She continued driving for another half mile, at which point the road forked. She skidded to a stop and swiveled her head in both directions. To the left was a narrow roadway named Summit Ridge. To the right was Auburn Hills Pass. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Which way? The wrong road could take her in circles or send her deeper into the middle of nowhere. As the seconds passed, she realized that putting distance between herself and the cabin — and Hung Jin — was most important. Her instinct told her to go right. She turned the wheel and accelerated.
Ten minutes later, after nearly sliding into the embankment several times because of the icy conditions, Lauren finally found signs of civilization: a two-lane road labeled Highway 88. She continued on for a couple of miles before seeing a large grouping of a dozen motorcycles parked outside an aged white building on the corner of Centerville Lane.
She parked the Barracuda and walked into the Valley Bar. Loud music was blaring from a jukebox in the corner, where a gathering of locals was laughing and hooting. The bartender looked up and caught sight of Lauren, then put down her sink rag and moved out from behind the counter.
“You okay?” she asked, appraising the bruises and cuts on Lauren’s face.
“I’m fine. I had… an accident. I just need to make a call.”
“Come on over here.” The woman led Lauren to the bar and showed her the telephone. “Can I get you something?”
“No, I don’t have much time. I’ve got to get going.”
“I can wrap it to go.”
“I lost my wallet in the accident. I don’t have any money.”
“Not a problem. I’ll put something together. Meantime, go ahead and make your call.”
“One thing.” Lauren hesitated a second, then asked, “Where am I?”
“I know, there aren’t any signs around here. You’re in Gardnerville. Blink twice and you’ve missed us.”
“No, I mean what state?”
The woman eyed her cautiously. “Nevada.”
Lauren thanked her and lifted the telephone. When the woman stepped away, Lauren called Nick Bradley collect. She told him her location and gave him a brief rundown of what had happened to her. Not until she mentioned the name Hung Jin did he interrupt her story.
“Lauren, I want you to call the sheriff and wait there till they get to you. I’ll make some calls myself—”
“No, Nick, no sheriff.” A burst of raucous laughing in the background made it difficult for her to hear. She plugged her other ear and tried to make out what he was saying.
“Lauren, this is not something to fool around with.”
“We’ll call Deputy Vork from the airplane. That way he won’t be able to detain me to take a statement.”
“Detain you — for what?”
“That’s assuming he wouldn’t arrest me first and ask questions later.”
“Arrest you? Lauren—”
“Right now, I need to get to Michael, and nothing is going to stop me from doing that.”
She promised to give him a full accounting of what had happened to her, then asked him to book another flight for them to Virginia. As she hung up the phone, she turned to see the bartender standing beside her with a can of Coke and a cellophane-wrapped sandwich.
“Hope you like turkey.”
“Oh, I can’t—”
“Sure you can. You look like you could use some help. Anything else I can get you?”
Lauren took the food and shook her head. “You’ve been great, thanks so much.”
She got back in the car and headed down Service Route 88, which, according to the bartender, would lead her to U.S. 50 and take her all the way to Placerville. She reached for the radio, turned it up loud, then sighed deeply.
Michael, what have you gotten me into?
28
Hung Jin brought the Navigator to a stop ten feet from the cabin. His heart was banging so hard that he felt as if it would rise up through his throat.
But as he slammed his car door shut and approached the cabin, he realized that something was wrong. Blood spatter in the snow, stretching a few feet across the threshold…
He stepped closer and saw Cody’s body. The dumbstruck look on his face, the bare feet. The broken chair.
The empty cabin.
His howl rattled the woods. Though muffled slightly by the snow-covered mountains, the shrill noise numbed his ears.
He stepped into the cabin, howled again, then threw himself down and pounded his fists into the floor until pain shot up to his elbows. He was on all fours, his knees beside his fallen colleague’s bare feet.
He grabbed a broken chair slat off the floor and began beating Cody’s torso, the dead thumping sound drowned out by his fury.
“No!” he screamed. “No, no, no!”
It was a plaintive wail of great pain. Deep emotional pain. Not because his colleague was dead, but because he had been looking forward to the challenge, to the intense satisfaction Lauren Chambers’s death was going to bring him.
His hunger raged; he felt cheated.
Again.
He jumped to his feet, grabbed the door, and tore it off its hinges. Then he strode to his car and set off in search of his prey.
29
Lauren brought the Barracuda to a stop in the driveway leading to the carport behind her house, where a late-eighties, brown Ford Tempo was parked. She strained to see the car’s interior, but no one was inside. At least, no one she could see. Her hand immediately closed around Cody’s Smith & Wesson.
She thought of driving to the sheriff’s department and telling them a strange car was parked in her driveway. But dressed in torn pajamas and looking as if she’d just spent a couple of days being beaten would invite questions, questions she could not answer just yet. Particularly with Cody’s blood spattered all over her clothing.
Her other option, going to the nearest phone booth and calling Nick Bradley, made the most sense. Yet she found herself moving across the carport, weapon steadied in front of her, ready to fire… prepared to take down the man who had caused her so much pain. Truth was, if it was Hung Jin, she did not know what impulse would drive her at the moment their eyes met.
She crunched along the gravel, making more noise than she would have liked, her movements clumsy because of the oversize shoes. Just then, she heard Tucker barking — and footsteps coming from the far side of her house. Whoever it was did not seem to be in too much of a hurry. In the gravel, the steps sounded slow, deliberate. She held the gun out, lined up the sights — and saw Nick Bradley turn the corner.
Bradley’s eyes first found the gun, then Lauren’s pained expression. He moved toward her, arms outstretched. “Lauren!”
She met him halfway, near the back door. “Oh, Nick…” Fighting back tears, she crumpled into his arms.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. But I thought it’d be better if I came early, before you got here, just to make sure no one paid you a visit.” Bradley held her tight for a moment, then gently moved her back to scrutinize the bruises that covered her face. “Christ, it looks like you were worked over.”
“And over and over.”
“Hung Jin.”
Lauren nodded, then dislodged herself from Bradley’s grip and moved into the house. She sat down heavily at the kitchen table. He took the seat beside her and again examined her face. “I really think we should have you looked at. You could have some broken—”
“I’m fine.” She stood up and moved over to the refrigerator.