries life threatening?” There was a strange note in the cop’s voice.

“No. But his ankle is broken, so he can’t walk. You need to find him soon, before he freezes to death.”

“We’ll handle that once we get back to the station.” The cop didn’t sound too forgiving. Cheyenne hoped whoever really decided these things would look more favorably on Griffin. “All right. Here’s the car.” His steps slowed, and he led her back onto the gravel.

“I’ve never ridden in a cop car before.”

“I’m afraid you’re still going to miss your chance – we use private vehicles when we work undercover.” He opened the door and guided her in, his hand on the small of her back.

She sat on the front bench seat. Inside, it smelled like cigarettes and fast food. Her feet scuffled wrappers and hard things that clunked – some kind of tools? – before finding a place to rest. She heard the cop get in the other side and close the door, felt his weight settle in beside her.

“So are you taking me home?”

“Back to the station. Your dad will meet us there. We need to, um, debrief you.” There was something slightly off about his voice.