Dark Harbor (Stone Barrington 12)

“All right. Is this guy likely to have an alarm system?”

“Yes,” Stone said. “Come on.” He began walking through the trees toward the workshop, and Rawls followed.

HOLLY CAME TO SLOWLY. Her head hurt on the right side. She tried to put a hand to it, but found herself spread-eagled on a bed, her hands and feet tied. Her mouth was taped shut, and so were her eyes. There was something in each ear, too, shutting out sound.

All she could do was smell, and she concentrated on that. Mildew. Maybe saltwater. She tried rolling back and forth on the bed as far as she could, to see if she could feel the weight of her firearm. She thought it was still there. The bed made squeaking noises. Bare springs under a thin mattress. The mildew smell was coming from the mattress. Old. Disused. She thought she picked up the smell of rotting wood, too.

She tried twisting her hands and feet to shake loose at least one limb. She felt the head of an iron bedstead, rusted. She was tied to that. God, her head hurt.

STONE AND RAWLS worked their way around the workshop to the side away from the house. A breeze brought the scent of the sea, apparently not far away, through the trees. Stone could see some small source of light inside the workshop, and he crept closer for a look through a window.

Suddenly, they were bathed in bright light. “Shit, motion detectors,” Stone said. “That’ll bring him running. Let’s get out of here.”

They ran in the direction opposite the one they had come, hiding behind some bushes. They flushed a deer, which ran toward the house as the porch light of the house came on and Hal Rhinehart came out the door, a shotgun in his hand. He raised it to his shoulder for a shot at the animal, but it was gone. “It was just a deer,” he shouted to his wife.

He came toward the workshop, the shotgun at the ready, and circumnavigated it, then went back into the house and turned off the porch light.

“That was a near thing,” Rawls said.

“Yes, it was. I’m glad he didn’t have a dog with him.”

“You think the house has those lights, too?”

“Probably. I expect he has two alarm systems, one for the workshop and one for the house. You noticed that only the porch light went on when he came out?”

“Yeah, he probably hadn’t armed the system.”

“He may have by now.”

“You’ve been inside the workshop?”

“Yes, a couple of times.”

“What’s in there?”

“A big workroom with a lot of power tools, an office, a storeroom, or what appeared to be one. Probably a paint shop, too.”

“Let’s see if there are any other outbuildings,” Rawls said.

They walked through the woods, keeping the house on their left. “All I see is what appears to be a shed for tools or wood,” Stone said.

“Well, Young and his crowd would have searched the premises by now, wouldn’t they?”

“I don’t know where the hell they are,” Stone said.

He didn’t know where the hell Holly was, either.

Chapter 42

HOLLY WOKE UP with a start. It had been chilly, but it was warming up. Must be daylight. The tape over her eyes allowed no light to enter. She needed to pee really badly, and she struggled again with her bonds, trying to free herself. If she could just get one hand free…

Then she heard a noise, a door closing. Footsteps, lightly, on stairs, then somebody was in the room with her. She tried to speak but could only make noises through her nose. She listened carefully.

Someone approached the bed where she lay. There was a metallic clank next to the bed, then whoever he was grabbed her sweatpants by the thighs and pulled them down. She struggled, but he pulled down the cotton underwear she was wearing, too, then put an arm under her waist, lifted her off the bed and shoved something made of cold metal under her ass. A bedpan. She peed, long and gratefully.

When she had finished, he removed the bedpan, pulled her panties and sweatpants up. Then she heard the sound of paper or cellophane being crinkled. Suddenly, the tape was ripped off her mouth.

“What the hell…” she was saying, but something was crammed into her mouth, filling it. Candy bar. She chewed madly, trying to swallow so she could talk, but the second she got it down, he was pouring water into her mouth. She swallowed, washing down the candy bar, but before she could speak, she heard a ripping noise, and her mouth was taped again. Duct tape, she reckoned. He seemed to inspect her bonds, one at a time, to be sure they hadn’t loosened.