Leah had been hiding in a brushy area near the big rock for nearly ten minutes when she heard voices shouting. She couldn’t make out the words. Three shots rang out in succession, sending a chill down her spine. What was going on? Her first thoughts went to Jon. Had he made some sort of heroic effort after she’d left? Possibly turning himself in, hoping that he’d run into a good cop? Only to be disappointed?
She couldn’t think about that. She had to get to the top of that rock. And she had to do it from the back, which was steeper than the way she and Jon had climbed it the other time. But from the back side, she felt somewhat sure that she wouldn’t be spotted. Especially if they continued to be distracted by whatever had happened on the road. Please, God, don’t let it be Jon, she silently prayed as she started scaling the rock.
Her elective rock-climbing class came in handy as she felt her way up the massive rock, praying that once she reached the top there would really be connectivity. The fact that this wasn’t a foggy night seemed to play in her favor—not in regard to visibility, but the phone connectivity should be better. She paused, clinging to the back side of the rock and listening to the sounds of men shouting down below her. They were obviously excited about something. She hoped it wasn’t her.
Finally, nearly to the top, she clung to the ledge of the rock, barely able to peer over the top. The rock towered a good twenty feet over the roofs of the nearby houses and from her vantage point, she could clearly see the headlights of cars and several officers, armed with rifles, mulling about on the road below her. Her blood ran cold as she saw that they had gathered around what appeared to be a slain figure lying lifelessly on the road. That explained the gunshots. Please, God, don’t let it be Jon.
Holding the phone close to her chest, she peered down, seeing that it showed one bar of connectivity. One bar! Hopefully that was all it would take. She held the phone out a bit, keeping the face of it pointed to the sky, in case anyone was looking from below. And holding her breath and counting to thirty, she prayed that the text messages she had carefully constructed, then attached to phone numbers, were on their way. Praying that whoever was receiving these messages would take them seriously—would send out help.
When she finally pulled the phone down, she was relieved that the texts appeared to have been sent. She was tempted to stick around to see if anyone responded, but knew she had to get back to the Malcolm cabin. If Jon had been shot—and she didn’t know if she could bear losing him—her mom and the girls would need her help. More than ever.
As she worked her way down the rock, partly climbing, partly sliding, she heard the sound of footsteps nearby. And as soon as her feet hit the ground, she knew by the speed of the footsteps—getting closer—that she’d been spotted.
“Freeze—hands in the air!” a male voice yelled. “Or I’ll shoot.”
Leah ducked her head as she leaped for the shadows, and the sound of a gunshot made her run even faster until she saw what looked like an opening in the hedge. Without wasting a moment, she pushed her way through what she hoped was an overgrown beach access trail going down to the ocean, but after just a few feet she realized there was nothing there—just the bluff dropping about thirty feet down to the beach. Feeling her feet sliding over the crumbling edge, she grabbed onto the bushes, which tore off, then she desperately clawed in the rock and sand, trying not to fall over the edge. Her legs dangling down, she tried to pull herself back up, knowing that whoever had just shot at her would probably be up there to greet her with a loaded gun.
But it was useless and as her grip began slipping, she braced herself for a painful fall when she suddenly felt something beneath her feet. A ledge of some sort beneath the cliff. Working to get her feet solidly under her, she slid down the side of the rocky bluff. The ledge was only a few inches wide, not even big enough for her to stand flat-footed. But at least it felt solid. Clinging to the side of the bluff like an insect, she took some deep steadying breaths and listened to what was going on up above her.
She could hear muffled voices, obviously looking for her but seemingly unaware that she’d slipped through the hedge—probably because it looked impossible due to the drop-off below. Knowing she couldn’t perch on the narrow ledge for long—already her calf muscles were starting to ache from standing on her tiptoes—she once again employed her rock-climbing skills, rusty though they were, as she eased herself slowly down the concave rock wall.
After about six feet, she came to what felt like a narrow cave carved into the side of the bluff. Thankful for a place to rest and think, she crouched down in the narrow crevice and waited...listening for the searchers up above her...watching as their flashlight beams came through the hedge above, sweeping the beach as they continued their relentless search.
Feeling hopeless and like a hunted animal, Leah was trying not to cry. She leaned into the wall and prayed silently and feverishly for Jon and her mother and the girls—begging God to do something to stop this never-ending madness. Even as she prayed, her mind dredged up an image that seemed to be indelibly printed into her brain—that of the slain man on the road. Was that Jon? Who else could it have been? And if he’d been shot, was he dead? If Krantz’s cohorts had anything to say about it, he would be dead.
This realization made her feel sick inside—how could it be that after all they’d been through, after she’d possibly gotten the text messages sent, it would end like this? Her body ached all over and she felt too weak to go on. How would she ever survive this mess without Jon by her side? It felt impossible. And impossibly cruel. Would God really allow that to happen? Would God take him like that? Allow her to fall for him and then just take him away? Snatch him up even before she had the chance to express her true feelings to him?
Why hadn’t she told Jon how she felt? What had she been waiting for? Why had she been playing it so cautiously? And why had she obsessed over Monica? Especially after Jon had told her it was all behind him? Why hadn’t she believed him and let it go? Why hadn’t she told him she loved him? Because it was true—she did love him. She knew it!
And, yet, even if she had confessed her love—what difference would it make now? If Jon were dead—what would it matter? What did anything matter? Except that he could’ve died knowing that she loved him. Perhaps that would’ve made it easier. Or not.
She took in a deep breath, listening intently, wondering if the cops were still up above her. But it was very quiet, almost as if they’d given up. Or were looking elsewhere for her. With only the sound of the ocean waves, Leah knew what she had to do. If Jon really had been shot—her mom and the girls would be alone. She needed to get back to them, to wait and hope that the text messages had achieved their purpose.
Hopefully the police didn’t know they were holed up at the Malcolms’. If they knew, Leah would have little chance of getting back into that house. But she needed to at least try. And that meant climbing the rest of the way down this bluff—hopefully without plummeting straight down. She suspected she had at least a twenty-foot drop remaining—too far to jump safely onto the sand. Leah eased herself over the edge of the precipice where she’d been hiding. Feeling with her toes, trying to find footholds, she hoped that this whole wall wasn’t concave.
To her relief, as she swung slightly, her feet came in contact with some toeholds. Getting firm handholds, she gingerly made her way down. It felt as if it took forever and the whole while she braced herself for the exposing beam of a high-powered flashlight coming from the beach where the cop cars were probably still parked. Probably with their high-powered rifles ready to shoot. But when she finally put her feet on soft sand, she realized she had made it.
But now what? She leaned against the bluff wall, trying to make a decision. At last, she decided her best choice might be to go down to the stairs that belonged to Jon’s parents’ cabin, and to make her way up there and back toward the Malcolms’.
Leah walked along the sand, staying close to the darkness of the bluff wall. As she went, she spotted the cop cars still blockading the beach. Fortunately, they didn’t seem too intent on using their searchlights. She wondered if they’d even spotted Krantz’s car yet. But she didn’t want to take the time to investigate. The more she thought about her mom and the girls, the faster she wanted to go. If anything happened to them...well, she didn’t even know what she’d do.
It wasn’t long until she reached the stone beach steps, but knowing there could be a cop posted at the top of these stairs, she paused to think. It felt as if all her options were disintegrating—as if she were a hunted animal with no place left to hide. And so she started up, trying to move silently. She didn’t know what else to do. She felt so tired and discouraged—and sick about possibly losing Jon—that she almost didn’t care anymore. If they were going to catch her and kill her, let them. Just get it over with. Maybe it would be for the best.
Even so, she went up cautiously, listening with each step, and praying for God’s protection. When she reached the top step, she was relieved and somewhat shocked to discover no one around. Was she really out of harm’s way?
She was about to head on up to the Malcolm cabin when she noticed the beam of a searchlight sweeping across the top of the bluff—in the same direction she wanted to go. They were obviously still looking for her. And so, instead of proceeding to the Malcolm cabin, she let herself into the back door of Jon’s parents’ place. She didn’t know why or what she would do there, but it was close—and it was shelter.
She knew that Krantz and some of his buddies had already searched the cabin, and it seemed possible they wouldn’t come back here. As she went inside, she remembered poor little Ralph. Was he still locked in the upstairs bedroom? And what if he heard her and barked? She could be setting her own trap.
Just the same she continued, feeling her way through the darkened house. She crept silently up the stairs and then, as she approached the door to the little bedroom, she spoke in a calm, gentle tone, praying Ralph would keep quiet.
As she turned the doorknob, she heard a low growling—the sound a dog makes right before it starts barking. “It’s okay, boy,” she continued talking soothingly. “It’s just me. Hey, Ralphie.”
As she went into the dark room, she heard him coming toward her. Kneeling, she reached for him. “Oh, you poor little guy.” She scooped him up, holding him close. Suddenly she remembered that sunny day she’d been running and the way Ralph had happily run along with her. She remembered how attractive Ralph’s master had looked with his sandy hair blowing in the breeze, the look of intensity in his dark brown eyes. It had felt as if it were meant to be when their paths had crossed on the beach. She put her face into Ralph’s coat, trying not to cry as she wondered if she’d ever see Jon again.
“We didn’t leave you for good,” she whispered hoarsely. “Not on purpose.”
She fumbled in the dark until she found the candle and matches and then, after lighting it, she refilled Ralph’s water bowl and put a few spoonfuls of dog food out, as well. “Sorry to leave you again.” She set the bowls before him, gently petting him. “But as soon as we’re safe, you’ll be safe, too.”
She secured his bandage better as he lapped up some water. “You keep resting,” she whispered, knowing she couldn’t spend too much time here. There were still her mom and the girls to think of. Seeing that Ralph was settled down, she blew out the candle. “Hopefully help will be here soon. And you’ll see your master again.” As she said this, hot tears slipped down her cheeks. Really, what was the likelihood of this? And what was the likelihood she would escape this nightmare alive? By the time she left this cabin, the cops could be waiting outside for her, guns aimed at her head. If it was the bad cops, she would probably end up like—She had to stop thinking like this.
For the sake of the girls and her mom, she knew she had to keep fighting. She had to give this her full effort. And if her text messages had actually been sent, it was possible that someone somewhere had already read them, and that help was on its way. She tried to imagine dispatchers sending law enforcement out here, wondering how they would handle it. Really, she told herself as she slipped out the bedroom door, it could happen. She couldn’t give up.
She tiptoed back down the stairs and paused to listen in the hallway. Hearing the silence of the house and seeing no sign of anyone, no lights outside, nothing...she cracked open the back door, cautiously peering around before she slipped outside and stealthily began working her way through the neighbors’ backyards in the direction of the Malcolm cabin.
Climbing over fences and rock walls, pushing through hedges, she slowly made her way toward the Malcolm house. And yet she knew it might no longer be a secure hideout. By now the police might’ve discovered where she’d broken into the back door. Perhaps that was why Jon had attempted to make a run for it—to lead the cops away from her mom and the girls. Perhaps he’d sacrificed himself for their safety.
But even if the police had shot and killed Jon, or had him in custody, Leah knew they wouldn’t be satisfied until they’d thoroughly searched that cabin. They would easily find the “hostages” in the laundry room. And then what would they do? If it were Krantz’s buddies, it would not be good.
As she got closer to the Malcolm cabin, she could hear the sounds of officers out on the road. And in the distance, she could hear the whining sound of a siren. Was that an ambulance coming for the shooting victim? Or could it be one of the law enforcement agencies she’d texted, on their way to help? She wondered how much time had lapsed since she’d sent those texts.
Pausing on a neighboring cabin’s patio that overlooked the ocean, she leaned against the house to catch her breath and check her watch. It had been more than twenty minutes since she’d texted. Surely some other form of law enforcement would be on their way by now. Even so, how long would it take them to get here?
Before long, she was at the place where the wooden staircase had fallen, and she knew she was nearly to the Malcolm house. All of a sudden, she heard heavy footsteps coming quickly from behind her. Without hesitating, she broke into a full run for the Malcolm house. As she ran, she saw the beam of a searchlight sweeping across the trail.
“Freeze!” someone shouted. “Hands up! Or I shoot!”
For a split second, she considered obeying, wishing she could surrender to an honest cop—but then Krantz’s leering face flashed through her mind and she imagined a bullet ripping through her. The path ahead was about to turn to the Malcolm cabin, and she went for it—full speed, hoping for shelter in the cabin.
More shouts were followed by gunfire as she raced down the trail, knowing her speed could save her. As she reached the Malcolms’ courtyard, several more shots rang out in quick sequence. With the door almost in reach, she felt herself going down.