No One To Trust

Perhaps he could even offer Leah the twin bed to get some sleep tonight—while he kept watch downstairs to be sure she was safe. Before he left, he picked up his sketch pad and a packet of charcoal pencils. It wasn’t as if he thought he was going to sketch anything while they were stuck in the basement trying to make an escape plan—but if things were different, if they were out of danger, he would love to do a sketch of Leah. She had the kind of face that lent itself to art. High forehead, straight nose, gorgeous cheekbones, ocean-colored eyes, full lips... He would like to paint her. If things were different. If they could somehow escape this thing alive.

As he tapped on the basement door, quietly identifying himself when he heard her on the stairs, he wondered what time it was. Although it felt as if it had been hours, maybe even days, since the shocking confrontation in the parking lot, he suspected it was probably not even nine o’clock yet. It would be a long night. He wondered how long it would take to rebuild that carburetor—or if it were even possible. But maybe it was worth a try.

“Here.” He handed Leah the file folder, the radio and his sketch supplies when she opened the door. “I’m going to go get something. Lock the door.” Before heading for the garage, Jon remembered how they’d left the bathroom. With its window covered in towels and signs of blood in the bathtub, it would be a dead giveaway in the event Krantz came into the house. So Jon went in and did a fast cleanup, trying to make it look normal, and finally removing the towels from the window and shoving them into the hamper.

He did a quick check of the kitchen, too, then, satisfied there were no traces of occupation, he crept out to the garage. With no signs of car lights outside, he knew this was his best chance to gather up the carburetor pieces and tools and take them down to the basement. If nothing else, a mechanical chore might keep his mind busy during the long night.

The garage felt more exposed than the rest of the house. Besides the windows in the garage door, the side door had a window in it and there was another window that faced toward the back. All were uncovered because his dad believed the sunlight was a good defense against the moisture and mildew so prevalent on the beach. But it made the garage feel a bit like a fishbowl. Jon tried to keep his flashlight hooded and pointed downward as he hurried to pile the carburetor pieces and necessary tools into a five-gallon bucket. He set a kerosene camp lantern on top.

He was just turning off the small flashlight when he heard the sound of a car engine—and once again, lights were moving around outside the house. Silhouettes of pine trees made sinister-looking shadowy images on the interior wall of the garage—moving back and forth with a persistence that sent a shiver of fear down his spine. Had someone seen signs of his flashlight just now? Jon reached for a nearby tire iron as he cowered against the garage door. As he waited for someone to come crashing through the side door, he thought he was ready to use it.

Crouching down with the tire iron in hand, he suddenly remembered his karate training as a kid—was it possible that he could put it to use now? Or was that just a young boy’s delusion playing through his head? He remembered the Bruce Lee movies he watched with his dad. He was doubtful he could pull off those moves now. For the first time in his relatively peace-loving life, he wished he owned a gun. With his heart in his throat, he waited...and eventually the car moved on. But it had barely headed down the road when the second car came along—and it was followed by a third! Those guys were relentless. Three cars pursuing two innocent people. It was ridiculous. And disturbing. Was it possible that the entire Cape Perpetua Police Department was corrupt? Or had Krantz lied about what had happened? Were he and Leah considered fugitives?

Feeling more hopeless than ever, Jon crept back through the darkened house with his heavy bucket in hand. The wound in his leg was burning like fire, and every muscle in his body was starting to throb along with it. As badly as they needed to get out of here, he did not think he would be able to make it on foot. Besides, it would be too dangerous. For all he knew, there could be more than three cop cars cruising around right now. What if they brought in search dogs?

He tapped quietly on the basement door, hoping that Ralph was still asleep and not inclined to bark. Leah let him in and, not wanting to alarm her, he didn’t mention that the searchers were still crawling all over the place—or that there were more. Instead, he told her his plan to work on the carburetor.

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