Tymber Dalton (46 page)

When she jumped, the cable sprang up out of the muck. She heard George’s angry roar as his foot tangled in it and he went sprawling down the steep embankment behind her.

Sami snagged the closest sapling, screaming when it gave way in the loose, wet clay, and she lost her grip. She grabbed another. It held but she ripped three nails down to the quick.

George tumbled after her and snaked out his hand, clutching her ankle.

Sami almost lost her grip on the sapling as she thrashed her legs against George. The bark ripped at her palms. With her free foot, she tried to gain enough leverage in the crumbling ground to break free from his grasp and climb.

George screamed, enraged. “
Gonna gitcha’!
”

Sami felt the sapling’s roots start to give way in the saturated clay from their combined weight. She looked down, trying to pull her foot loose. George tried to latch on to her other leg with his free hand.

Suddenly, he went still. She looked again.

Steve.

He met her gaze. “Sami,” he gasped, pleading. “Kick him!”

Her heart tightened. Despite everything, she still loved her husband. “Steve, I can’t do that to you!”

“You have to. I’m sorry, honey. About everything.”

“I forgive you. It’s not your fault.” She sobbed. “I love you.”

“It’s okay. I love you, too, babe. Fight him, or he’ll kill you!”

As quick as he’d returned, Steve disappeared and George grinned. “That’s right. Quit fightin’, bitch.”

Sami screamed, her rage and grief exploding as her heel connected with his forehead.

Runoff from the ridge had filled her shoes with wet, slippery clay. Between the force of her kick and the muck, her shoe slid off and George went tumbling down the steep slope into the lake.

He did not resurface.

Sami didn’t know about George, but Steve couldn’t swim.

The sapling dangerously shifted. She wasn’t out of danger yet. Despite the pain in her bleeding hands, Sami clawed her way up the slope, grabbed the cable at the top, and pulled herself to safety.

The rain pounded down relentlessly. Once she knew she’d crawled far enough from the edge to not slip over again, she collapsed.

* * * *

Matt pushed the EMTs away. “If you want to treat me, fine, but I’m not going to the hospital until we find Sam!”

Tom Jenkins tried to reason with him. “You aren’t safe here.”

“I’m not safe with a SWAT team and a dozen fucking armed deputies?”

The park entrances had been sealed. The five campers and four resident volunteer families evacuated into the cramped ranger station for safety, under armed guard. There was a lot of fence line Steve could duck through, but at least those people were safe until daylight broke and the storm passed and they could be evacuated. The park swarmed with deputies, highway patrol, forestry, and wildlife agents called in from the nearby Silver Lake and Ocala parks. A tracking team set up, but with the storm, there was some doubt as to how effective the dogs would be.

Once they’d searched the property and determined Sami and Steve were not there, Tom sent Bob out to the barn for a bucket of feed and two lead ropes. Scott was still sick from the discovery of Julie’s body and needed a distraction.

“Drive Bob to the main gate,” Tom told Scott. “Try to get a lead rope on each horse. He’ll ride in the back of the truck while you drive. Hopefully they’ll follow the feed. Get them back here and lock them in their barn.”

They set off. At least one problem out of his hair. He didn’t want the horses breaking free, and they’d be safer in their own barn.

“At least take me to Pog,” Matt pleaded. “Let me get him.”

Tom nodded. “I can’t force you to go the hospital, but I wish you’d reconsider.” They hadn’t brought Julie’s body downstairs yet, and Tom didn’t want Matt around when they did. Matt already gave them a preliminary statement. There was no reason for him to be there.

A deputy helped Tom load Matt into his truck. He carefully made his way up the sloppy main road to headquarters.

Matt tried not to cry. The more time went by without any sign of Sam, the more likely it was she’d died.

They’d better hope they find Steve before I do.

Tom left Matt in the truck and went in for the dog. He almost had Pog to the truck when the dog lunged, barking wildly, yanking Tom off-balance and face-first into the muck. Pog pulled free and, leash dragging, took off through the campground into the woods.

Matt could barely walk, but he damn sure wasn’t leaving Pog out there. He grabbed a flashlight from the truck’s dash and stumbled into the rainy gloom.

“Pog!”

“Matt, no!” Tom wiped mud from his face. He grabbed his radio and gun.

“This is Jenkins. I need backup. We are two men on foot, ranger and civilian. We’re crossing Campground A and heading southeast toward Suicide Trailhead.”

* * * *

Scott and Bob were securing the horses in the barn when their radios went off. A deputy helping them heard the broadcast. “What’s that?”

“Follow us.” Scott and Bob jumped into the truck and fishtailed down the muddy driveway, two deputies following. They found Tom’s truck parked outside headquarters.

Bob grabbed his radio. “Boss, where you at?” Bob tried to keep his footing as he slogged through the muck without falling on his ass and dropping his radio or shotgun.

“We’re on the far side of A, on the large trail that leads to the ridge south of Suicide. The dog broke loose. Matt Barry followed him. Repeat, we have a civilian out here with a dog, watch your fire.”

The deputies called for backup and followed the rangers, all of them now caked to the knees with gooey orange clay and cursing the weather. Nearly dark, in a tropical storm, with a homicidal maniac out there, somewhere, on the loose.

“This is fucking nuts,” Bob muttered.

* * * *

Tom Jenkins yelled, but Matt wasn’t leaving without Pog. The dog stayed just out of reach, bouncing back and forth. Finally, Matt didn’t think he could go any further.

“Pog, please, come!”

The dog returned to him and tugged at his shirt. Matt grabbed his leash. Pog pulled as Matt struggled to make it to the ridge.

“Tom, this way!” Matt yelled.

Tom finally caught up, and they heard the others behind them. “Are you out of your friggin’ mind? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Pog pulled loose again and barked at the ranger before bounding up the slope.

The ranger watched him. Pog returned, bouncing, back and forth, barking, repeating it several times, growing increasingly frantic.

Matt sank to his knees, unable to continue. “Get him, please.”

“Is that dog trained?”

“He’s Sam’s baby. Maybe he’s trying to lead us to her.”

Tom shouted to the others, who had almost reached them, and ordered Bob to stay with Matt.

They struggled to follow the dog, who now stood at the top of the ridge. He barked furiously before disappearing over the top.

* * * *

With her initial adrenaline rush over, the crash hit and immobilized Sami, sending her into shock.

Matt and Julie—dead. Her husband, also dead. Worse, their killer.

A chill set in, and she didn’t care. She shivered as the rain pounded her, mixing with her tears. She faded in and out of consciousness. As dusk descended, she managed to roll onto her back and waited for whatever came next.

Whatever that was, she hoped she’d be with Matt.

She heard barking in the distance and tried to yell but couldn’t. She felt so cold! She couldn’t move.

Suddenly the noise drew closer and Pog burst through a palmetto stand onto the ridge and ran back and forth, barking furiously. She thought she heard voices and tried to call out.

Pog lay next to her, barking, shoving her with his nose, licking her face. As flashlight beams played across the top of the ridge, she gave in to the darkness.

* * * *

Bob helped Matt to his feet when they heard a shout from on top of the ridge. Bob’s radio crackled to life.

“We found her! Tell him Mrs. Corey’s alive.”

Matt sank to his knees in the mud and sobbed with relief.

They persuaded Matt to return to headquarters. He was shivering and wet and borderline hypothermic. They had to use an ATV to carry Sami on a litter to the ambulance. When the ATV’s headlight broke through the darkness, Matt pulled away from the EMT trying to take his vital signs and stumbled across the road to meet it.

Sami was unconscious and caked with orange clay mud, but alive. Tom followed on foot, Pog now peacefully walking on his leash.

“You go to the hospital with her,” Tom said. “I’ll take care of the dog and make sure the horses are okay and that the house is locked up once the investigators are finished.”

Matt nodded and stumbled after the ATV. He waited for them to load Sami onto a gurney. The EMTs helped him into the back of the ambulance, where they worked on both of them.

It was tempting to close his eyes and let exhaustion take him, but he didn’t want to rest until he knew she’d be okay. One EMT cut Sami’s soaked shirt off, wrapped her in a thermal blanket, and tucked hot packs around her, trying to bring her body temperature up. Her lips had turned blue and her skin pale, where she wasn’t caked by orange clay muck, but she was alive and didn’t appear to have any serious injuries.

Matt drifted in and out of awareness and caught snatches of the EMTs’ conversation. He fixed his gaze on Sami’s face and willed her to wake up.

Then the ambulance bounced across the cattle guard at the main gate. Sami’s eyes flew open and she screamed, violently thrashing against the gurney straps.

Matt found the strength to shoulder the EMT aside and put his hands on Sami’s cheeks, cradling her. “Sam, it’s okay, it’s over. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Her eyes widened as the scream died on her lips, replaced by cries of relief as she snaked a hand free and tightly clutched his. “I saw him hit you. He told me he killed you. He said you were dead!”

Matt leaned over despite the pain in his ribs and kissed her, reassuring her. “He almost did. But we’re okay. We’re alive. We made it.”

Sami closed her eyes and sobbed, but didn’t release his hand. Matt slid from his seat onto the ambulance floor so she could hold his hand as he finally gave in to the darkness.

* * * *

Matt awoke hours later in the hospital. The clock on the wall showed it was a little after nine. A deputy stood guard next to his bed. Matt felt like hell.

He tried to talk and couldn’t. He licked his lips and tried again. “Where’s Sam?” he croaked.

A hand closed around his and squeezed. It hurt to turn his head, but there she was, sitting beside him. “I’m here.”

He closed his eyes and relaxed.
We’re safe.

The deputy called for a nurse, who checked Matt’s vital signs and paged the doctor.

“We’re waiting on your radiology reports,” the doctor said. “Looks like you’ve got a hell of a concussion and a few cracked ribs. I want to make sure you don’t have anything else to go with it.”

Sami sat next to Matt, refusing to release his hand. Matt tilted his head to look at her. She was now mud-free and dressed in hospital scrubs, her hair loose and damp, a blanket wrapped around her. He touched her cheek, convincing himself the nightmare had ended.

“Where’s Steve?”

Her expression went flat. She dropped her gaze, tears filling her eyes. “He’s dead. He fell into the lake.”

* * * *

A detective and Tom Jenkins arrived to question Matt.

“Mrs. Corey, I know it’s been a rough day for you, but we have to question him alone.”

She reluctantly let a nurse lead her from the room.

Matt recounted the afternoon and the events leading up to it, leaving out details like Steve’s possible demonic possession by some sort of evil spirit.

Upon her return, Sami asked, “Where’s Pog? Did anyone catch him?”

“He’s fine,” Tom Jenkins said. “My wife has him. She bathed him and said he’s snoring on our couch.”

Early the next morning, once Sami knew Matt was okay, a deputy drove her home. It was still raining, off and on, but the wind had calmed and the rain was expected to give way to overcast skies by the end of the day as the tropical storm shifted even further north and made landfall around the Big Bend area.

The park was closed to everyone except residents and law enforcement. Sami insisted on observing the recovery operation. Wearing a yellow Forestry rain slicker against the persistent drizzle, she sat on the back of Tom’s ATV at the edge of the lake, watching while the dive team searched the pit.

Until she saw for herself, she couldn’t believe he was dead.

The lake was deep, over one hundred feet deep in places. Even on a good day, the lake’s visibility was like orange skim milk. After days of torrential rain, it had turned the color of diarrhea, with nearly the same consistency.