Page 92 of Husband Missing

“Where are you?”

“I’m…” she glanced at the GPS, “near Lewisburg. On my way to the state game lands in Clinton County.”

“What?” Her sister was not pleased. “Why in God’s name are you driving around in my rental car, with my laptop, in Lewisburg? And why are you going to Clinton County?”

She’d just circled Mace Phelan’s sprawling Lewisburg mansion a dozen times, her only takeaway that it was gaudy and not remote enough to effectively dispose of a body. It was, however, only a half hour from Williamsport and roughly an hour from Lock Haven. Erica could easily have been invited to one of Mace’s infamous parties. Now Josie was heading to his hunting lodge.

None of those things seemed like a sane answer to the question but she was talking to Trinity, so that’s exactly what Josie told her.

There was a long silence, followed by a sigh. “You made that list, didn’t you?”

Josie had shared all her crazy theories right before Trinity passed out in bed next to Trout.

“Forget it. I already know the answer and clearly the sleep deprivation has fried your brain because you didn’t wake me up and take me with you.”

“Trin, I don’t want you in danger. This could?—”

“Josie, we both know you can’t enter any of those properties without causing a series of events that could, at best, mess up your career, and at worst, give the men who took Noah a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

“At best, find him, Trin.”

Because Noah had been gone for eighty-one hours, and Josie was approaching the point of no return. What she didn’t say out loud, what she hadn’t even admitted to herself, was that if she found a property that seemed remote enough for Mace and his associates to do their dirty work, no rule, no threat to her career,not even the possibility of justice not being served, was going to stop her from searching for her husband.

“You’re right,” Trinity conceded. “But you still should have brought me. There’s no reason I can’t go onto these properties and start knocking on doors. I’m just a little old civilian journalist.”

Sleep deprivation really had gotten Josie’s wires crossed. “I’m turning around now to come get you.”

SIXTY-FIVE

A single door connected the basement to the garage. Erica closed it behind her as quietly as possible. The air was cooler, not so thick, and she sucked it into her lungs greedily. An SUV and an old pickup truck greeted her. From where she stood, the voices of the men were garbled but she kept attuned to their low murmur. As long as she could hear that, she knew they were still in the kitchen.

All three of the bays were closed. There were two other doors just like the one she’d come through. In front of the vehicles, at the top of a short flight of stairs, was the first door. It led to the kitchen, where Mace and his meathead minions were presently discussing their perverted, murdery plans. The other was along the opposite wall from where she stood. It had to lead outside. Her feet carried her toward it. As she passed each vehicle, she peered through the windows. Was it too much to ask for one of them to have left the keys behind? After all, they were dumbasses.

Footsteps rumbled from the direction of the kitchen, receding. Erica’s heart thrashed wildly against her rib cage. How long did she have before they made it to the death room and realized she wasn’t there?

No keys in the vehicles. That would have been too easy.

She couldn’t hear them at all now and she knew they were probably entering the basement. An idea formed in her mind a split second before their voices drew closer. She’d go in the direction they least expected. Bonus if she found something she could use to get the hell out of here. First, she threw open the door that led outside. Then she turned back, racing up the steps and pushing her way into the kitchen. Just as the door closed behind her, shouts erupted from the garage.

“Where the hell did she go?”

“Shit. She got out.”

Every part of Erica’s body shook, adrenaline shooting through her veins like fire and ice at the same time. All she had were seconds, heartbeats to find a way out and the percussion section in her skull was reaching an agonizing crescendo. She nearly collapsed when she saw the phone one of them had left on the kitchen table.

Dumbassery was on her side today. It might just save her.

Snatching it up, she chanced a look out the windows. Dawn was breaking. The men poured from the garage and ran across the driveway. The meathead minions disappeared into the woods alongside the house. Mace jogged toward the rear. By the time she found the back door, she was hyperventilating.

She knew she should stop to think about her next move, to strategize, but fear overruled logic. Get out. All she had to do was get out. The locks on the door turned easily. As she gripped the knob, a strange sensation descended on her, like the heat of someone standing directly behind her, brushing lightly against her back. Terror strangled the scream rocketing up her throat. All that came out was a weird little gurgle. When she whipped around, she was alone.

Get out. Just get out.

She pulled the door open and froze, quickly closing it again. A second later, she cracked it, peering through a tiny sliver. Mace stalked across the backyard and stopped at a small shed. He disappeared inside. Ten seconds later he emerged, face lashed with fury, and went back the way he’d come. She waited until he was out of sight and then took several deep breaths before stepping outside. Her mind begged her to cross the yard slowly in case Mace returned, but her body wouldn’t listen. Twigs and leaves crunched beneath her feet. The noise seemed almost as loud as the gunshot from earlier even though she knew that wasn’t possible.

The yard wasn’t so much a yard as a huge clearing hemmed in by even more trees. There was a wooden apparatus, like an arch, with hooks and other weird stuff dangling from it that she knew had something to do with hunting. Several crudely built plywood tables dotted the area, each one facing a different target. Big blocks with bullseyes painted on them. Some were riddled with bullet holes while others were impaled with long, thin shafts adorned with brightly colored fletching. Erica did a double take when she saw a rabbit sitting on top of the archery target. No, not a real one. It was fake, made of some kind of foam. There were two more on the ground near the target. Of course these sickos would get off practicing shooting arrows into defenseless little rabbits.

Someone had been getting ready to use the archery target recently because scattered across the surface of one of the tables was a mess of arrows and other materials as well as a bow. It looked just like the kind Jennifer Lawrence used when she played that badass girl boss character in those movies about food and killing games. Erica made a beeline for that table. Just before she reached it, the foot still wearing a sneaker caught on something—a rock, maybe—and she crashed into the table. Thematerials went flying every which way, some landing in dirt and others landing in grass.

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