Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,104

and she laughed maniacally, wincing as she leaned forward to take the coffee. She’d had enough.

“It’s like you’re reading my mind, you ignorant, one-eyed ape.”

Morgan opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, smiling softly instead like he wanted to shield her from something bad. But she already knew. She’d never been more certain of anything in her life.

They were going to kill her. She could not fathom a single reason why, but there was no way around the truth of it. She was going to die because of something in her witless husband’s past. The idea that David Mead—a guy who drew smiley faces on the toes of his boots—had anything of value locked away in his brain was beyond laughable. But he had to know something, something he’d kept hidden from her. Not even a week after they’d arrived at Chaga she’d realized she hardly knew the man. And now this. Had he been involved in drugs? Or some robbery where the money was lost? The information was important enough that these men had killed Rolf Hagen when he got in the way. Sarah suspected they would eventually use the threat of torturing her to convince David to cooperate. If threats didn’t work, they’d rape her in front of David, or just beat her slowly to death. One-Eyed Rick would enjoy that. Yes. That was it, she was a weapon to use against David. That was the only possible reason to keep her alive.

The mood in the cabin had changed over the last few hours, ever since Morgan returned. It was dark outside, and it felt incredibly late, but instead of sleeping, the men had grown more active. They’d snorted something earlier, to keep them awake no doubt, and they were now bouncing off the log walls. One-Eyed Rick still swabbed the window with his rag every time he paced by, but the falling temperatures were quickly turning the condensation to a layer of greasy ice. Morgan stoked the fire, and put on more coffee. He went so far as to give a few sips to David. They’d given Sarah softened crackers a few times—it was all she could manage with her jaw and teeth. But this was the first time she’d seen them offer David anything. Morgan even dabbed away some of the blood on his face, as if to make him more presentable.

Sarah ran her tongue over broken teeth, bringing a spark of intense pain to the back of her eye. She was getting used to the pain. If anything, it brought more clarity.

Whatever they were going to do, it was going to happen soon.

Soon.

She certainly hoped so.

CHAPTER 37

“Whoa!” Birdie shouted over the storm. “Whoa, Smudge.”

The dogs slowed, grudgingly at first, the snaps on their lines jingling as the sled hissed to a halt. Birdie stepped on the brake, raising her left hand in the universal sign to stop. Cutter assumed she was making a fist, but it was impossible to tell in the oversize beaver mitten. He followed her example and stepped on the brake at his station as well.

They’d broken through the trees and willows onto open tundra. The sailor in Cutter guessed the wind at forty knots or better. It hammered the dogs, forcing them to lean into it when they stopped. Headlamp beams illuminated a faint trail ahead left by Donna Taylor’s team. Cutter had learned in the last hour that sled dogs tended to defecate as they ran instead of waiting for a break. Eight dogs left a considerable amount of sign for Birdie’s team to follow, but even that was quickly being eroded by the scouring snow.

Birdie set the snow hook and gave it a stomp with her mukluk.

Cutter scanned for threats. The beam of his headlamp caught nothing but a moving curtain of white snow, white ground, and white sky.

He moved closer to Birdie, shouting above the blow. The bone-numbing cold gripped his lungs, making him sound like he was out of breath.

“Why did we stop?”

She pointed overhead.

Digger, the wheel dog, barked, upset at the interruption in his run. Smudge threw back his head and gave a long, frustrated howl.

Then Cutter heard the drone of a distant airplane.

“I bet it’s the troopers,” Birdie yelled. A smile perked the corners of her lips. “They must have made it out of Bethel.”

Cutter held on to the bowed handlebar of the sled to stay on his feet. Birdie’s heavy parka acted like a sail, catching the wind and shoving her across the slick