Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(111)

“You have any idea what it’s like in jail?” He turned his face sharply toward her. “Ever see a prison movie, Paige? It’s worse than the worst prison movie you ever saw.”

She lifted her chin, thinking, Do they beat you, Wes? What’s that like? Huh? But she said nothing.

“Still can’t believe you did that to me. I just f**king can’t believe it! Like you didn’t know how much I loved you! Jesus, I gave you everything. Ever think you’d live in a house like the one I built you? Ever think so? I took you out of that dump you were in and put you in a decent place, a place with some class. What did you ever need that I didn’t give you?” And on and on he ranted. While she listened, the first thought that came was that he was so delusional, it was as shocking as frightening. He really believed that a nice house, some material things, could make the abuse tolerable.

She thought about John—kind, loving John. She remembered what he’d said about being afraid. They teach you to fake brave. Every muscle in her body seemed to tremble with her rising anger. She would be damned if she’d let this delusional maniac take that sweet man away from her, away from Chris.

And the next thing that occurred to her—he never mentioned Christopher. Not since earlier, as he was abducting her—and that was only to leverage her, not because he wanted his son. He’d never wanted a son, never wanted children at all. He hadn’t touched her sexually while she was expecting; it was as if a baby coming disrupted his focus. It was always supposed to be just the two of them.

She should have known those fierce beatings had been intended so that she’d lose the baby. It was a miracle she had Chris.

He drove up a spiraling road that ended at the top of a small rise with only a few trees. Looking down, she could see not only the road that wound its way upward, but the connecting road below. She noted a truck down there, whizzing past and disappearing around the mountain.

“This should be fine,” he said, putting the truck in Park and killing the engine.

“Fine for what?” she asked.

He looked over at her, and while his expression was mean, he put his hand against her cheek. Gently. She shuddered at his touch. He hadn’t hit her yet, and that’s what he did best.

“Why didn’t you just run?” she asked in a whisper. “If you didn’t want to face court again, or the possibility of prison, why didn’t you run? You have money, Wes. You might’ve gotten away.”

He gave a huff of laughter. “You don’t understand much about probation, do you, Paige? My passport was confiscated. Besides, the more I thought about it, about you and me, I decided it would go better like this. We’ll just end it like this.” He gave her a half smile, then reached under the seat and grabbed on to a roll of heavy duct tape. “Come on, Paige. We’re getting out here.”

Jack, Preacher, Jim Post, Mike and Rick lit out at about four, an hour after Paige went missing. They left a rough map behind showing the same rendezvous points as the ones on the map Jack carried. They’d cut widening circles around Virgin River. If they didn’t find anything right away, they planned to swing back through town by eight, and again by midnight, to see if Paige had turned up or been recovered by police. But none of them planned to quit before she was found. They left in two trucks, drove first north of town into the hills. They parked along a wide curve in the road and, with flashlights, went into the trees on foot, looking for any kind of trail to track.

Whenever they came across a home or vehicle, they stopped and showed a picture of Paige and gave descriptions of the stolen truck and Wes Lassiter.

When they went back to Virgin River at eight, they found Buck Anderson and his three grown sons, Doug Carpenter and Fish Bristol, Ron and Bruce, and a few other men. Everyone took a glance at the map and this time they headed toward Highway 36, winding up into the mountains of Trinity County. Brie was able to tell them that the sheriff’s department and CHP had nothing new to report.

While the majority of the trucks of men pressed on, Jack, Preacher and Jim stopped in Clear River. While Preacher and Jim talked to people on the street, Jack went into an old, familiar haunt of his—a little bar served by a waitress he’d been seeing before Mel came into his life. He viewed sentimentally the way her eyes lit up when she saw him enter. Charmaine was a handsome woman, older than Jack by about ten years, and one of the most kindhearted women he knew.

“Hiya, Bub. It’s been a long time.”

“Charmaine,” he said with a nod. “I’m not here on a social call. Woman from our town has gone missing,” he said, flashing a picture. “We suspect an abusive ex-husband, recently released from jail. The woman, her name is Paige, is my cook’s girl.”

“Aw Jesus, Jack, that’s awful.”

“Everyone’s out looking. Can I get you to spread the word to anyone who happens in here for a drink?”

“You bet I will.”

So Jack described the missing truck, the ex-husband, and explained they weren’t positive of the connection, but it was likely he had her—Paige was afraid of him and wouldn’t have gone off. Her car and purse were left behind.

“I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen,” she promised.

“Thanks.” He turned to go and then turned back. “I’m married now.”

She gave a nod. “I heard that. Congratulations.”