The parking lot of the veterinary clinic was empty, the only tracks in the smooth coating of snow the fresh ones made by Ryder’s Tahoe. He tried the door, anyway, and peered through the glass. A single light behind the front desk illuminated the empty counter. The only sound was the crunch of his own boots on the snow.
He tried Darcy’s phone again, and this time the call went straight to voice mail. He hung up without leaving a message, stomach churning. Where was she?
He headed for her house, but since Kelly’s duplex was on the way, decided to swing by there first. Stacy had mentioned that Darcy had planned to pick up some supplies from there. Maybe she had gotten distracted, or the task took more time than he would have thought. But even as he thought these things, instinct told him something was wrong.
The driveway to the duplex was vacant, and no lights shone from either half. The snow was falling harder now, filling in Ryder’s tracks on the walkway to the door within minutes of his passing. He knocked on Kelly’s door, then tried the knob. It was locked. With a growing sense of urgency, he moved to Ken’s door and pounded on it. “Ken, it’s Ryder! I need to talk to you.”
He turned and headed back across the porch and up the walk toward his Tahoe. But a dark bulk along the side of the duplex caught his eye. He unclipped the flashlight from his utility belt and shone it over a tarped snowmobile. Heart pounding, he stepped through the deepening snow to the snowmobile and unhooked the bungie cord that held the tarp in place.
His flashlight illuminated first the Polaris emblem. Then he arced the beam upward to the spiderweb of cracks in the windscreen that spread out from the neat, round bullet hole.
* * *
KEN CUT THE plastic ties that had bound Darcy’s wrists and laid the knife on the floor beside the bed. She stretched her arms out in front of her, wincing at the pain, and struggled to sit up. Ken pushed her back onto the bed with one hand, reaching for the fly of his jeans with the other.
“Wait,” she cried, squirming into a sitting position. She forced a smile to her trembling lips. “Let’s talk a little bit first. You know—get in the mood.”
He frowned but moved his hand away from his fly. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Were you the one on the snowmobile on the ski trail at Silver Pick Sunday afternoon?”
“What about it?”
“I just wondered.” She swallowed, trying to force some saliva from her dry mouth. “I figure you were trying to show me how dangerous it was,” she said. “How much I need to depend on you to protect me.”
His expression lightened. “That’s it.” He sat beside her and took her hand in his. “I didn’t want to frighten you, but I had to make you see the danger you were in. I did it to protect you.”
“And were you the one who ran me off Silverthorne Road?” she asked. “You pretended to be that woman with the hurt mastiff?”
He laughed. “That was pretty clever, wasn’t it?” He leaned closer. “If only you weren’t so stubborn. You would have saved us all so much trouble if you had accepted my help from the first.”
She pushed him gently away, trying hard to hide her revulsion and fear. “Did you try to break in to this place, the night Kelly was killed?”
He frowned. “No. I wouldn’t do something like that.”
Hitting her over the head and kidnapping her, not to mention threatening her with both a truck and a snowmobile, apparently weren’t as bad as jimmying a lock? But she believed him when he said he hadn’t tried to break in that night. But was he the killer?
Ken forced his lips onto hers and slid his hands under her sweater. Her stomach churned and she wondered if it was possible to vomit from fear. Would that be enough to scare him off?
“I’m ready now.” He stood and, so quickly she hardly registered what was happening, shoved his jeans down. She reacted instinctively, drawing up her legs, ankles still bound together, and shoving hard against his chest. He stumbled back and she dove for the floor, grabbing for the knife.
He straddled her, hands around her throat, choking her, as she felt blindly for the knife, which had slid under the bed. Her fingers closed around the handle, as he shoved his knee into her back, forcing her flat onto the floor. And all the while his hands continued to squeeze until her vision fogged and she felt herself slipping away.
A mighty crash shook the whole house, and the pressure on her throat lessened. “What the—”
“Darcy!” Ryder’s shout was followed by pounding footsteps as he vaulted up the stairs.
His weight still grinding her into the floor, Ken swiveled to face the entrance to the loft. Darcy tightened her grip on the knife.
“Darcy!” Ryder shouted again.
“I’m here,” she said, her voice weak, but she thought he heard.
“Get off her!” he roared.
“You can’t have her.” Ken stood, bringing her with him, and clasping her in front of him like a shield. She held the knife by her side, half-hidden in the folds of her trousers, and prayed he was too focused on Ryder to notice.
Less than six feet away, Ryder stood at the top of the stairs, both hands steadying his pistol in his hands. His eyes met Darcy’s, and there was no mistaking the fear that flashed through them. He lowered the gun. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.
“You’re the one who’s stupid.” Ken moved sideways, away from the bed. “Thinking you could have her. She belongs with me.”
“I don’t want to be with you!” She squirmed, but he held her so tightly her ribs ached.
“Get out of the way,” Ken told Ryder. “Let us pass. And if you try anything, I’ll kill her.”
Why did he think he got to determine who she wanted to be with and what happened to her? Rage at the idea overwhelmed her. In one swift movement, she brought the knife up and plunged it into his thigh. It sank to the hilt, blood gushing. Ken screamed and released her.
Ryder grabbed her hand and thrust her away from the other man. She slid to the floor as Ryder shoved Ken against the wall, the gun held to his head. “Don’t move,” Ryder growled. “Don’t even breathe hard.”
“I’m bleeding!” Ken cried. “Do something.”
“Sit down,” Ryder ordered, and Ken slid to the floor.
Ryder pulled cuffs from his belt and cuffed Ken’s hands behind him, then grabbed a pillow from the bed and held it over the bleeding. He looked over at Darcy. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. She felt sick and shaky, but she was alive. She had fought back. She would be okay—eventually.
He slipped a multi-tool from his belt and slid it across the floor to her. “Can you cut the ties on your ankles?”
Though her hands were still unsteady, she managed to sever the ties and stand. “I should call 911,” she said.
“Do that.” He saw her hesitation and softened his voice. “I’ll be okay,” he said.
She went downstairs and found her phone and made the call, then collapsed on the sofa and began to sob. She didn’t know why she was crying, exactly, except that it had all been so horrible, and she was so relieved it was over.
She didn’t know how long it was before Ryder came to her. He wrapped her in a blanket, then drew her into his arms and held her tightly. She clung to him, sobbing. “I was s-so scared,” she said through her tears.
“You were great,” he said, gently kissing the side of her face. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”
Some time after that the ambulance came, along with Travis and Gage Walker. A paramedic checked out Darcy and gave her a sedative, while two others carried a howling and complaining Ken down the narrow stairs and out to the ambulance. “What will happen to him?” Darcy asked, the medication having soothed the hard, metallic edge of fear.
“He’s under arrest,” Travis said. “For kidnapping and menacing and probably a half a dozen other charges we haven’t sorted out yet. He’ll be placed under a guard at the clinic here and when the road opens again we’ll transport him to jail to await his trial.”
“The road’s closed again?” Ryder asked.
Travis nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“I found a snowmobile at Ken’s duplex, with the windscreen shot out,” Ryder said.
“He admitted he tried to run us down at Silver Pick,” Darcy said. “And he was the one who pretended to be an old woman with a mastiff, who ran me off Silverthorne Road that night.” She studied the faces of all three lawmen, trying to figure out what they were thinking. “I don’t think he killed Kelly or the others,” she said. “Maybe I’m wrong, but...”
“I don’t think he killed them, either,” Ryder said. “He was teaching a class full of students when Kelly was killed.”
“He was supposedly at a basketball game when that truck ran Darcy off the road,” Gage said.
“That one was easy enough to fake,” Ryder said. “He went to the basketball game, made sure he saw and talked to a lot of people, then slipped out. People would remember he was there, but they wouldn’t necessarily remember the exact time they saw him. The classroom is tougher to fake. Everyone we talked to said he was there the whole time.”
“So the killer is still out there?” Darcy asked.
“Maybe,” Travis said. “Or maybe he took advantage of the break in the weather and left town.”
“I’m still hoping Pi and his friends saw something that will help us,” Ryder said.
“So far they’re still not talking,” Travis said. “But I’ve contacted all their parents and they all agreed this business of daring each other to do risky things has to stop. They’ve agreed that the boys should spend their spare time for the next few weeks doing community service.”
“What kind of service?” Darcy asked.
“They can start by shoveling snow. We have a lot of it to move at the school and at the homes of elderly residents. That should keep them out of trouble.”
“So what do you do about the killer?” Darcy asked.
Ryder’s arm around her tightened. “We wait.”
* * *
DARCY WAS SURPRISED to learn it was only a little after seven o’clock when Ryder had arrived at her house. By nine, the two of them had moved her belongings—including all four cats—into the house he rented on the other side of town. She had located the cats hidden in various places around the house—behind books on a shelf, under a sofa cushion, in a cubby in the kitchen. She dosed them all with an herbal sedative and Ryder helped her stow them in their carriers and gather their food, treats, toys and litter boxes. He didn’t ask why she had changed her mind about leaving the cats at the house, merely helped her move them. She hoped it was because he understood she needed them with her. They were part of her home—and the tiny house would never feel like home again.
When they had unloaded the cats and her belongings at Ryder’s place, he made macaroni and cheese and served it to her with hot tea spiked with rum. “This tastes better than anything I’ve ever eaten,” she said, trying hard not to inhale the bowl full of orange noodles that had to be the ultimate comfort food.
“I’m not a gourmet cook, but you won’t starve while you’re here,” he said.
She wouldn’t have to be afraid while she was here, either, she thought.
After supper he persuaded her to leave the dishes until the next day, and he built a fire in the fireplace. Then they settled on the sofa and he wrapped a knitted throw around them both. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“The sheriff said I’ll need to give a statement to him tomorrow.”
“You can wait until then if you like,” he said. “We can try to find a victim’s advocate for you to talk to, too. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“I want to tell you.” It was true. She laced her fingers through his. “Talking can help. I learned that before—after Jay kidnapped and raped me.” It had taken her a long time—years, really—before she had been able to name the crimes done against her so boldly. But naming them was a form of taking control, she had learned.
Ryder settled her more firmly against him. “All right,” he said. “I’m listening.”
So she told him everything—from the moment in the kitchen through everything that had happened until his arrival at her house. Reciting the facts, along with admitting her terror in the moment, made her feel stronger. “As bad as it was, it could have been so much worse,” she said. “That’s one reason I don’t think Ken is the one who killed Kelly and the others. He’s a terrible man, but I don’t think he’s a murderer.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Ryder agreed. “But I’m glad he’s behind bars now—or will be, as soon as his doctors okay his release. And I’m not sure I can put into words how relieved I am that you’re safe.”
She turned into his arms and kissed him, a kiss that banished the chill from the last cold places within her. “Ken was right about one thing,” she said.
“What is that?”
“I was wrong to insist on continuing to stay out at that isolated house by myself. Not that I would have ever accepted his offer to stay with him, but I could have gone to Stacy’s.”
“I’m glad you’re here right now,” he said.
“I’m going to stay as long as you’ll have me,” she said.
“How about forever?”
She stared at him, her heart having climbed somewhere into her throat. “I love you,” he said. “And I want to keep on loving you. But I don’t want to pressure you or control you or ever have you think I’m like Ken or Jay or anyone else who would try to hurt you.”
She put her fingers over his lips. “Shhh. I know the difference between you and those others.” She moved her hand and kissed the place where her fingers had been. “I love you, too,” she said. “And I want to be with you.” She kissed him again.
“To forever,” he said and kissed her, softly and surely.
“Forever,” she echoed. Saying the word was like uttering a magical incantation that opened the last lock on her heart. She felt lighter and freer—and more safe and secure—than she ever had.
* * * * *