Refuge Cove (New Americana 2)

With the backpack strapped to her shoulders, she climbed on the bike and set off, headed south on the Tongass Highway, past the businesses that were strung along the road.

* * *

John was at Refuge Cove, servicing the Beaver after yesterday’s mail flight, when his cell phone rang. Hoping it might be Emma, he grabbed for it so fast that he almost dropped it in the water.

“Emma?”

The laugh on the other end chilled his blood. “So how did you like my little present, brother?”

“Can’t say I was impressed. That bear wasn’t half-grown and no meaner than a dog. It wouldn’t have taken much of a man to shoot it.”

“That little bearskin will be just right for makin’ me a new winter hat. But I’ll bet I scared you. I’ll bet for the first few seconds you thought it was her, hangin’ there. Lordy, I wish I could’ve seen your face.”

“You’re sick, Boone. I’d say you need help, but something tells me you’re long past that.”

“Where is she?” Boone’s voice had turned hard and mean. “I know she’s not with you because of how you answered the phone. But I’ll bet you know where she is.”

“She’s gone. She won’t be at the cabin anymore. So you can quit coming around.”

“Tell me where she is, and you’ll never see my face again.”

“Give it up, Boone. She’s gone for good. And if you show up looking for her, I’ll be seeing your ugly face behind bars.”

Boone laughed again. “Hell, I didn’t do anything to that little bitch except give her a thrill. And even if I’d committed a crime, you think I’m dumb enough to get caught? I’ve got eyes all over the place—friends, family, you name it. Any one of them spots her, and she’s mine for keeps. Maybe I’ll give her a real wedding this time, just to keep things nice and legal.”

The call ended with a laugh and a click, leaving John glaring down at the phone in mute fury. Was it true? Did Boone have other people watching for Emma—people who could snatch her off the sidewalk before she even had time to react?

Damn it, why had he assumed Boone would be acting alone in this? If what the bastard had said was true, Emma wouldn’t be safe anywhere in town, maybe not even in the hotel.

He needed to warn her. Maybe now she’d listen. Maybe now she’d agree to leave.

He brought up her cell number, called it, and held his breath as it rang. Pick up, damn it, Emma. Pick up. . . .

A chilling fear stole over him as the phone rang again, then again and again.

* * *

By the time she’d pedaled a mile along the shoulder of the road, Emma’s legs were getting tired. A cool wind had sprung up, the traffic had begun to thin out, and she was getting thirsty. The map she’d picked up at the hotel showed the highway going south, rounding a point, and changing to unpaved road that ended thirteen miles out of town. But she was not going to make it anywhere near that distance. It was time to turn around and go back the way she’d come.

A few minutes ago, she’d felt a slight vibration against her back. After the third or fourth time, she’d realized it was her phone, buried in her backpack beneath all the clothes she’d bought at the thrift store.

It was probably John, calling to check on her and lecture her about the need to leave town. Since she could hardly empty the pack on the roadside to get to the phone, there was nothing to do. She would have to call him back from the hotel.

After turning around, she pedaled back toward town. The distance seemed much longer now that she was getting tired. A hundred yards ahead, on the far side of the road, was a business that sold liquid propane, exchanging full tanks for empty ones. Emma had paid it scant attention when she’d passed it going the other way. Now she braked and skidded to a stop, her heart pounding in her throat.

Pulled up next to the door of the business was a camouflage-painted pickup truck. Even without the shell on the back, there could be no mistaking that sloppy spray job. It was Boone’s.

Two people, a man and a woman, stood outside the truck. From a distance, Emma could see that the woman was of medium height, stocky build, with gray hair knotted in a bun. The man was tall, even taller than Boone, with long, unkempt blond hair and a long, shaggy beard. Both of them were clad in baggy jeans and plaid lumberjack-style shirts. They had to be Boone’s mother and his brother, Ezra, in town from the homestead. So far, she could see no sign of Boone. Maybe he wasn’t with them. But he could have gone inside the building.

Emma waited, keeping her distance and wondering what to do next. There was no way she could get back to town without passing them. The sides of the highway were overgrown with thorny scrub. Leaving the road with the bike and cutting around through the trees would be next to impossible.

She could pedal past them, look the other way, and hope she wouldn’t be recognized. The pair had never met her. But Boone had probably shown them a photograph of his bride-to-be. She couldn’t take that chance, especially if they were looking for her—and especially if Boone happened to be with them, inside the building or even in the truck.

She could always wait for them to finish their business and leave. But if they were headed south, out of town, they would be driving right toward her. There had to be another way.

Suddenly Emma saw her chance. The mother and son were headed into the building, and now that they’d moved, she could see that the cab was empty. It was now or never.

Pumping with all her strength, she sped forward. She would pass the place on the opposite side, but the road was narrow. If seen, she could easily be recognized. How long would it take her to get a safe distance past the truck? Surely no more than seconds, but it was as if everything had fallen into slow motion, like a chase in a dream. Faster . . . she urged herself. Faster . . .