31
Infinity Cabin was in danger of being swept away. At least the veranda was. The river had climbed almost four feet up the supports. Another six inches and the water would be over the bank, turning the grass into a swamp.
Once inside, Sadie locked the back door, tossed her purse and flashlight on the table, aiming the latter into the center of the room. The cabin was freezing and dark, lit only by flashes of lightning from outside. The hearth had long turned to ash, but there was no time to build a fire, even though she was soaked to the bone.
She was about to go into the bedroom when a sound made her glance over her shoulder. A tall shadow shifted past the draped kitchen window. A shadow wearing a cowboy hat.
Sarge.
Pulling the knife from her pocket, she pressed herself against the wall and held her breath.
The doorknob rattled. A muffled curse was followed by something solid slamming up against the door.
Her eyes flared with fear. Please don’t let him get in.
Then the footsteps plodded away.
Sadie released a slow breath, until she heard Sarge moving alongside the cabin. Horrified, she gazed across the room to the sliding door. The door she had left unlocked. There was no time to secure it now, not without being heard. She had to hide. But where?
Desperate eyes latched onto the rug in the middle of the floor.
The root cellar!
She flicked the flashlight off, praying he hadn’t seen the light. Then, crossing the room, she bent over and flipped the corner of the rug. Someone had used double-sided carpet tape to keep it in place. With a trembling hand, she tugged on the metal ring and let out a soft sob of gratefulness when the trapdoor opened. She moved down a few stairs, grabbed the door and pulled it over her head.
She was thrown into a dark abyss.
Oh God….
The cellar was worse than the bunker. For one thing it was pitch black and smelled musty, and she felt cramped even though she couldn’t see the size of it. She felt as though she had just been buried alive, which couldn’t possibly be that much different from being trapped in an ice-cold cellar, with a murderous kidnapper above hunting for her.
Footsteps clumped overhead.
Closer…
Her pulse quickened and the knife shook in her hand.
Above her, something clattered to the floor. An angry grunt followed. Then there was a soft thud near the trapdoor.
Terrified, she covered her mouth with one hand.
Silence.
He was listening.
Sadie’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. Could he hear it?
Footsteps gradually receded and a door slammed.
She shivered uncontrollably. Is he still here?
The waiting was excruciating, the silence endless—until the gong of the grandfather clock interrupted it. To be safe, she waited few more minutes. Once her breathing had calmed, she tiptoed up the cellar stairs and pressed her ear to the trapdoor.
She heard nothing. Not a sound.
I have to get help.
Inching the trapdoor open, she peeked out. She couldn’t see anything or anyone. The cabin was too dark, and she’d left the flashlight on the table.
Serendipitously, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the room. No one was hiding in the shadows. But then again, she could only see three sides of the cabin. What if he was standing behind the trapdoor?
He’s gone. I can’t stay down here forever. The children need me.
She eased back the trapdoor and crawled out, waving the knife in the air. When no one attacked her, she strode to the sliding door, locked it and pulled the heavy drape across. Her hands were numb with cold. She knew she had to get warm or risk hypothermia. If that happened, she wouldn’t be good to anyone.
“Dry clothes first,” she said, tucking the knife back into her pocket. “Then the gun.”
After lighting a lamp and turning it as low as possible, she carried it into the bedroom where she removed her jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair. She stripped off her wet clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and vigorously dried off with a bath towel she had left on the bed earlier. Once dressed in warm jeans and a sweater, she sat down on the chair and pulled on two pairs of socks, wincing at the sight of her bruised and swollen ankle.
“Looks like you had a little accident,” a voice sneered.
Her head jerked up as a shadow slithered into view. With his hat in one hand, a man leaned cockily against the doorjamb. His shaved head gleamed in the lamplight and his beady eyes carefully scrutinized the room. Then his gaze rested on her and his disfigured face twisted into a sinister smirk.
“We meet again, Sadie O’Connell.”
She gaped at him and swallowed hard. “The Fog.”
At first glance, Sarge only vaguely resembled the sadistic monster that had beaten her, abducted Sam and brutalized him. In a way, he looked like an ordinary man, someone she’d see at the Calgary Stampede or a local bar and never think twice about. Until she looked into his eyes. A madman resided there.
“H-how did you get in?” she asked in a weak voice.
He held up a key. “Irma keeps a spare under the welcome mat. Not very original, is she?”
Her heart plunged when he took a step forward.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“I’m returning something that belongs to you.” He dropped a flashlight—the blue one she’d left in the bunker—on the dresser. “Says Infinity Cabin right on it, so I took that as an invitation. Su casa es mi casa. Remember?” He frowned. “I’m surprised it’s you though, and not some nosy old greaser.”
She inched back in the chair. “The police are on their way.”
“You called ’en did you?”
She nodded.
“Kinda hard to do, since this ain’t working.” He flung her cell phone at her feet.
“It was working when I called,” she lied.
She moved slightly. Something shifted under her thigh. She glanced down and saw a glimmer of metal. The knife. She was sitting on part of the blade.
“There’s no service out here when it storms,” Sarge said.
“Maybe,” she replied, her hand creeping toward the knife. “But someone’s gone to get the police. They’ll be here any time.”
“You mean ole Fergus? He’s stuck on the road a few miles back. Looks like it’s just me and you.” He started across the room.
“Don’t come any closer!” she shrieked, jumping to her feet.
Sarge sniggered. “You gonna whip me with that towel?”
“No, but I have this.” Boldly, she flourished the fishing knife.
“Better be prepared to use that… bitch.”
It happened so fast that she had no time to react. One minute she was pointing the blade at the bastard—the next, the knife was knocked from her hand.
An arm snaked around her throat. “One more sound outta you,” he hissed in her ear, “and I’ll snap your neck.”
Light bounced off something slim and razor-sharp.
“A little something to calm you down,” he murmured.
A hypodermic needle jabbed her arm, right through her sweater. She tried to fight him, tried to scream, but all that came out was a faint sob. Then her vision blurred, and the room morphed into fuzzy shadows. Within seconds, her legs buckled. If it weren’t for Sarge holding her up, she would have fallen to the floor.
Hot breath teased her ear. “How the fuck did you find me?”
She moaned. “The children…”
With a mewling whimper, she gave up fighting.
32
An earsplitting shriek woke her.
She groaned.
The shriek came again, this time louder.
She tried to cover her ears, but her hands wouldn’t move. She forced her eyes open and blinked, wondering why her vision was so hazy. Had she gotten drunk? Passed out?