Sean tried a spot closer to the edge. He stabbed upward, burying the blade’s tip maybe a quarter inch. Then he rocked it back and forth in line with the grain, then against it, widening the cut. Another stab, more rocking and twisting, and a piece the size of a thumbnail fell away. One more and …
There. The hardness inside, something unyielding. The screw. Now he had to circle it, strip and chip away the wood, leaving the screw nothing to cling to.
He couldn’t help but grin, relish the savage pleasure of it.
A few minutes later he had worked about two thirds of the way around the screw. Already he could imagine the splintering, cracking sound the lock would make as it tore away, how the air would feel when he and Louise were out there in the trees. How wonderful it would be. Encouraged, he dug harder and deeper, twisted the knife further.
Then the blade snapped.
He’d been applying his weight to the knife, putting his shoulders behind it. Then it was gone and he was pushing against air, falling forward, the handle still gripped in his bloodied fingers. He let it go, reached out for the rail, grabbed hold, cried out as splinters bit into the already raw flesh. His body turned around that point, his legs carrying his momentum, and his shoulder taking the worst of it.
Sean hung there, one hand on the rail, his back against the steps, watching the knife handle bounce down the steps to the floor. He looked up, saw the blade still wedged in the wood. His feet found a step and he straightened, examined his palm and the splinters in the heel.
‘Shit,’ he said, picking the biggest of them away.
‘You said a curse,’ Louise said.
‘Yeah, and I’m gonna say some more.’
He looked back up at the blade, down at the handle, knew that their one chance had broken. He rested his forearm on his knees, lowered his head. Then he wept, too tired to care that Louise could see.
40
THEY HAD DRIVEN for almost an hour, Danny at the wheel of his rental car, Whiteside directly behind him. Occasionally Danny felt the muzzle of the pistol through the seat back. In the rearview mirror, he could see the single headlight of the motorcycle, Collins following them.
The car bounced and juddered along the track. They had left the road behind long ago, now using the unsurfaced trails that ranchers used for their ATVs and pickups. It occurred to Danny that this was about as far from civilization as he had ever been.
There was only one reason to bring him out here. They probably wouldn’t even attempt to bury him. Just leave him and the car out here in the desert, let the scavengers pick at his remains until someone chanced upon the scene, months from now, maybe years. He thought of Sara and wondered if she would be the same when he saw her again, frozen at the age she was taken, or would she have grown? If anyone had asked, Danny would have denied believing in such things, but deep down he felt it, the thread that attached him to his wife and child.
He thought of Audra Kinney and her children, knew they were alive out there somewhere. And he wondered if there was any hope for them, or were they already lost?
‘Slow down,’ Whiteside said.
Danny lifted his foot from the accelerator, eased it onto the brake. From twenty down to ten, to five, to a crawl.
‘Turn off here, to the left.’
The car jerked and thumped down a shallow slope as Danny steered it between the cacti. Ahead, the lights caught the shapes of rocky outcrops.
‘There,’ Whiteside said. ‘Between those. Now stop. Leave the engine running.’
Danny applied the handbrake, put both hands on the wheel. He watched Collins draw up beside the car. She shut the bike’s engine off, kicked out the stand, and dismounted. She hung the helmet from the handlebars. For the first time Danny noticed the second helmet fixed to the pillion seat, and he knew how they planned to get back to town.
Collins drew her Glock from its holster, aimed at Danny’s head through the glass. She reached out and opened the door.
‘Out,’ she said.
He did as he was told, took his time about it, smooth and easy movements. Collins couldn’t hide the tremors in her hand as she motioned with the pistol for him to move in front of the car. The rear door opened and Whiteside climbed out. He moved around to join the others, the three of them glowing in the headlights.
‘I guess you understand what’s happening here,’ Whiteside said.
‘Yeah,’ Danny said.
‘Then get down on your knees.’
‘No,’ Danny said.
Whiteside took a step closer. ‘What?’
‘I haven’t kneeled to any man since my father died,’ Danny said, ‘and I won’t kneel to you, motherfucker.’
He saw Collins move from the corner of his eye, felt her foot catch him behind his left knee, buckling it. Grit dug into his kneecap.
‘Just answer me one thing,’ Danny said.
‘Sorry, friend, you don’t get any last words.’
‘Why are you doing this? You know what those children are going to suffer. You think the money’s going to keep the nightmares out of your head?’
‘I served in the Gulf,’ Whiteside said. ‘I saw more horrible shit than you can imagine. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I left the military, so I don’t believe this will leave me any worse off. As for why, it’s pretty simple. I am sick and fucking tired of being poor. I’m fifty-five years old and I have nothing. Not a goddamn thing. That a good enough reason for you?’
Danny squinted through the glare of the headlights, seeking to meet Whiteside’s gaze.
‘My daughter’s name was Sara,’ he said. ‘She liked dancing and reading. She wanted to be a gymnast or a dog trainer, she could never make up her mind. She was six years old when they took her. I try not to think about what they did to her. But I can’t help it. It killed my wife. It killed me too; I just didn’t lie down.’
‘Go on and do it,’ Whiteside said to Collins.
She put the Glock to Danny’s temple. He turned his head so he could see the fear on her face. The terror. The rise and fall of her shoulders, the quickness of her eyes.
‘Their names are Sean and Louise. He’s ten years old. She’s six. Same age as my little girl was. You know what they’re going to do to them.’
‘Shut up,’ Collins said.
‘Pull the trigger,’ Whiteside said.
‘You got any kids?’ Danny asked. He saw the flicker in her expression. ‘You do, don’t you? Two? Three?’
‘Shut up.’
Whiteside took another step. ‘Goddamn it, Collins.’
‘Maybe just the one,’ Danny said. ‘One, right? Boy or girl?’
Collins slammed the Glock into the back of Danny’s head. A starburst back there, a brilliant flash behind his eyes. He fell forward, got his hands down, pushed himself up again.
‘You doing this for your kid? So long as your child doesn’t suffer, right? But Sean and Louise, they’re going to suffer. Every dollar you spend cost those children their—’
Another blow, another luminous starburst, and this time Danny collapsed to the ground, sand and grit scouring his cheek. A sickly swell of pain inside his skull, like a balloon expanding. Don’t pass out, he told himself. Don’t. He got his hands under his chest, pushed himself up once more.
‘For Christ’s sake, just do it,’ Whiteside said. ‘Or do I have to?’
Danny ignored him, turned once more to Collins. Her eyes wide, her breath ragged, her teeth bared.
‘Are you really willing to make those children, Sean and Louise, suffer and die for money?’ Danny nodded toward Whiteside. ‘He can live with it. But you’re not like him. Are you? Can you face—’
She swung once more, but this time Danny was ready.
He ducked to the side, seized her wrist with his left hand, used her momentum, let her fall into him. His right hand enclosed hers, pulled her arm out and up, found her trigger finger, squeezed one shot, then another. Both cracked the air over Whiteside’s shoulder. No chance of a hit, but it was enough to make Whiteside drop to the ground.
Danny wrested the pistol from Collins’ hand, pressed the hot muzzle to her temple as Whiteside sprawled in the dirt. Collins struggled, but Danny pressed the Glock harder into her temple.