Jeffery Deaver - The Empty Chair

Garrett and Amelia were fleeing fast and were making no effort to cover their tracks. They moved along a path that bordered marshland. The ground was soft and their footprints were clearly visible. Lucy remembered something that Amelia had told Lincoln Rhyme about the crime scene at Blackwater Landing as the redhead had gazed at the footprints there: Billy Stail's weight had been on the toes, which meant that he'd been running toward Garrett to rescue Mary Beth. Lucy now noticed this same thing about the prints of the two people they pursued. They were sprinting.

And so Lucy said to her two fellow deputies, "Let's jog." And despite the heat and their exhaustion they trotted forward together.

They continued this way for a mile until the ground grew drier and they could no longer see the footprints. Then the trail ended in a large grassy clearing and they had no idea where their prey had gone.

"Damn," Lucy muttered, gasping for breath and furious that they'd lost the trail. "Goddamn!"

They ringed the clearing, studying every foot of the ground, but could find no path or any other clue as to which way Garrett and Amelia Sachs had gone.

"What do we do?" Ned asked.

"Call in and wait," she muttered. She leaned against a tree, caught the bottled water that Trey tossed to her and drank it down.

Recalling: Jesse Corn, shyly showing off a glistening silver pistol he was planning on using in his NRA competition matches. Jesse Corn, accompanying his parents to First Baptist Church on Locust Street.

The images kept looping through her mind. They were painful for her to picture and stoked her anger. But Lucy made no effort to force them away; when she found Amelia Sachs she wanted her fury to be unrelenting.

With a squeak, the door to the cabin eased open a few inches.

"Mary Beth," Tom sang. "You come on out now, come out and play."

He and the Missionary whispered to each other. Then Tom spoke again. "Come on, come on, honey. Make it easy on yourself. We won't hurt you. We were just pulling your leg yesterday."

She stood upright, against the wall, behind the front door. Didn't say a word. Gripped the coup stick in both hands.

The door eased open farther, the hinges giving another squeal. A shadow fell onto the floor. Tom stepped inside, cautious.

"Where is she?" the Missionary whispered from the porch.

"There's a cellar," Tom said. "She's down there, I'll bet."

"Well, get her and let's go. I don't like it here."

Tom took another step inside. He was holding a long skinning knife.

Mary Beth knew about the philosophy of Indian warfare and one of the rules is that if the parleys fail and war is inevitable you don't banter or threaten; you attack with all your force. The point of battle isn't to talk your enemy into submission or explain or chide; it's to annihilate them.

And so she stepped calmly out from behind the door, screamed like a Manitou spirit and swung the club with both hands as Tom spun around, eyes wide in terror. The Missionary cried, "Look out!"

But Tom didn't have a chance. The coup stick caught him solidly in front of his ear, shattering his jaw and closing down half his throat. He dropped the knife and grabbed his neck, falling to his knees, choking. He crawled back outside.

"Hehf… hehf meh," he gasped.

But there was no help forthcoming – the Missionary simply reached down and pulled him off the porch by his collar, letting him fall to the ground, holding his shattered face, as Mary Beth watched from the window. "You asshole," the Missionary muttered to his friend and then drew a pistol from his back pocket. Mary Beth swung the door shut, took her place behind it again, wiping her sweating hands and getting a better grip on the stick. She heard the double click of a gun cocking.

"Mary Beth, I got a gun here and, you probably figured out, under the circumstances I got no problem using it. Just come on out. You don't, I'll shoot inside and I'll probably hit you."

She crouched down against the wall behind the door, waiting for the gunshot.

But he never fired. It was a trick; he kicked the door hard and it swung into her, stunning her for an instant, knocking her down. But as he started inside she kicked the door closed just as hard as he'd shoved it open. He wasn't expecting any more resistance and the heavy wooden slab caught him on the shoulder, knocking him off balance. Mary Beth stepped toward him and swung the coup stick at the only target on him she could reach – his elbow. But he dropped to the floor just as the rock would have struck him and she missed. The momentum of her fierce swing pulled the stick from her sweaty hands and it skidded along the floor.

No time to get it. Just run! Mary Beth jumped past the Missionary before he could turn and fire and she sprinted out the door.

At last!

Free of this hellhole at last!

She ran to the left, heading back toward the path that her captor had brought her down two days ago, the one that led past a big Carolina bay. At the corner of the cabin she turned toward the pond.

And ran right into the arms of Garrett Hanlon.

"No!" she cried. "No!"

The boy was wild-eyed. He held a gun. "How'd you get out? How?" He grabbed her wrist.

"Let me go!" She tried to pull away from him but his grip was like steel.

There was a grim-faced woman with him, pretty, with long red hair. Her clothes, like Garrett's, were filthy. The woman was silent, her eyes dull. She didn't seem the least bit startled by the girl's sudden appearance. She looked drugged.

"Goddamn," the Missionary's voice called. "You fucking bitch!" He turned the corner and found Garrett aiming the pistol at his face. The boy screamed, "Who're you? What'd you do to my house? What'd you do to Mary Beth?"

"She attacked us! Look at my friend. Look at -"

"Throw that away," Garrett raged. Nodding at the man's pistol. "Throw it away or I'll kill you! I will. I'll blow your fucking head off!"

The Missionary looked at the boy's face and the gun. Garrett cocked his pistol. "Jesus…" The man pitched the revolver into the grass.

"Now get outa here! Move."

The Missionary backed away then helped Tom to his feet and they staggered off toward the trees.

Garrett walked toward the front door of the cabin, pulling Mary Beth after him. "Into the house! We have to get in. They're after us. We can't let them see us. We'll hide in the cellar. Look what they did to the locks! They broke my door!"

"No, Garrett!" Mary Beth said in a rasping voice. "I'm not going back in there."

But he said nothing and pulled her into the cabin. The silent redhead walked unsteadily inside. Garrett shoved the door closed, looking at the shattered wood, the broken locks, dismay on his face. "No!" he cried, seeing shards of glass on the floor – from the jar that had held the dinosaur beetle.

Mary Beth, appalled that the boy seemed the most upset that one of his bugs had escaped, strode up to Garrett and slapped him hard on the face. He blinked in surprise and staggered backward. "You prick!" she screamed. "They could've killed me."

The boy was flustered. "I'm sorry!" His voice cracked. "I didn't know about them. I thought there was nobody around here. I didn't mean to leave you this long. I got arrested."

He shoved splinters under the door to wedge it shut.

"Arrested?" Mary Beth asked. "Then what're you doing here?"

Finally the redhead spoke. In a mumbling voice she said, "I got him out of jail. So we could find you and bring you back. And you could back up his story about the man in the overalls."

"What man?" Mary Beth asked, confused.

"At Blackwater Landing. The man in the tan overalls, the one who killed Billy Stail."

"But…" She shook her head. " Garrett killed Billy. He hit him with a shovel. I saw him. It happened right in front of me. Then he kidnapped me."