Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(110)

Mike went to his vehicle and came back with his own rifle, bulletproof vest and down vest. There was no reason for him to carry a bulletproof vest in his vehicle, but when he worked gangs he always had it with him, in case anything that included gunfire was going down when he was in the area. Ever since Lassiter was released, he’d been at the ready.

Jack shook his head and left to fetch gear from the back of his own truck. When he’d been throwing stuff in the back of the truck, he’d been thinking—she’ll turn up. It’ll end up she was down the street, sitting on Lydie Sudder’s porch, having tea, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. But Preacher didn’t overreact, and on the off chance something sinister was going on, Jack wanted to be prepared. Mel had said, “Oh, for the love of God! Isn’t this a little over the top?”

“I hope so,” he had said. “I really hope so.”

When he got back inside, Rick was putting on one of the bulletproof vests. “Uh, Rick. I’m thinking the women could use someone here in town….”

“Get Doc,” Rick said, pulling on the vest, very big on him because it was one of Preacher’s, and slapping the Velcro straps tight. “Doc can help over here. He’s a fair shot.”

Now, shrugging into his own flak jacket, Jack said to Preacher, “Tell me your plan.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. My head is empty. I just know I have to try to find her.”

“Right. Okay, here’s the deal. The sheriff, Highway Patrol and Department of Forestry will be getting descriptions of vehicles and Paige. They’ll have control of the roads, so we’ll concentrate on going back in the woods. We’ll look for old logging roads or broken-down brush indicating a vehicle passage. If he has that old truck, he won’t be off road—he’ll need a road to traverse. We’ll wait for Jim Post. He knows the area pretty well—maybe better than we do. We’ll concentrate on finding campsites, evidence of movement, maybe a hidden vehicle….”

“He could be far away by now,” Rick interrupted.

“No, he’s not going far,” Preacher said. “He can’t get away, not with Paige. Paige has changed since him—she doesn’t go along quietly anymore. This show-off guy with the three-million-dollar house—he’s not running back to L.A., to some cheap-ass hovel with the woman he thinks is his woman. If he’s got her, he had to kidnap her. He’s not running. He’s hiding. He’s gonna do something bad.”

“Preacher could be right,” Mike said. “Rick, we need maps of Trinity and Humboldt counties. Run over to Connie’s and get some. We’ll plot a course, select rendezvous points. That way we can get back here for new information. Jack, got a couple cases of bottled water?”

“Done.”

“Preacher, are there pictures of Paige somewhere? Maybe in her wallet?”

“I’ll see,” he said, going immediately.

People started moving again, getting things handled. About forty minutes had passed as they gathered up weapons and studied maps when Jim Post walked in, already fully dressed out—the flak jacket under his shirt obvious, wearing sidearms. He took a glance at the search rings and rendezvous points when the phone rang in the kitchen. Brie went to answer it and came back into the bar, grim-faced. “It’s not good news. Fortuna found the rented car. I’m afraid it’s got to be him. In the truck.”

Preacher went to Mel, who stood nervously jiggling the baby against her shoulder. “Mel, Chris is gonna be up from his nap pretty soon. You can keep him from getting worried, can’t you?”

“Sure,” she said. She put her small hand against his face and said, “It’s going to be okay.”

His eyes closed briefly. “It’s already not okay, Mel.”

“John?” came a small voice. There, standing in the doorway from the kitchen, was Chris with his favorite snugly toy, the one with the blue-and-gray plaid flannel leg. “What’cha doing, John?”

Preacher’s face melted into a soft smile and he went to the boy. He lifted him into his arms. “Huntin’,” he said. “Just a little huntin.’”

“Where’s Mom?”

Preacher kissed his pink cheek. “She’ll be back pretty soon. She’s off on errands. And you’re going to stay with Mel and Brie while we’re huntin’.”

While Wes drove, he talked. He didn’t look at Paige—his eyes were roving a little wildly, as though looking for something he’d misplaced. She wondered if it was drugs or if he was lost back in these hills, for he often seemed to be driving in circles. He’d start up a road, then either turn around or back out. But while this was going on, she listened.

She learned how much he hated his life in L.A.; the woman was just a means to an end—she had a place he could stay. There was no way he was going to check in with some state flunky every week, go to those stupid meetings every day, but he knew how to play the game. And they had random drug tests, he said. “Did you know that? They want my pee on a regular basis.” Then he laughed. “There’re a lot of places to get good pee.” And that’s when she knew—he’d managed to stay one step ahead of them for at least two months. He was using something, and if he wasn’t already just plain crazy, the drugs were helping it along.

Paige didn’t respond. She listened and watched. Not only was it dark back here in the trees on these winding roads, but the sun was lowering. Although it was May, it was cold in the forest at night and she shivered. She had no idea where they were.