Chapter Eight
During the years Zoe had planned her escape scenario, she’d never actually thought she’d need to implement it.
Even though the necessity had always lurked in the background, given what she did.
Her life did revolve around murder. But she’d compartmentalized.
She’d made plans and then put them out of her mind.
Until last night.
Run.
Fresh panic rose in her throat, hot, caustic, and tasting of copper, like a penny—or blood.
Stop.
She tried a few yoga breaths, like Olivia said had helped her when she’d been abducted.
But Zoe didn’t have the same level of self-control as her friend.
Olivia’s trauma was fresh. Her body had decades to understand how it felt to be untraumatized.
She had her experience with normal to draw on.
Zoe didn’t. Her trauma ran too deep. Her heart continued to race, and her lungs refused to loosen.
A small, tinny sound echoed in her ears, building and building, threatening to completely block her hearing.
You’re safe.
For now.
No one knew where she was going.
She wished she could have told Olivia, wished she had her steady, methodical presence to calm her. But she hadn’t dared. Olivia would insist on knowing everything, and she’d have Zoe’s back no matter what, which was the very reason Zoe couldn’t tell her. Anyone who knew too much would be in danger.
She kept her speed exactly at the limit.
She couldn’t afford to be pulled over. The van was small and white with no windows in the cargo area.
It was the generic kind of vehicle used by contractors of all kinds.
She had several different magnetic signs she could switch out, along with an extra set of license plates.
Currently, the van sported an A-OK Plumbing logo.
It blended, but the vehicle was also registered to a dead person, so it would not hold up to the scrutiny of law enforcement.
She’d been listening to her police scanner app.
So far, there had been no response to the Bolo alert the Scarlet Falls PD had issued on her.
She touched her auburn wig for reassurance.
Chin length, with a straight row of bangs, it drastically altered her appearance.
Her real hair was longer, wavy, and blond.
She’d disguised her athletic shape with an oversize flannel shirt and baggy jeans.
Lug-soled work boots gave her an extra inch or two of height and supported the plumber persona.
When she’d stopped to gas up the van, she’d worn a baseball cap to shadow her face and inserted gauze into her cheek pockets to change the shape of her face.
Normally, she didn’t even go to the mailbox without applying a full face of makeup.
Today, she wore none. She barely recognized herself.
The van was the most nondescript, boring vehicle in the world. Plus, if her hideout had been compromised, the van was large enough to sleep in. But for now, she could still hope her plans had held.
She pressed the brake pedal, bringing the van to a halt at a stop sign, then turned right.
Another mile down the road, she cruised through a bend and slowed as she approached the turnoff.
She’d already driven by twice. Both times, other vehicles had been in sight, and she’d elected to keep going.
She didn’t want anyone to see her entering the community.
This neighborhood consisted largely of vacation homes.
People skied in the winter and hiked, swam, and boated in the summer.
There were local caves to tour and a small ski resort that offered zip-lining in the warmer months.
Thick woods flanked both sides of the road. On one side, the ground sloped upward in a steep grade. On the other, the ground fell away into a gorge.
At a sign for Hidden Cavern, a subterranean tourist attraction, she slowed.
There.
The entrance to Hidden Mountain Estates was barely visible.
She turned left to get off the paved road.
Pine boughs brushed the sides of the van as she eased through the turn.
Gravel crunched under the tires as the van roller-coastered over deep ruts.
Zoe drove slowly. She could fix a flat tire, but a broken axle would ground her.
Not wanting to tackle the rough road in the dark last night, she’d taken a roundabout route, traveling a hundred and fifty miles in the wrong direction, then refilling her gas tank.
Her disguise should hold up, but if she was recognized, it would appear as if she were headed south, not west. Then she’d meandered her way into the mountains, avoiding toll roads.
At first light, she’d driven around the area to get her bearings.
She hadn’t been here in a long time. The van climbed the gravel road like the famous little engine, branches scraping at the roof and sides.
Her Jeep would have been safer, but she couldn’t risk anyone spotting it.
Just like when she’d been a teen, wild blackberry thickets edged the road.
If she stopped and picked a few, would their sweet juiciness bring back memories?
At a fork in the road, she bore right and continued to bump up the incline.
If the weather turned, she was in trouble.
Mud, ice, or snow would make the road impassable to any vehicle without four-wheel drive.
She checked the map app on her phone, then navigated the two intersecting loops that composed the neighborhood.
Cruising slowly, she scanned each property.
No visible vehicles. No movements in windows. No puffs of smoke from chimneys.
No signs of habitation.
Perfect.
She steered the van into a long, steep driveway. The house stared down at her. The cedar structure had been built into the mountain. You could enter on the first-floor garage on the left and exit from the third-level bedroom on the right. On the second floor, a deck jutted out over the valley.
Zoe chugged slowly up the incline. At the top, she stopped the van in front of the garage.
She got out and pivoted in a complete circle, then stood still and listened.
She saw no one and heard nothing. Holding her breath, she separated the key from her others.
It slid into the lock but refused to turn.
With a hitch in her pulse, Zoe jiggled it.
Would her key work? Had the house been sold?
She returned to her van and opened the rear cargo door.
In one of her toolboxes, she selected a can of WD-40 from her supplies.
She also grabbed a flashlight before closing the hatch.
Inserting the skinny straw into the oil can’s nozzle, she sprayed the inside of the lock and tried the key again. It turned easily.
With a relieved breath, she opened the door and called out, “Hello?” When no one answered, she stepped inside.
Her boots scraped on the rough concrete.
The interior was dark and smelled musty.
She pocketed the lubricant and shone her flashlight around the space.
The first bay was empty. A small lawn mower, a Weedwacker, and a snowblower occupied the second.
A workbench and rolling tool cabinet stood against the bare cinder block wall.
Random junk filled the dark corners. On the right side, an interior door led into the mudroom.
Something rustled in dead leaves behind a shelving unit.
Zoe startled. With one hand splayed over the center of her chest, she froze.
Even with the flashlight, she couldn’t see into all the nooks and crannies, not without getting close, and there was enough space in the dark corner for a man to hide.
Vacant homes could be targeted by squatters.
Or someone had guessed where she’d gone.
Sweat gathered under Zoe’s arms. She waited. Heavy breathing emanated from the darkness. Someone was waiting, hiding, ready to ambush her.
Her pulse pounded in her temples, its echo thrumming at the base of her throat. Outside, the last remnants of daylight faded.
She contemplated moving closer, but her feet refused to do so.
She had no choice but to risk turning on a light.
She reached for one of two strings dangling from ceiling-mounted light bulbs.
What was the chance the bulb still worked?
To her surprise, the light turned on, flooding the space, leaving Zoe and a black bear to stare at each other.
Three hundred pounds of teeth and claws and raw strength met her gaze, and where was her bear spray? Safely in her backpack in the van.
That bear could rip her to pieces and eat her for lunch.
Yet, for a split second, she was relieved it wasn’t a human.
At least a bear would only kill her. A man could do much worse.
She knew this for a fact. She’d seen—experienced—what they could do, and lived through what one particular man had tried to do.
Reality sent a shiver of primitive fear through her bones.
The bear stood on its back legs and sniffed the air.
But it did not rush her. Zoe wanted to bolt but held her ground.
She’d grown up camping. She’d been taught how to handle a bear encounter.
Running would trigger the bear’s prey instinct.
Black bears were not usually aggressive unless they felt threatened, but she was between the animal and the open garage door.
If the bear felt trapped, it might attack.
This was not the first time in her life she’d encountered a black bear.
They were common enough in the mountains of upstate New York.
Normally, on an open trail, she’d stand tall and raise her arms to appear bigger.
Bears respected size and would usually go the other way.
But in close quarters, she didn’t want to trigger a defensive charge.