“Yes?”
“We’re going to find her.”
THIRTY-FIVE
FREYA STARTED SCREAMING BEFORE THEY HAD DRIVEN OUT OF THE VILLAGE.
“Turn left down that road between the trees. I said left. Not now!” she screamed. “Wait until that truck gets out of the way.”
The truck driver was honking and shouting at Isabel. Even though the window was closed and Freya was yelling at her, Isabel could still hear the truck driver. She thought he was telling her to move over. The way he was wildly waving his arms suggested that’s what he was saying.
With all the chaos—Freya screaming and cars honking—it was difficult for Isabel to concentrate on driving. She kept forgetting that they drove on the left side of the road in Scotland. She swerved to get over and narrowly missed hitting another car. The owner of that vehicle was now honking at her.
She must have been driving too fast because she made the turn on two wheels.
She knew that by now Michael would have noticed she was missing and called the police, and they would be looking for her. She still had hope. But once she turned onto the isolated dirt road, hope vanished. The area was desolate and wooded, and she didn’t think they would ever find her here. The only building she passed was an old, burned-out shell of either a cottage or a barn.
They bounced along the broken dirt road, twisting and turning with the curves. God, she was scared. She gripped the steering wheel with all her might. The gun was pointed at her, and every now and then Freya would jam it into her ribs. Isabel couldn’t tell if the gun’s safety was on or not. If it went off . . .
She was so afraid she could barely think. Horrifying images of the gun going off flashed through her brain, but she squelched them. She couldn’t let fear control her. She needed to figure out a way to escape even though the gun in her side was running the show now. If she could get it away from Freya . . . but how?
“Slow down,” Freya ordered. “Pull over and park in that clump of trees. Back in so we can see the road.”
Isabel slowed the car and looked at the trees Freya was pointing to. The pines were so close together Isabel didn’t know how she was going to fit the car between them.
Backing up was a challenge. The steering wheel was on the wrong side of the car, and Isabel couldn’t quite adjust to that change. She was also having trouble shifting the gears. After several grinding tries she finally got it in reverse, but while she was backing up, a tree trunk got in her way
and scraped the length of the car. It clipped the side mirror, which broke loose and was now hanging by a couple of wires. As she persisted, the mirror dropped to the ground.
“Stop here. Stop right here. You’re destroying my car.”
Isabel put the car in park but kept the engine running.
Freya never took her eyes off Isabel as she picked up her phone from the console. “If your hands move from the steering wheel, I’ll shoot you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Whomever she was calling must have been waiting to hear from her because only a couple of seconds passed before there was an answer.
“I’ve got her. Yes, she’s right here in the car with me. I was looking for an opportunity . . . I thought I’d have to follow her for at least a day or two, but she made it easy. How long will it take for you to meet us?” There was an annoyed bite in her tone. “Where? At the spot you chose. That’s where.”
Freya ended the call, checked her watch, and said, “We’ll wait here until it’s time.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, now shut your mouth.”
Panicky thoughts raced through Isabel’s head. What was she going to do? How was she going to get away from this maniac? Her mind bounced from one idea to another. She had her seatbelt on and thought about unclipping it and jumping out of the car, but where could she run that Freya wouldn’t have a clear shot at her? Besides, she was pinned in by the trees and probably couldn’t even get her car door open. She’d have to climb over Freya to get out, and that was ludicrous.
She noticed that Freya didn’t have her seatbelt on. Once they were on the road again, Isabel could drive real fast, then slam on the brakes. Hopefully Freya would go through the windshield or at least knock herself out if her head hit hard enough. She could still shoot Isabel, though. If she didn’t have the safety on the gun, it might go off.
It seemed hopeless. Every plan Isabel thought of ended with her getting shot.
As surprisingly strong as Freya was, Isabel thought she was stronger. Back at the lawyer’s office her shock at being grabbed had given Freya the edge. That and the gun in Freya’s hand. Maybe Isabel could grab the gun and twist it until Freya let go. And then what? Once Isabel had the gun, would she shoot Freya? Violence was wrong; it was a sin, and taking joy from it made it worse, but at the moment she was willing to take on the guilt.
Isabel came up with another idea. People liked to talk to her, to tell her their worries, and if she could get Freya to open up about her troubles and her son—or even brag about him—the woman would hopefully relax, sit back, and move the gun away from Isabel. Having it glued to her side and not knowing if the safety was on was terrifying. Any second it could discharge. But if it was in Freya’s lap, Isabel could grab it, hold it down with all her might, and punch Freya with her other hand.
She thought the idea was a little better than the others. To get Freya talking, Isabel knew she would have to sound sympathetic, and that was going to be a real stretch.
“Until it’s time for what?” Isabel asked.
“What?”
“You said we would wait here until it was time. Time for what?”
“Time to drive on. Now shut up,” she snapped.
Freya was so filled with hate, it was eating away at her. No wonder Clive was such a mean bully.
He had his mother to teach him.
When Freya jabbed the gun into her ribs this time, Isabel flinched. She could only imagine how horribly painful a gunshot to the stomach would be. The pain alone would probably kill her.
Stop thinking like that, she told herself. Concentrate on getting away.
The longer they sat waiting, the more impatient Freya became. “You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble. You should have signed the land over to my son.”
“Why would I do that? Your son hired men to kill me.”
“You stupid girl,” Freya scoffed. “Clive isn’t smart enough to plan a murder. He didn’t know anything about it. That boy would have nothing if it weren’t for me.”
Isabel couldn’t hide her surprise. Was Freya telling the truth? “If it wasn’t Clive who hired those men to kill me, then who was it?”
The smirk on Freya’s face gave her the answer.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked, and before Freya could admit it, Isabel said, “Did you do it alone or did you have help?”
“Walter hired men for me.”
“Walter MacCarthy?”