Chapter Fifteen
Stacy yelped as the bullet whizzed past her, then ducked her head and headed for the front door, the closest exit. Footsteps pounded on the stairs behind her, and another bullet thudded into the wall above her right shoulder. She grabbed for the door, but it flew open almost at her touch.
“Hold your fire!” the man who stepped inside shouted. He was a foot taller than her and wide as the doorframe. When he grabbed Stacy by the shoulders and shook her, her teeth chattered together. “Drop the weapon,” he said. “Or I’ll break your neck.”
Shane and the instructor pounded down the stairs. “What’s going on?” Shane asked, looking from Stacy to the group of men at the door.
“We brought you a troublemaker,” said the burly man who held her. “And looks like you have another one.”
“Who have you got there?” Shane asked, looking past Stacy and her captor.
“Says his name’s George. We caught him snooping through boxes in the garage.”
“He’s the miner who helped us at the quarry,” the instructor said.
Stacy forced herself to stand still and not react, though seeing her father like this tore at her. Someone had given him a black eye. Standing there, arms bound behind him and head down, he looked much smaller and older.
“I know you.” Shane moved in closer to George. “You were at the rally at the campground Friday night. With that ski patroller and his girlfriend.” He turned to Stacy. “And you’re the girlfriend.”
She lifted her chin but said nothing. If they searched her, they would find her ID, but she wasn’t going to volunteer the information.
“What were you doing upstairs?” the instructor asked her.
“I was looking for the bathroom,” she said.
The blow snapped her head back and made her see stars. When she looked up, her father was staring at her, eyes full of fury, but he quickly looked down again.
“Who sent you here?” Shane asked.
“I came here looking for my boyfriend, Connor,” she said.
“Why do you think he’s here?”
“He’s really unhappy about the resort’s expansion,” she said. “It was his idea to get involved in the protests. He felt bad about refusing to help with the fireworks and said he changed his mind.”
“You’re still lying.” Shane pulled a pistol and aimed it at her. Some of the others took a step back. “Take her to the chicken house,” he said. “When I have more time, I’ll see if I can get the truth out of her.”
Shane’s men shoved Stacy and George into a small wooden building and fit a padlock on the door. Father and daughter sat on the floor where they had fallen, hands tied behind their backs. She listened to the men outside move away and wondered if one of them had stayed behind to guard them.
She looked around at the straw-filled nesting boxes and overhead perches. “I think this is really a chicken house,” she said.
“There’s plenty of chicken manure.” George made a face and scooted over a few inches. “I wonder what happened to the chickens?”
“They probably ate them,” Stacy said. Her face ached where Shane had struck her, and she couldn’t stop thinking about what he had said about getting rid of the snowboarder.
With effort, she got up on her knees. “If we can find a sharp edge in here somewhere, we can get these zip ties off our wrists,” she said.
“I don’t see anything,” George said. “They probably filed everything down, not wanting the chickens to get hurt.”
“How thoughtful of them.” She turned her attention from the walls to her father. “How’s your eye?”
“Stings a little, but I’ll be okay. The guy who jumped me looks worse, believe me.”
“What happened? When I left, you had them all charmed.”
“The folks at the quarry didn’t give me any trouble,” he said. “But after they left, I wandered over to the garage to see if I could find anything interesting. That big guy and his friends must have heard me in there and came in and jumped me.”
“What happened at the quarry after I left?”
“The guy with the accent, Bruce, said he was in the military in South Africa and knew about explosives. I showed him I knew how to throw them and hit the target, and I was his new favorite student.”
“Since when do you know how to launch explosives?” she asked.
“They taught us to throw grenades in boot camp. And I played baseball in high school and college. Third base. I was on rec leagues a few times over the years. I’ve still got a pretty good arm.”
“I recognized the young dark-haired guy. Nate,” Stacy said. “He was Jace Dennison’s friend. Connor and I saw them at the Trail’s End together.”
“Jace is the snowboarder who died?”
“Yeah. But I’m thinking maybe Nate wasn’t such a good friend. I overheard Shane talking to Bruce, saying they had ‘gotten rid’ of a snowboarder because he was threatening to talk.”
“Nate struck me as someone with a mean personality,” George said. “What happened in the house? Did they catch you eavesdropping?”
“I waited too long to leave, and Shane and Bruce caught me coming down the stairs.” For a few seconds there, she had believed she was going to die. “You coming in when you did may have saved me.”
“I don’t like the idea of sticking around until Shane comes back to question you,” George said.
She studied the chicken house again. It was large enough for a big flock, easily eight foot on each side, with a tall ceiling. There must be something in here she could use to saw through these bindings. If she moved over to the wall, she could probably stand and look around more.
“What did you find in the house?” her father asked.
“A map of the resort, with lots of places marked with X’s. The ridges above ski runs and several ski lifts. From what I can tell, they plan to hit all those places Friday. Dad, do you have anything in your pocket we could use to cut these ties?”
“They took my phone, my gun, my wallet and the Jeep keys,” he said. “The only thing left is lint.”
“They took my phone and gun, too. If this was a movie, I’d have a razor blade secreted in my shoe or something.” Instead, that was where she had hidden her FBI identification.
“I saw a video online where a woman demonstrated how to break zip ties by contorting yourself like a pretzel and exerting pressure with your feet. Or something like that.”
“No pretzels here,” she said and slid on her bottom to the wall.
“I’m going to try to stand up.” She pressed her back to the wall and maneuvered her feet underneath her.
Grunting and straining, scraping her back painfully against the wall, she managed to get to her feet.
She stood for a moment, catching her breath.
“What now?” her dad asked.
“Now all I need is a knife.”
“I need a cup of coffee.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. His eye was an ugly purple, dried blood crusted on one cheek. He needed a shave, white whiskers glinting in the waning sunlight from the single window high overhead.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any coffee,” she said.
“I’m sorry I don’t have a knife.”
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
“Connor will call someone when we don’t return tonight.” But night wouldn’t arrive for hours yet. She couldn’t sit here waiting for help that might not come. She had to find a way out of this on her own.
Connor told himself it wouldn’t hurt if he swung by Stacy’s condo on his way home. Just to check in with her. He didn’t spot her car in the parking lot, but maybe she was parked around back.
He found the right door and rang the bell. No sounds from within. No answer. He tried knocking, then hard pounding on the door. Still no answer.
He looked around the area but saw no one. It was almost full dark now. Shouldn’t she be back? He pulled out his phone and sent another text. Everything okay?
He stared at the screen, willing her to answer. Long minutes passed with no reply. Maybe she was busy. But had she been so busy all day she couldn’t answer him?
Frustrated, he hit the button to call her number.
“The person you are calling is not available. Please leave a message…”
He hung up. Okay. She was busy. She didn’t have time to talk. Never let anyone say he couldn’t take a hint.
Stacy’s arms ached from being pulled behind her back. Her dad leaned against the wall beside her, head back and eyes closed. He looked so pale. As she studied him, he opened his eyes.
“Don’t look so worried,” he said. “I’m not dead yet.”
“We need to find a way out of here,” she said.
“We’ve already looked everywhere. This place is too solid, except for that patch in the back wall.” They both turned to study the rectangle of plywood in the otherwise thick siding a foot high and eight or nine inches wide.
“I could probably kick that out,” George said.
“And then what?” she asked. “Neither one of us is going to fit through it.”
Rattling at the door made them both tense. The door swung open, and Shane stepped inside, followed by a bearded man carrying a tray. “Hello,” Shane said, his voice hearty, even cheerful. “We brought you some supper.”
He took out a large pocket knife. Stacy forced herself not to flinch as he approached her.
“Don’t worry, I’m just going to cut off your restraints. Don’t try anything, though. Eddie here is armed and won’t hesitate to shoot.”
Eddie set the tray on the floor and drew a large pistol from a holster at his side.
Shane freed Stacy, then George, then stepped back and nudged the tray toward them with the toe of his boot. “Eat up while we talk.”
Stacy’s appetite had vanished, but she forced herself to pick up the paper plate with what looked like a ham-and- cheese sandwich and a bag of potato chips. She set this aside and reached for the bottle of water. Her father was already draining his.
“Why are you keeping us in here?” Stacy asked.
“Because I don’t like nosy people. And I don’t know what your intentions are. Better to keep you out of the way until my mission is complete.”
“What mission is that?” George asked.
Shane glanced at him. “SkyCrest Resort needs to learn they can’t take and take from people. It’s time they give back. They need to give back what they took from my family.”