Chill Factor (23 page)

He let the drape fall back over the window, crossed to the
bedroom
door, and knocked softly. "Lilly?" He put his ear to the Wood and
listened but detected no movement or sound.

Something isn't right.

He didn't just sense it, he knew it. He knew it as positively
as he
knew that his feet were cold and that his head had begun to hurt again,
probably because of his rising blood pressure.

He knocked on the door again, louder this time. "Lilly?" He
pushed
the door open and looked in. She wasn't in the bedroom. The bathroom
door was closed. Quickly he went to it and knocked so hard it hurt his
cold knuckles. "Lilly?" When he didn't get an immediate answer, he
opened the door.

The bathroom was empty.

Alarmed, he spun around but came to a staggering halt when he
saw
her standing behind the bedroom door, where she must have been hiding
when he came in.

Fuck!

The contents of his backpack lay scattered on the floor at her
feet.

And in her hands, aimed directly at him, was his own pistol.

CHAPTER  16

HE TOOK A STEP TOWARD HER. "Stay there or I'll shoot you." He
indicated the items on the floor. "I can explain all that. But not
while you're pointing a gun at me." He advanced another step.

"Stop, or I will shoot you."

"Lilly, put down the gun," he said with infuriating calmness.
"You're not going to shoot me. At least not intentionally."

"I swear to God I will."

Her trembling hands were wrapped around the gun the way Dutch
had
taught her. Over her objections, he had insisted she learn how to fire
a pistol. He said he'd made enemies of criminals who might come looking
for him once they were released from their incarceration, for which he
was largely responsible. He'd taken her to the firing range and coached
her until he was satisfied that she could protect herself in a crisis
situation.

The lessons had been more for his peace of mind than for hers.
She
couldn't conceive of ever having to put them to the test. She certainly
never thought they would be tested on Ben Tierney.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"You know who I am."

"I only thought I did," she said gruffly.

"Every male above the age of twelve carries some kind of
firearm in
this part of the country."

"True. A pistol in a hiker's backpack isn't cause for alarm."

"Then explain why you're pointing it at me."

"You know why, Tierney. You're not stupid. But I believe I
have
been."

So much of what he'd said and done over the past eighteen
hours had
struck her as curious but in no way frightening. Combined with what she
had discovered in his backpack, that perception had dramatically
changed.

"Lilly, put down the—"

"Don't move!" She thrust the pistol forward another inch when
he
took a hesitant step. "I know how to fire this, and I will."

Her voice lacked enough steam to sound convincing. Because she
was
trapped without any hope of rescue with a man she now suspected of
kidnapping five women, probably murdering them, and because she had
missed two doses of medication, her breathing had become increasingly
labored.

It didn't escape his notice. "You're in trouble."

"No,
you
are."

"You've started to wheeze."

"I'm all right."

"Not for long."

"I'll be fine."

"You said that becoming emotionally overwrought can bring on
an
attack. Fear will do that."

"I'm the one with the pistol, why would I be afraid?"

"You don't need to be afraid of me."

She made a scoffing sound and willed herself to resist his
piercing
blue gaze. "Do you expect me to take your word for that?"

"I would not harm you. I swear it."

"Sorry, Tierney. You'll have to do better than that. What were
you
doing on the mountain yesterday?"

"I told you, I—"

"Don't insult my intelligence. It was a lousy day for
sightseeing.
Who goes sightseeing on a mountaintop when an ice storm is forecast?
Certainly not someone with your experience of the outdoors."

"I admit it was careless."

"Careless? You? Out of character. Try again."

His lips formed a hard, thin line, reminding her that he
resented
his word being challenged. "The storm rolled in faster than I expected.
My car wouldn't start. I had no choice but to walk down."

"That much I believe."

"I was taking a shortcut to avoid the switchbacks on the road
I got
lost—"

"Lost?" She pounced on the word. "You, with the sixth sense
for
direction, got lost?"

Trapped in the lie, he faltered, then tried another tack.
"You've
been caught up in the mania."

"Mania?"

"Over the disappearances. Every woman in Cleary is afraid that
she
may be the next to vanish. It's a communitywide preoccupation. You've
been here for a week. The panic has rubbed off on you. You regard every
man with suspicion."

"Not every man, Tierney. Only one. The one who doesn't have a
logical explanation for wandering around in the woods during a
blizzard. The one who knew the location and layout of my cabin without
my telling him. The one who refused to open his backpack last night,
for reasons which are now obvious."

"I promise to explain all that," he said tightly, "but not
while
you're holding me at gunpoint."

"You can explain it all to Dutch."

The features of his face turned hard and pronounced, as though
the
skin had suddenly been stretched tightly over the bones.

She withdrew her cell phone from the pocket of her coat. It
was
still showing no service.

"You're making a mistake, Lilly."

The words and the low, measured tone in which he spoke them
chilled
her blood.

"To let your imagination run wild will be a costly error."

She couldn't listen, couldn't be swayed. He had been lying to
her
ever since that first disarming smile on the bus. He'd only been
playing a role, one that must have worked well for him before.
Everything he had done and said was a lie.
He
was
a lie.

"I beg you to give me the benefit of doubt."

"All right, Tierney," she said. "I'll give you the benefit of
doubt
if you can explain these."

Lying at her feet were the handcuffs she'd found in one of the
backpack's zippered compartments along with the pistol. She kicked them
forward. They slid across the hardwood floor and came to rest against
his stocking feet. He stared down at them for a long moment before
raising his head and looking at her, his gaze implacable.

"That's what I thought." Keeping the pistol in her right hand,
she
used her left to punch in Dutch's cell number. The phone was still dead
as a stone, but she pretended that the call went through to his voice
mail. "Dutch, I'm in grave danger from Tierney. Come soon."

"You're so wrong, Lilly."

She slid the phone back into her coat pocket and gripped the
pistol
between both hands. "I don't think so."

"Listen to me. Please."

"I'm through listening. Pick up the handcuffs."

"How can you possibly think I'm Blue? Because of a pair of
handcuffs
and a ribbon?"

She'd heard Dutch refer to the unknown suspect as Blue.
Hearing it
fall so casually from Tierney's lips caused her heart to thud against
her ribs. But that wasn't what struck terror in her.

It must have shown in her expression. "Come on, Lilly," he
said
softly. "You can't be surprised I know the cops' nickname for the
culprit. It's a small town. Everyone in Cleary knows."

"Not that," she said, wheezing loudly. "I hadn't even
mentioned the
ribbon."

Special Agent Wise's question was out of context, or so it
seemed to
Dutch. For a moment he was flummoxed. "Ben Tierney?" They'd been
talking about his investigation into Millicent Gunn's disappearance
when, out of nowhere, Wise asked if he knew Ben Tierney. He divided a
puzzled look between Wise and Begley, but he might just as well have
been looking into the eyes of two dolls. Theirs were that planar and
opaque. "What's Ben Tierney got to do with the price of tea in China?"

"Do you know him?" Wise asked.

"Face with a name, that's it." Then, suddenly, he was seized
by a
chill that had nothing to do with the outdoor temperature. He felt that
unease he used to feel when entering a building where a suspect was
believed to be holed up. You knew something bad was bound to go down,
you just didn't know what form it would take, or how bad it would be.
You didn't know what to be afraid of but knew enough to be afraid.
"What about Ben Tierney?"

Wise looked down into his coffee and carefully balanced the
spoon on
the rim of the saucer.

His avoidance was more telling than anything he might have
said.
Dutch's heart clenched. "Look, if he's involved in this—"

"How well does your ex-wife know him?"

Dutch's gaze swung to Begley, who'd fired the question at him.
Blood
rushed to his head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"We understand that they're acquainted."

"Who led you to understand that?"

"How well are they acquainted? What's the nature of their
relationship?"

"There's no relationship," Dutch said angrily. "She met him
once.
Why?"

"Just curious. We're checking out several angles to—"

Dutch banged his fist on the table hard enough to rattle
cutlery and
dishes. Wise's spoon fell off the saucer and clattered onto the table.
"Cut the bullshit and tell me what you know about this guy. You're big,
bad FBI agents, but I'm a cop, goddammit, and as such I'm entitled to
your respect, as well as any information you have pertaining to my
investigation. Now what about Ben Tierney?"

"Calm down," Begley commanded. "And just so you know, I don't
condone foul language and taking the Lord's name in vain. Don't do it
in my presence again."

Dutch slid from the booth, reached for his coat and gloves,
and put
them on with jerky, angry motions. Then he leaned down and thrust his
face close to Begley's. "First of all, fuck you. Second, get this, you
sanctimonious prick. If you've got an interest in Ben Tierney related
to the disappearance of these women, I need to know it,
because as we speak, my wife is marooned in our mountain cabin with
him."

For once they showed reactions, which ranged from surprise to
a
degree of alarm that caused Dutch to fall back a step. "Christ
almighty. Are you telling me that Ben Tierney is Blue?"

Casting a cautious glance toward the rapt group at the soda
fountain, Wise said in an undertone, "We've recovered some
circumstantial evidence that warrants further investigation."

The agent was beating around the familiar bush Dutch himself
had
beaten around many times while he was a homicide detective. It was what
you said when you knew a suspect was guilty as sin and needed only one
scrap of hard evidence to nail his ass.

He pointed his finger at Begley. "I don't need further
investigation
to know that the bastard spent the night with my wife last night. If
he's touched a single hair on her head, you'd better hope to God you
get to him before I do."

Turning his back on them, he strode to the lunch counter,
grabbed
Cal Hawkins by the collar, and plucked him off the bar stool.
"Showtime."

"If that motherfucker's jealous temper blows my case, I'll
wring his
frigging neck."

This from the FBI agent who'd told Dutch less than sixty
seconds ago
that he didn't condone foul language.

As he and the younger agent approached the soda fountain
counter,
their expressions were so resolute, their
bearings
so
intimidating, Marilee felt like backing away from them. The older one
barked, "Any of you know where he's going?"

"Up the mountain to rescue Lilly." Wes stood up and extended
his
right hand. "Wes Hamer, chairman of the city council, head coach of the
high school football team."

He shook hands with them in turn as they introduced
themselves. Wes
waved away the small leather wallets they proffered. "No IDs necessary.
We know you're legit. I've seen you around town a time or two," he said
to Wise. Motioning toward her and William, who were behind the counter,
he said, "William Ritt, and his sister, Marilee Ritt."

"Can I get you anything?" William asked. "More coffee? Some
breakfast?"

"No thanks." Marilee could tell that the one named Begley had
grown
impatient with the pleasantries. "I understood that Burton and his wife
were divorced, that she even goes by Lilly Martin now."

"He's had a hard time accepting it," William said.

"They lost a child, a daughter, a few years ago," Wes
explained.
"People react differently to tragedies like that."

Begley looked over at his partner as though instructing him to
make
mental notes. Marilee figured he already was.

"What do you know about her being marooned with Ben Tier-ney?"
Begley asked. "Did they plan on meeting up there?"

"I don't know for sure, but I seriously doubt it was a
rendezvous."
Wes told them about the cabin previously belonging to the Burtons and
its recent sale. "They were up there yesterday afternoon clearing out
the last of their stuff. Dutch left for town ahead of her. Apparently
on her way down the mountain road, there was some sort of accident
involving Tierney. She left a cryptic message on Dutch's cell phone,
said that Tierney was hurt but that they were in the cabin, and asked
that Dutch send help ASAP."

"Hurt how?"

"She didn't say, or how badly. There's been no further
communication. The cabin's phone line had already been disconnected,
and the cell service in these mountains is for shit—sorry,
Mr. Begley.
On good days our cell service around here is crummy at best. In bad
weather, you can forget it."