Purgatory Ridge

The sound of a powerful inboard motor woke him. He lay on his bed, listening as the thrum grew louder and entered the cove. He jumped from his bed, went to the window, and watched as Wesley Bridger cut the engine and guided a sleek motor launch up to the dock. LePere put on his shoes and headed down to the water.

Bridger tossed him a line. “Tie her up.”

“Where’d you get this?”

“Borrowed her. Just for tonight. They’ll never miss her, believe me.”

“What for?”

Bridger jumped from the boat. He held his ski mask in one hand and a heavy-looking metal flashlight in the other. As soon as his feet were squarely on the dock, he slipped the mask over his head. “Let’s go up and talk to our guests.”

“Why?”

“We’ll give ‘em the good news.” He put his arm around LePere’s shoulders in the way of comrades. “Everything’s set for the exchange. Don’t you think they’ll want to know? Also, I owe them an apology, Chief. I was pretty hard on them.”

It was early evening. LePere realized he’d slept much longer than he’d expected. The air felt good, cooler. Something in the wind had changed.

At the fish house, as LePere undid the lock, Bridger asked, “Chief, I just want to check. Are you sure about all this? I mean, taking the whole responsibility on your shoulders while I’m free as a bird with a two-million-dollar nest?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been as certain of anything, Wes.”

LePere opened the door and took a step inside. He didn’t even feel the blow to the back of his head. He simply dropped into darkness.

38

THE GIRLS LOOKED BATTERED, tired beyond weeping, and older by far than their years. And Rose, for all her courage and faith, looked ready to yield to despair.

“When you give them the money, they’ll give Mom and Stevie back, right?” Jenny pressed him.

Cork chewed on a ham-and-cheese sandwich that Rose had put together for him. He barely tasted the food, and he ate only because he knew he had to keep his own strength up. “Yes, Jen,” he said. “I believe they will.” He glanced at Deputy Marsha Dross, who leaned against the wall near the kitchen doorway. She was a slender woman of medium height, had short brown hair, and was as smart as any law enforcement officer Cork had ever known. He saw her eyes shift away because she knew the true uncertainty of the situation. He saw, too, how tired she was. Like all the law officers involved, she’d put in long hours with little sleep. She didn’t do it because it was her job, Cork knew. She did it because it was the right thing to do and because it might help. Cork was truly grateful.

“How will you give them the money?” Annie asked. She sat at the kitchen table with her father and Jenny. Rose stood at the kitchen sink, washing a few dishes. Wet silverware in the dish drainer caught the rays of the early evening sun and scattered flames of reflected light across the walls and ceiling.

“I don’t know, Annie. We’ll have to wait for the call this evening. At nine-thirty.”

“Can’t they, like, trace the phone call and catch him?” Jenny asked.

“They’ve tried. Whoever it is, he’s smart.”

“But he’ll give them back, right?”

“I told you, Jen. I believe he will.” Cork pulled himself back from the anger that her persistent question and his persistent lie drove him toward. “We have every reason to believe he’ll do just what he’s promised.”

“The FBI deals with these situations all the time,” Rose offered. “They have things well in hand, I’m sure.”

The girls looked to their father for confirmation. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and stood up. “I need to get back out to Grace Cove.”

“The coffee’s almost ready.” There was a subtle plea in Rose’s voice. Don’t leave, she seemed to say. Cork understood how heavy was the weight she carried, holding up the hopes of the girls while she suspected the true gravity of things, isolated in the house on Gooseberry Lane, besieged by reporters, with nothing but her faith to sustain her.

“I have to go, Rose,” he told her. “I’ll keep you posted.”

She gave him a silent nod.

Cork hugged and kissed his daughters.

“When we see you again, you’ll have Mom and Stevie, right?” Jenny asked.

“We’ll be a family again,” he promised.

Cork headed out of Aurora and around the southern end of Iron Lake. There had been a breeze earlier, a hot one. Now the air was still and sitting heavy on the North Country. Something was ready to break. Cork felt it like an ache in his bones.

He’d tried all afternoon to put everything together in a different way, hoping to see something he hadn’t seen before. With Hell Hanover out of the picture, and with Joan of Arc and Isaiah Broom in jail, the most obvious possibility lay in Brett Hamilton, the son of Joan of Arc of the Redwoods. As far as Cork knew, he was still at large. If what Meloux had intimated was true, if the kid really was Eco-Warrior, then he’d killed once already. What more did he have to lose in kidnapping?