Rusty began to trail after him but stopped. “Wait a second!”
It was the tone of his voice and not his words that made Isaac pause. “What is it?”
“Look at this.”
Rusty had snapped on the flashlight he carried on his belt and was aiming its beam into the shadowy area below the stairs, but Isaac couldn’t see what he was referring to. “Look at what?”
“The crawl space. It’s been locked.”
Isaac hadn’t even noticed. The dim glow of the single bulb dangling over the laundry area didn’t extend to the corners of the concrete basement, and he’d been searching the finished parts of the house, looking through drawers and in closets for bank statements, bills and other documentation. “Is that unusual?”
“One padlock wouldn’t be. But six?”
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Isaac drove as fast as he could all the way to Libby. He wanted to believe Claire was there and had simply been sleeping too deeply to hear the phone.
But he already knew that couldn’t be the case. When he couldn’t rouse her or Jeremy, he’d contacted the manager and had him check. Both rooms were empty, and Jeremy’s car was gone.
Where could they be?
Isaac had no idea. But the images Les had painted of Jeremy flying into a panic and strangling Alana kept coming to mind. Jeremy had plenty of strength. If he got his hands on Claire, there’d be nothing she could do.
Surely he wouldn’t hurt her. He loved her, had always adored her.
But he probably hadn’t disliked Alana. And he wasn’t himself right now. Depending on what had happened in Don’s house, there was no telling what Jeremy had seen or done or suffered this week. If he was spinning out of control, he could strangle her like he had her mother, without even realizing he was doing it. Les had said Jeremy didn’t believe he’d killed Alana. He’d completely blocked it out.
Isaac wished he could use his cell phone. He would’ve had service once he reached Libby, but he didn’t have the phone itself anymore. It’d been destroyed in the fire, along with all his other belongings. He’d called Myles before he left Don’s house, while he still had a landline, and told him what was going on. Myles was on his way, and he was sending several deputies, leaving Jared Davis to meet the coroner, who was coming to collect Rusty’s body, and the paramedics, who were going to take Les Weaver to the hospital in Kalispell.
But that was twenty minutes ago. Isaac wanted an update, wanted to stay in touch. He knew he wouldn’t be nearly as effective at searching for Claire if he couldn’t coordinate with others making the same effort. All he could do was drive around, hoping to spot Jeremy’s car, even though he doubted Jeremy and Claire were still in town. It was dawn. Isaac had left Libby seven hours ago, and they could’ve left shortly after…?.
He went to the motel first. The manager had gone in, but he had to see with his own eyes that Claire was really gone. He also wanted to look for any hint as to where Jeremy might’ve taken her. But it was far from obvious. He found Claire’s overnight bag, the shirt and bra she’d removed when she dressed for bed and her shoes.
He also found a torn sheet, electrical cords that had been ripped from the lamps and proof of a struggle.
Claire wasn’t sure she wanted it to get light. She’d kicked Jeremy in the face and then the balls when he tried to grab her, which had dropped him to the ground and given her just enough time to steady herself and run into the forest. But he’d come after her. For the past hour, she’d heard him searching through the trees, sometimes very close, alternately calling her name and throwing a temper tantrum when she wouldn’t respond.
The darkness had worked in her favor. All she had to do was stay still and let him be the one to thrash around. As daylight approached, she had to risk moving—without any shoes. Considering that her feet were already so cut and bruised, she’d have no chance if it came to a footrace. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to limp very far…?.
“How could you do this to me?” Jeremy wailed.
The words bounced against the surrounding mountains, creating an echo. Do this to me…do this to me…do this to me. She hated the sound of it, hated his voice, hated his distress and what he’d done to her. But hating didn’t help. And neither would answering. She couldn’t reason with him. He wasn’t capable of it.
Ignoring the fatigue that overwhelmed her, she began to pick her way through the rocks and trees as quietly as possible, moving in the direction from which they’d come. That dirt road had to lead somewhere. She planned to follow it as much as possible.
He’d been pretty out of it since they’d left the motel, but he seemed to be moving in the same direction she was. “Claire! Your mother’s in the car. She wants you to come back.”
God, help me get out of here. She saw no way to make it. Any real exertion would require water, or she’d become dehydrated and unable to think clearly herself. As cold as it was at night, it could get very warm during the day, which meant she’d sweat, and that would compound the problem. But staying here and hoping help would come to her wasn’t an option. She couldn’t trust Jeremy, couldn’t even guess what he might do if he caught her. He’d been acting so bizarre; in the past hour he’d even started firing his gun. She didn’t know if he was trying to hit her, or some imagined zombie, or simply dispel his frustration, but it scared her…?.
Knowing it could take hours to get anywhere—she had no idea how many miles they’d driven or what, if anything, was in the area—she forced herself to pick up the pace. She didn’t want to spend another night in the forest, even without Jeremy.
She walked for what seemed like hours. After a while, she could no longer hear him. He’d fired off a shot fifteen minutes or so earlier, but that was it.
She heard other noises—scurrying, scuffling, rustling, a crack, an odd echo—and couldn’t tell if she should worry that he might jump out from behind one of the trees.
Where had he gone? What was he doing? Had he given up? Was he letting her go? Or was he still following her?
She knew she should strike out, deeper into the forest. Staying so close to the road risked letting him catch her, but she couldn’t abandon the only lifeline she had. Her feet hurt too badly. She was almost ready to crawl just to give them a break—
A twig snapped. Very close. And it sounded as if something large had broken it.
She froze as she tried to figure out if she had fresh cause for alarm. She listened but couldn’t hear anything except the caw of a bird. And when she turned to look behind her, she couldn’t see anything except pine tree after pine tree and the dappled sunshine that filtered through the branches.
Was it Jeremy? Was he close? If not, where had he gone? And why had he stopped screaming for her?
It didn’t matter. Once she was safe, she’d send someone back.
Keep moving, she told herself.
She took a step before looking up and ran smack into the barrel of a gun. There was a man holding it, and he didn’t seem pleased.
“What are you doing, wandering around my property? And what have you been firing at?”
He was tall, wiry and approaching fifty, but she’d been so sure it was Jeremy, Claire sagged to her knees.
“Are you all right?” Realizing she didn’t even have shoes, let alone a gun, he lowered his weapon.
“I need help,” she whispered, and he offered her his hand.