Chelsey took a gulp of fresh air and coughed raggedly. Maggie was afraid the woman would vomit, and she helped her up by her shoulders and held her until the coughing fit passed. Then, gently, she laid the woman down on her back again.
“Are you able to talk at all?” Maggie asked. “Don’t strain yourself. Just give me a yes or no, and that’s it.”
The woman cleared her throat, wincing as she did. “Little bit.”
“That’s okay. Give it time.”
She heard trampling in the brush and saw another officer arriving from a squad car at the road. The cop held up a hand with five fingers spread wide.
“The ambulance is five minutes out,” Maggie told Chelsey quietly. “It won’t be long now.”
“Thank you.”
“Like I said, you don’t have to talk. Save your voice. If you’re up for it, I’ll ask you a few yes-or-no questions, and all you have to do is nod or shake your head. Is that okay? Don’t worry if you’d rather wait. We don’t have to do this now.”
Chelsey hesitated, then nodded her approval.
“Good. I appreciate your help. Mrs. Webster, I know this has been a terrible ordeal, and we’re incredibly relieved to find you. Can you tell me, do you know who did this to you?”
The woman shook her head. Her voice cracked as she tried to talk. “Hood.”
“The kidnapper was wearing a hood?”
She nodded.
“Was it a man?”
Another nod.
“Did you hear his voice? Did he speak to you at all? Or did you hear him speaking to anyone else?”
She shook her head.
“Was there more than one man?”
Again she shook her head.
“One,” she murmured. Then in a shaky voice she added, “Knocked me out.”
“He hit you?”
She nodded.
“Do you have any idea how long you’ve been here in the woods?” Maggie asked.
Chelsey shook her head again.
“Your husband returned from Rice Lake late on Tuesday evening,” Maggie went on. “He was with his parents, do you remember that? Was that the night you were taken?”
Chelsey closed her eyes and nodded.
“Did the kidnapper take you straight here?”
She shook her head and spoke again. “Later.”
“Do you know where you were kept initially?”
“No.”
“It’s okay. Just nod or shake your head. Did the same man take you out here to the woods? Was it the man who abducted you from your home?”
“Not sure. Think so.”
“Your husband says he talked to you on Thursday night before he delivered the ransom money to the kidnapper. Do you remember talking to him?”
“Yes.”
“So you were taken out here after that? After that call?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember if it was the same night?”
“Not sure.”
“If it was Thursday, that would mean you’ve been out here for four nights. Does that sound possible?”
“Don’t know. Maybe.”
“All right. Thank you, Chelsey. I won’t ask you anything more for now. You just rest.”
Maggie listened to the quiet of the forest. Distantly, she heard the overlapping wails of sirens getting closer. She stood up again. She studied the hole in which Chelsey had been placed, near the base of the sharp gully, several hundred yards from the nearest road. Chelsey wouldn’t have lasted much longer outside. Either the wolves would have found her, or she would have succumbed to dehydration. It was a miracle they’d gotten to her in time.
In all the thousands of square miles of Northland woods, they’d found their way to the right place. Because Gavin had been in the same place days before the kidnapper had brought his wife here to die.
There were no coincidences.
She stared down at Chelsey Webster again. Why was she alive?
The kidnapper had driven her here, dragged or carried her through the woods, dug a hole for her body — and then failed to kill her. He hadn’t strangled her, or shot her, or cut her throat, or buried her alive. Instead, he’d left her. As if, when it came to that horrible moment, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t murder this woman. He could leave her to suffer a slow, agonizing death, or a death at the hands of animals who would have torn her apart. But he couldn’t deliver the blow himself.
Maggie thought to herself: Like a husband.
She heard the woman trying to talk again, and she knelt beside her. “What is it, Chelsey?”
Her mouth made nothing more than a low mumble. Maggie leaned close enough to make out what she was saying.
“Gavin,” Chelsey whispered. “Where’s Gavin?”
“You’ll see him soon. We talked to your husband. He knows you’re alive, and he’ll see you at the hospital.”
“Gavin,” Chelsey said again.
Then she closed her eyes and didn’t say anything more.
Serena sat in the darkness. She breathed in; she breathed out. Her last drink had been near one o’clock in the morning the previous night, and now it was almost ten o’clock. The time ticked toward midnight. She still wanted a drink, but that was nothing special. She always wanted one. She’d wanted one every night for 6,608 nights. But she was alone now, and alone was dangerous. She felt an impulse to get up and go outside, to drive back to that bar in West Duluth, to sit down in front of Jagger and order another Absolut Citron. The pull was like a magnet. Her brain came up with sweet, seductive lies for why she should give herself one last night.
This day was already a loss. The count was still at zero. Nothing would change that. So why resist? She could allow herself one more drink. Or a few drinks. A final farewell. She could quit at 11:59 p.m., and then tomorrow she would be free.
Lies.
Her purse was on the table next to the sofa. Her car keys were inside her purse. You know you want it, darling.
The voice inside her head, the voice telling the lies, belonged to Samantha. Her mother had always been the queen of excuses. In the shadows of the cottage, she imagined Samantha sitting in the opposite chair near the fireplace. Young again, the way she’d been when Serena was only fifteen. Perfect. Lush blond hair. Bright white smile. Dressed to kill in a red dress that bared her thighs. Only the eyes gave away a hint of recklessness, madness, lack of control.
“Come on, Serena. Let’s go to the bar. You and me. It’ll be like the old days.”
Serena breathed in. Breathed out.
“That bartender. What’s his name? Jagger? He’s a juicy one. If you don’t sleep with him, I will.”
And then: “One drink, baby. Do it for me. What the hell harm can one drink do?”
And then with a hiss from her forked tongue: “You owe me, sweet child of mine. You left me, you walked away. You let me die on a bench alone. And now you won’t even have a drink with me?”
The words shot into Serena’s head like the bullets of a gun.
Her hands curled into fists. She got up from the sofa, but she left her purse where it was. The purse with the car keys. She walked across the great space to the empty chair and stared down at Samantha.
“I still love you,” she murmured.
“If you love me, you’ll buy me a drink.”
“I’ve finally figured out that I’ll never stop loving you.”