she spotted Jessie, bound and gagged in the chair. All Jessie could do was shake her head at the woman.
For a moment, Mrs. Bidwell stood there, paralyzed, gaping at Jessie.
The man with sunglasses tucked his gun in the waist of his pants. Mrs. Bidwell swiveled around. She let out a gasp, then bolted toward the door. But he slammed it shut in front of her. He grabbed her and slapped his hand over her mouth. Arms flailing, the thin woman tried to fight him off, but he was too big for her. She struggled and kicked, but he didn’t let go. All the while he held onto her, he hardly changed his expression. There was just the hint of a smirk on his face as he carried out his task-like a robot, not a trace of emotion.
He took his hand away from Mrs. Bidwell’s mouth for only a few seconds as he reached for his revolver again. She screamed, until he clubbed her over the head with his gun.
The woman let out a feeble cry. She was stunned, but still conscious. She started to squirm as the man with the dark glasses dragged her into the living room. He threw her on the couch. Mrs. Bidwell let out another gasp, as if she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her.
The young man grabbed a sofa pillow and put it over her face.
Then he fired his gun into the pillow.
Jessie watched in horror as the woman’s body twitched and convulsed with spasms. Then she slumped across the couch, suddenly still. Feathers from the pillow floated in the air around her. Jessie caught a glimpse of Mrs. Bidwell’s face-her open eyes and the huge, gaping hole in her left cheek. Then the young man gave the corpse a forceful shove. The woman rolled over on her face. A bloodstain started to bloom beneath her on the beige sofa.
The young man seemed annoyed as he moved away from the body. Frowning, he brushed the pillow feathers off his shiny black suit. He straightened his tie, readjusted his sunglasses, and then headed for the kitchen sink. Turning on the cold water, he ran his hand under the stream.
“Fucking bitch bit me,” he grumbled.
Tears in her eyes, Jessie stared at Mrs. Bidwell’s corpse. For the last forty minutes, Jessie had been hoping against hope the young man would just take whatever else he wanted and then leave. But now she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Now she knew he wasn’t going to leave this house until he’d killed her and the children.
“Oh God, George, you’re walking into a trap.”
“I know,” he said.
It was one of the only things George was sure about.
At this point, he figured either Annabelle or Blade, or both of them, were holding Jessie and his children hostage at his home. And they wanted him there, too.
“Karen, I really have no choice,” he said into the phone. He kept his eyes on the road. He’d just passed a sign indicating McNary Field was straight ahead. He knew he was close to the airport because he saw a Best Western and a Holiday Inn Express just up the road. “I have a feeling they’re keeping the kids alive so Jessie will cooperate with them,” he said. “And obviously they’re using Jessie to talk me into coming home. I’m hoping no one will get hurt as long as they’re still trying to lure me there. I have about ninety minutes to figure out a strategy. I’m not calling the police, at least not yet. Maybe when I get to Seattle. We’ll see.”
He let out a nervous sigh. “Karen, if you could keep digging into Annabelle’s past, maybe you can figure out what the hell she wants, why she’s doing this. You know psychology. Why is she killing everyone close to Amelia? If I could figure out what Annabelle’s after, that would help me when I walk into the house ninety minutes from now.”
Tears stung his eyes, and George felt his throat closing up. “I might be able to bargain with her, give her what she wants, or at least figure out where she’s most vulnerable. Maybe I can get my kids and Jessie out of there alive.”
“I’ll do what I can, George,” she said. “Amelia should be here any minute now. Maybe we can get her to intervene and talk to her sister. Maybe that’s all we’ll need. Whatever this is, it’s between the sisters.”
“I think you’re right,” George murmured.
He suddenly realized he’d just passed a turn sign for the airport. “Karen, listen, thank you. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, call me when you get to Seattle. Take care, George.”
He clicked off the cell phone, and turned the car around in an Arby’s parking lot. He backtracked and found another sign for the airport. In the distance, he heard police sirens, which seemed to become louder as he got closer to the airport. George saw an intersection ahead, where traffic was at a standstill. Two cop cars with their flashers on sailed through the junction and turned onto the airport drive.
As traffic started up again, George made a left through the intersection, and then took a right to the airport on Aviation Loop. He had a bad feeling in his gut. He could see the two patrol cars, parked in front of the terminal’s main entrance, their flashers still swirling.
He wondered if Tyler had caved and told the sheriff where he was headed.
George pulled into the lot and parked. Overhead, a plane was landing. George’s ears got a blast of the engine’s roar as he climbed out of the car. The night air had a chill to it. He clutched the lapels of his sports jacket up under his chin, and spied the two police vehicles in the distance.
A maroon minivan with RESIDENCE INN written on the side door had pulled up behind the squad cars. The driver, wearing a blazer the same color as the minivan, had gotten out of the car to talk to one of the cops. After a few moments, he stepped away from the cop car, waved, then ducked back into his minivan. He drove through the parking lot toward the main road.
George waved him down. “Are you with the Residence Inn?” he called. It was a stupid question, but still, the guy stopped.
The driver rolled down his window. He was in his early twenties with wavy black hair and a touch of acne. He nodded at George. “Yes, sir, are you headed there?”
“No, I’m meeting someone who needs a room for the night,” George lied. “Do you know if they have any vacancies?”
The driver reached into his maroon blazer and pulled out a card for the Residence Inn. “Call that number, and they’ll take care of you.”
“Much obliged,” George said. Then he nodded toward the police cars. “What’s the hubbub about, do you know?”
The young man nodded. “They got a tip from some guy about a bunch of dead bodies buried at a farm outside of town.”
“A bunch of dead bodies?” George repeated.
He nodded. “Yeah, they’ve dug up three so far, and they think there are a lot more.” With his thumb, he pointed to the patrol cars. “One of those cops is a buddy of mine. He said this is going to be big. So, better book your pal’s room with us pretty quick. Once all the news people get here-and that’ll be soon-all the hotels will fill up.”
“Thanks, I’ll get on that.” George nodded toward the cop cars again. “So what are they doing here? Are they the welcoming committee for the news people?”
The driver shook his head. “No, they’re looking for the dude who tipped off the county police about the stiffs, some Seattle guy. They want to hold him for questioning. They think he’s trying to blow town.”
“Imagine that,” George murmured. He tucked the Residence Inn business card in his pocket. “Well, thanks for the help. Have a nice night.”
The minivan drove off, and George ducked back into his car. He thought he was going to be sick. What the hell was he going to do now? He had to get home to his kids. He didn’t even want to think about how scared Jody and Steffie probably were right now, and what was being done to them.
He couldn’t afford to stick around the airport any longer. No doubt, those cops had a description of his car, maybe even the license plate number.
George backed out of the parking space. He watched the two squad cars in his rearview mirror as he merged onto the airport drive. They didn’t move, thank God.
He started driving, not even sure where he was headed. He just needed to get away from this airport and the police. It would take him an hour to make it to Portland by freeway. But he’d probably be detained at the Portland
