Caught Off Guard Read online

  Toby leaned against a tree and sighed. “I don’t like it, but you make sense.”

  I pounced. “Here’s what I think. One of you stays on this side of the road. One of you goes across. Use the road to guide you out of here. But stay under the trees so you can’t be seen. Watch for Leo.”

  “Where will you go?” Precious asked.

  I looked into the forest in the direction we’d just come. “I think I need to draw them in a different direction. Maybe confuse them. I don’t know how many are on foot. I’m guessing two. I’m also guessing the helicopter has more, maybe even Strong himself. We’re outmanned and outgunned. We need help. If I go back toward the cabins, then maybe I can find some help.” I looked at Toby. “Do you have your cell phone?”

  He pulled it from his front pocket. The screen was cracked, likely from being tossed around the back seat during the accident.

  “No service.” He showed me the lack of cellular bars.

  I said, “Maybe a cabin will have a phone line.”

  “Strong will be searching all the cabins,” Precious said.

  I nodded. “Hopefully, I find one he’s already searched. I don’t like the idea of separating, but I think we need to do it.”

  We stood in silence for a few beats. Then Precious wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. “Please be careful.”

  “You too.”

  We separated and wiped away the tears gathering in our eyes.

  Toby offered me a fist bump. “Don’t eat the red berries.”

  I smiled. “First chance you get, go through everything McVay gave us. And if you can, get online and destroy Strong. That’s the only way we get out of this alive. Right now, his secret is still that, a secret. We need to expose him. We can’t count on Roman finding his envelope anytime soon. Until then, I’m guessing Strong will do whatever it takes to keep his secret hidden. Including making us disappear.”

  Toby nodded and swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively. “I got a few ideas on how to bring him down.”

  Precious held out her fist to him. “Rock, paper, scissors for who has to cross the road.”

  I offered Toby my stun gun, but he shook his head.

  “Okay,” I said. “Good luck.”

  “Good luck to you,” Precious said.

  “May the Force be with you,” Toby said.

  I gave them one final look then slipped back between the trees, cutting a diagonal toward what I hoped was McVay’s cabin and the ones surrounding it.

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure about my plan. Maybe we shouldn’t have separated. Maybe the helicopter had thermal imaging and could watch our red-outlined forms run through the woods.

  What I did know was that Leo was on his way toward us, that we needed Toby to get online and expose Strong, and that time was against us in both of those cases.

  So I was working with what I knew and guessing the rest, assuming the worst, of course. My goal was to give Leo and Toby time even if that meant I had to be a decoy, a sitting duck—the honeypot, if you will.

  I came upon the road to McVay’s sooner than expected and hung back in the tree line and ran perpendicular to it, putting the accident behind me.

  From memory, I knew a cabin was coming up. We’d passed two before reaching McVay’s drive. I could only hope to find people living in one of them or a phone line, at least. I didn’t dare risk going back to Precious’s SUV to look for my, or Precious’s, cell phone.

  Ahead, the trees were thinning, indicating the clearing around the first cabin. I slowed to a walk, pausing before leaving cover. I rested against a tree, pushing my hand into my cramping side. My head was throbbing. My nerves were shot, my hands were fisted, and no matter how hard I tried to take deep, steady breaths, my body quivered from fear combined with the adrenaline of surviving a collision. If I lived through everything, I was going to eat all my favorite foods and sleep for two days.

  The “cabin” before me was a trailer on a concrete slab, likely used for hunting and little more. No electrical or phone lines were evident, but maybe they were underground. I crouched low and looked for movement. Had the sky not been overcast and gray, I could’ve looked for shadows—just one more way the day was working against me.

  I picked up a rock and chucked it across the yard, pinging it off a corner of the trailer then waited for someone to come check it out.

  Nothing.

  I did it again.

  Nothing.

  I sucked in a deep breath and slowly stood straight, my muscles screaming in protest as they stretched. I counted to three then sprinted across the yard when I got to four because fear was making me stall. I kept my head low, tucked between my raised shoulders and made it to the back door without getting shot, tackled, or harmed bodily in any other way.

  I jiggled the handle and found the door locked. Dropping to one knee, I tugged off my backpack. From inside, I dug out my lock-picking kit. The lock was the standard, like the one on my bedroom door, which I’d practiced on. I had it open before I could count to ten.

  After stepping inside the dark trailer, I eased the door closed. The smell of closed-up musty house greeted me. I took out a penlight and cast it around. Inside was a small one-counter kitchen with a two-burner stove, a small round wooden table, and two chairs, and the living room was furnished with a sofa and love seat likely bought in the seventies.

  I stuck my nose against my shoulder for a breath of different, albeit not much better, air.

  Next, I searched the place for some way to communicate—a ham radio, walkie-talkies, or something. Anything. But I came up empty.

  I cleaned the blood off my temple and splashed water on my face then dried it with the underside of my shirt.

  Then I walked the perimeter of the trailer, looking out all the windows for signs of activity. When I thought the coast was clear, I exited the way I’d entered, leaving the door unlocked behind me. That trailer could be a place to hide if I needed it, and I didn’t want to risk the time it would take to pick the lock if I was running from someone.

  I dashed back into the woods and ran a zigzag in case anyone was following me.

  Minutes later, I came to the second clearing and paused at the edge of the trees, again looking for activity. I tossed three rocks that produced no inquisitors. That cabin offered promise. The place was a home, more like McVay’s. Larger than the trailer, it looked more like a getaway home than a hunting cabin. On a small concrete slab outside the back door was a covered grill. An awning offered the small space protection from the elements. Someone regularly took care of the place.

  Three solid wood chairs were stacked against the house, and flower boxes decorated the windows but sat empty. Hope plummeted with my realization that the cabin appeared to have been winterized.

  However, I wasn’t giving up. I could only hope the owners had a landline.

  I sprinted to the back door as I’d done at the trailer and knelt down to inspect the lock. The door had two. One was a dead bolt. This will take some time. I tried to look in the window of the back door, to search for a phone, but the curtains were all drawn. From my viewpoint, the curtains appeared to be closed on all the windows.

  The snap of a twig in the direction I’d just come from startled me, and I fell back on my bottom, my head swiveling in that direction. I couldn’t make anything out, but I wasn’t going to wait around to see who or what had made the sound. I grabbed my bag and ran into the woods opposite the sound.

  I had just exited the clearing and was reaching cover among the trees when I ran smack into Austin Strong.

  34

  Monday

  Strong grabbed me by the throat and shoved me against a tree, my backpack saving me from any bark digging into my back.

  Instinctively, I grabbed at his hands, fighting to pull them away, which only encouraged Strong to tighten his grip.

  I was able to take in small pockets of air, enough to keep me conscious and give me the ability to talk, albeit strained. But any mor
e pressure on his part meant no air on mine.

  “You’re quite the troublemaker, Samantha True. Lucky for such a stupid person.”

  I held his wrist while he held my throat. “I’m not stupid,” I whispered.

  He laughed maniacally. “Are you so sure about that?”

  Something from my pack jabbed me hard in the lower back, and my brain shifted to wondering what it was. My stun gun? No, that’s in my front pocket.

  In my front pocket.

  In a second, I had a plan. I stepped into Strong’s choke hold, moving my body closer and hoping he wouldn’t notice my other hand reaching into my pocket.

  I said, “I’m going to bring you down.”

  He snarled. “I’d like to see you try it.”

  I slid my hand into my pocket, pulled the stun gun out, and flipped it in my hand, my thumb searching for the switch. I didn’t care where the gun made contact as long as it took him out.

  His snarl became more prominent. “See what I mean about stupid?” His gaze flicked over my shoulder.

  While I was bringing up the stun gun, hoping to make contact with Strong’s body, the awareness that we weren’t alone was my last thought as blinding pain crashed through the back of my head. Then darkness claimed me.

  I came to in McVay’s cabin. Flat on my back, I looked around slowly because my head was throbbing, and quick movements made me nauseous. One hand was flex-cuffed to the leg of the stove, a steel appliance more than four times my body weight.

  I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing, holding back panic by using slow, steady yoga breathing.

  Heavy footsteps sounded across the floor, the vibrations in the floor rumbling through my inert body as they approached me.

  Someone with a deep voice said, “She’s still out, boss.”

  Strong asked, “How hard did you hit her?” He chuckled as his voice came closer.

  I felt him stand over me. I recalled being a kid, scared in my bed, imagining someone or something evil standing over me, ready to do me harm. Just thinking about that helplessness would suck the breath from me.

  But I was actually having that experience in real life, and the fear was far worse than I’d imagined.

  Strong kicked my foot. “Wake up, stupid.”

  Do I feign coming to? Or do I give up the ruse?

  I figured pretense was pointless. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times because my vision was still blurry. “Call me stupid again, and you’ll regret it.”

  He lifted his lip in disgust. “Gonna haunt me from the grave? Because your time for vengeance is over, sweetheart.”

  Strong, dressed in jeans and a sweater, looked every bit the average man with money. Behind him stood one of his goons, whose muscles bulged as he crossed his arms. He was dark and lethal looking, the stereotype of a movie bad guy, only uglier with a pockmarked face, crooked nose, and receding hairline.

  I curled up on my side, hoping it hid my fear. “I’m not dead yet.”

  Strong held up the photos of the island, the kitchen, and the numbers. Then I realized my backpack was gone.

  He waved the pictures. “Let’s see how smart you are. Did Samantha the private investigator put these clues together, or could she not get them to add up? Lucky for you, Keith didn’t write the clues out. You’d have been stumped for sure.”

  “I know how to read,” I said.

  He smiled an ugly grin, reminiscent of those who used to tease me in elementary school. “But you couldn’t always read, could you.”

  “What’s that have to do with this moment right now? Nothing. So why bring it up? Because you’re an asshole. But we already knew that about you.” I’d dealt with guys with personalities like Strong’s all my life. I knew where his buttons were. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Sorry for messing everything up? Sorry because you’re stupid? Why are you sorry?” He stuck his hands on his hips and leaned over me, glaring down.

  “I’m sorry no one likes you. Not when you were a kid, and not now when you’re a billionaire. I’m sorry that no matter what you’ve done, you have no real friends.”

  Strong’s lips pressed into a thin line before he kicked me in the side.

  I grunted while balling up into the fetal position, one arm extended toward the stove. Tears burned my eyes as bolts of pain shot across my ribs and stomach. I closed my eyes, forcing the tears back. They would only satisfy a lunatic like Strong.

  “I have something better than friends. I have power. You think just because you have a group of freeloaders who hang out on your couch, eating takeout Italian food, you have friends?” He shook his head. “They’ll turn on you like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  His reference to Italian food took me back to the night AJ was released. Strong had witnessed it. I wondered how. I’d discovered the bugs that morning and had cleaned out my house and car and removed the app from my phone. “How did you get that app on my phone?”

  His smile was smug. He enjoyed getting one over on anyone. “You gave me your phone, remember? At the coffee shop.”

  Of course. Score one point for Strong.

  “How did you get the videos of my family?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I own the cable company. My installer upgraded your town and slipped in a few extra wires and cameras. You’d be amazed at what I see out there.” He swung his arm wide to indicate the world outside the cabin.

  From his back pocket, Strong took out several palm-sized square objects, the photos McVay had put in his letter. Strong slapped me in the face with them. “Look at these. Did you figure out what they meant?”

  I shook my head. He already thought I wasn’t clever enough to do my job, and I didn’t want to convince him otherwise.

  “I didn’t think so,” he said. “Let me tell you.” He slapped one against my forehead. “This is a kitchen sign, and this one a picture of an island. Put those two together, dumb-dumb, and you have ‘kitchen island.’”

  I kept my eyes closed and said nothing.

  Strong grabbed me by the hair. “Look at me.”

  I opened my eyes. Strong’s face was close. Spittle had gathered in the corners of his mouth, and his pupils were dilated. I’d seen the look before. Nobody could reason with him.

  He grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me up, my handcuffed arm pulled back at an awkward angle.

  “Sit up and watch my brilliance.” He let go, and I scooted backward on my butt, adjusting to make myself as comfortable as possible, all things considered.

  He tossed the photos onto the island and continued, “I have everything I want. I have enough money to buy a country, a nation of politicians, or whatever my heart wants. And I can destroy you and your friends, and no one will care.”

  He pointed at the island. “Clue number one.” He then pointed at his goon. “Tear this island apart. We’re looking for a secret compartment.”

  I gave a silent thanks that Precious had the thumb drive, that I hadn’t held on to it.

  Goon Guy took a hatchet to the walls of the island, tearing away the outside, exposing nothing but the pots and pans inside. Once that was done, he stood back and waited for more instructions.

  Strong surveyed the mess, hands on his hips, eyes squinted in fury.

  I couldn’t refrain. “What now, smart guy?”

  He pointed a finger at me. “Shut up, or I’ll kill you now.”

  “And have me miss out on your moment of glory? I doubt it.” I met his glare with one of my own.

  My courage was bolstered by the fact that Strong hadn’t mentioned Toby or Precious. Not that he was hunting them. Not that he had caught them. Nothing.

  He stalked toward me, hand raised to strike, but the whirling of helicopter blades made him pause. He glanced at his watch and then at Goon Guy.

  “Tell him I need ten more minutes. Finish getting the cabin ready.”

  Goon Guy paused. “What about the clues?”

  I almost smiled, not having expected Goon Guy to care about u
nsolved mysteries.

  Strong pointed at Goon Guy. “Did you hear me? Do I pay you to stand around?”

  Goon Guy shook his head. “No, boss.” He averted his gaze then headed for the back door.

  Strong picked up the hatchet, and bile rose up my throat. I could fight back in many situations, but getting hacked up was not one of them. I felt for the secret pocket pinned to my jeans and thanked the heavens I’d tucked the small pocketknife there. It wouldn’t be helpful against the hatchet, but if Strong got close enough, I might be able to jab it somewhere awful.

  The thought made me cringe.

  Strong kicked a pan, sending it across the room. He kicked another one, that time harder, and it bounced off the wall and headed back toward us.

  Strong faced me and smiled. The fake pot was between us. He stepped back then took a running kick at the pot, aiming it directly at me. I put an arm up to block it from hitting me in the head.

  Bam! The heavy pot slammed into my arm, and pain shot up to my shoulder and down to my hand, leaving the latter all tingly and numb. The pot bounced back, the lid still intact. I glanced at it then Strong. He was staring at the pot. He picked it up by the round lid handle, and I knew he knew. I rested my injured arm against my waist, placing my hand near my secret pocket. Attempting to slowly ease the pocketknife out would be difficult with the loss of feeling in my hand.

  Strong tossed back his head and laughed, a wicked, scary sound that sent chills through my body. No wonder McVay had gone to such extremes.

  “You killed McVay because he was going to out you,” I said. “He was going to tell the world that you were the one who had invented the spyware and put all those videos online, and then you capitalized on it by creating protection software.”

  Strong grabbed the photos of the house numbers from the island and plugged them into the safe. He pulled off the cover and looked inside. Then he pulled out the CD and pointed it at me.

  “You see how stupid Keith was? He put his confession on a CD. Did you know these can rot? Keith was an imbecile when it came to tech.”

  “But he was a good quarterback.”