Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(108)

“You made this easy,” Wes Lassiter said, his voice low and dangerous. “I thought I’d have to go in after you. We have two choices. You can come with me right now, nice and quiet, or we can walk back in through that door, do a little shooting in the right places, and get my son.”

“Wes,” she whispered. “God. No.”

“You did this to me, Paige. You could always find a way to provoke me, to make me crazy. You sent me to f**king prison!”

“Please,” she begged softly. “Anything…”

“Go ahead, Paige. Try me. It’s just you, right now. Or the three of us, and him out of the picture.”

She blinked once, tears squeezing out of her eyes and running down her cheeks. Instead of praying John would hear and come, she prayed he wouldn’t. If it was just her, Christopher would be all right. John would never let anything happen to him, would raise him right. She let herself be led to an old truck that sat behind the Dumpster. He pushed her in through the driver’s door, slipping in next to her.

“Wes,” she said, her voice shaking, tears running down her cheeks. “You’re just going to make this so much worse. Not just for me, but for you.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed, but even so she could see that his pupils were pinpoints. He was high. He laughed cruelly. “I don’t think so, Paige,” he said. “I’m finally going to get out of this mess.” He started the truck, cut a U-turn behind the Dumpster and drove in the opposite direction of the bar rather than past it. Paige strained, but didn’t see a single person on the street, no one on their porches. And no one saw her as far as she could tell.

She knew better than to try to reason with him. This surpassed any nightmare of her life. She knew that John wouldn’t let very much time pass before looking out the kitchen’s back door to see that bag of trash lying there, abandoned. She made up her mind—she would throw herself from the truck and if she survived it, she’d run. But not until they were farther away from town. Not until John had time to see something was terribly wrong and could protect himself and Christopher.

Wes didn’t speak. The rifle lay across his lap and he sat forward in the truck, gripping the steering wheel. That tense jaw and the narrowed eyes that she remembered too well bore down on the road as they trundled along. The shocks on the truck were bad, the seat hard, bouncing her around. They were driving down the mountain, heading in the direction of Highway 101, which could take them to any of the local cities where they bought supplies—Garberville, Fortuna or Eureka. Or even as far south as L.A. if he kept going. They only passed a few vehicles, and none that she recognized.

After ten minutes of a silent drive, he exited at Alderpoint and went back up the mountain in the direction of Virgin River. This road could take them not through Virgin River, but around it. At least she knew roughly where she was. In a sudden and desperate move, she grabbed at the handle on the door and furiously tried to open it. She looked around for a lock, pushing on the door at the same time, but it wouldn’t give. She popped the little button on the door next to the window—up and down, up and down, moving the handle, pushing. Nothing.

Her upper arm was gripped hard and she turned her watering, terrified eyes toward Wes. He scowled blackly, then his frown dissolved into mean grin. “Jammed, Paige. How stupid do you think I am?”

She swallowed hard and asked, “Do you plan to leave our son without a mother?”

“Absolutely,” he said with terrifying calm. “But not until I’m sure I’m leaving him without a potential stepfather.”

“God,” she whispered weakly. “Why, Wes? John hasn’t done anything to you!”

“No?” he asked. “Only took my family away from me. Got my family to turn against me.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what happened, Wes. I ran from you.”

“Sure you did, Paige. And if it wasn’t for that guy, you’d still be running. Running and running, and I would find you and find you. But what you did—ending it forever and sending me to f**king prison, that was his doing. We both know you don’t have the guts for that.” He turned his head toward her and grinned meanly. “He’ll come after you, you know he will.”

I’m bait, she thought. Nothing but bait.

“I wouldn’t mind a piece of that other one, either,” he said. “Sheridan.”

Something came over Paige. It seemed to rise within her from her core. You don’t have the guts for that…. The thought that this dangerous lunatic would ruthlessly, without conscience, hurt John and his own son sizzled inside her like boiling oil. Her fear slowly gave way to rage. “You’re going to burn in hell,” she whispered. But he couldn’t hear her above the noise of the old pickup.

When Brie and Mike walked into the bar it was deserted, but they could hear Preacher in the kitchen, and even muffled, his voice sounded riled up. Mike walked back to the kitchen to find him pacing with the phone in his hand, talking faster than Mike could ever remember; Preacher never said much, and when he did, it was measured and slow. Not so now. Before he could get a grasp of what Preacher was saying, he heard, “Mike’s back. Come on, then. Right now.”

Preacher hung up the phone and looked at Mike. “Something’s wrong. Something happened. Paige. She took out some trash and she’s gone. It’s lying out there on the ground by the Dumpster and she didn’t come back in. I’ve got Chris sleeping upstairs and can’t leave. I called Jack—he’s coming back to town.”