Chapter Seven

"What do you mean it's not here?" The voice snarled in his ear.

Steve fought for control, trying to think of something, anything, to get his assailant to leave the cabin. He knew he had little chance of escaping, especially in his weakened state, but he couldn't risk his father walking in on this. He was dealing with a professional killer, of that he had no doubt. Female yes, but definitely a deadly one, and he was already in pain from her attack. He tried to gather his thoughts quickly and to ignore the throbbing from the various parts of his body. He had to get her right away from this cabin—his father's life depended on it. For the first time since the dismal day had begun, he was glad his father had remained at Community General. He gasped in pain as he felt the heavy metal of the gun pressing into his bruised face. Think, Sloan, think, he thought. She was a professional – she was probably either looking for drugs or money. Where could he take her? He didn't know the area at all and the day he'd endured ensured he hadn't had the chance to explore.

"It's outside…buried….near the lake." He gasped again as the gun pressed harder.

"Lake? Didn't know there was a lake up here. Why would you bury it there?"

Steve swallowed. "Yeah, there is, quite a way up the track. I thought it was safer and less obvious than here."

"So you're not denying you're Tom Peterson now?" she asked coldly.

Steve hesitated, knowing he had his wallet and his identification in his bag. If she saw fit to check, then he'd be in trouble for lying, but he had to persuade her to leave the cabin before morning. The thought of his father getting involved with this nightmare was more than he could bear.

"No point in denying it. You got me! But you're not going to find anything in this cabin, whatever you do to me, or the cabin." Steve forced the words out.

The woman looked around, seemingly accepting what he said. "Okay, let's go." She hauled him up roughly, surprising him with her strength. Or it could be he was feeling particularly weak, he thought. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage, or how he was going to continue to bluff her, but his main priority was to get them both away from the cabin. If he could play for enough time, then there was a possibility he'd be rescued. His father would only need to take one look at the wreckage their skirmishes had caused, not to mention the bullet holes and blood, for him to react and get help. Steve flinched as she pushed him face forward into the wall.

"Don't move!" she ordered.

Steve made no attempt to move as he allowed the wall to take his weight. His father's safety was of paramount importance to him and he wanted to make sure they were both out of there before he arrived. Even if he could escape, the chance of the killer returning to find whatever she was looking for was very high, so he considered the best option would be to keep her busy and right away from the cabin. He winced as he felt her grab his arms and pull them behind his back. Showing little regard for his injured hands, she tied his wrists roughly. He tried to bite back his protests as shafts of pain shot through him. She pushed him forward and he stumbled as his knee protested, forcing himself to move as he felt the gun in the back of his neck.

"Move it now, and you'd better not be playing any tricks! I've wasted a lot of time with you and that doesn't make me very happy."

Steve stumbled out into the dark. The air was damp, even though the rain had stopped, and the cold seemed to go right through him as they stepped out of the cabin. It was still the middle of the night and Steve looked around confused. Even if he did know where the lake was, he was sore and confused as he tried to get his bearings and night vision. The sudden flash of light startled him, until he realized the woman must have picked up his flashlight.

"I don't want you leading us astray by not seeing where we're going," she said.

He had no idea where they were going, where the lake was, but he would keep going until his strength gave out. He just had to keep the killer away from the cabin for as long as he could.

*

Steve continued to struggle with the long walk. It was difficult in the dark and the flashlight only provided a limited amount of illumination. His knee was throbbing, making walking very difficult, but his captor was relentless. When he stumbled, she simply pushed the gun into him and he struggled up. As it was dark, he didn't really know if he was heading in the right direction of the lake or not. He was confused and sore, but he kept going—his object to get as far away from the cabin as possible.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" the voice demanded.

"Yes. I told you it was quite a way and it is. I keep a boat there and I buried the stuff near the mooring." Steve could barely whisper.

"If you're playing games, you'll pay dearly for wasting my time!"

Steve kept going, ignoring the threat. He was numb but the mantra running through his head was that he had to keep his father safe and get right away from the cabin. Nothing else mattered….

"We've been walking for nearly half an hour! I don't believe you would have buried anything out here! I think you've been playing games, Peterson, and you're going to pay for it!"

Steve didn't have a chance to respond as his arm was grabbed and he was thrown to the ground, hissing with pain at both the rough grab and the fall. This falling down was getting a bit tiresome, he thought as the pain radiated through him and he struggled to get his breath. He grimaced again as his hair was grabbed and pulled up, the gun once again being pressed hard into his throat. As he fought to control his pain and fear, he became vaguely aware of the sun starting to rise. The morning had come, but it didn't seem as if things were about to improve for him. The gun's pressure started him coughing and choking.

*

Mark's alarm went off very early so he was ready to leave at dawn's first light. He didn't have to worry about packing since Steve had taken his luggage with him, but he did want to make some of Steve's favorite sandwiches. He made the sandwiches and a thermos of coffee and decided he'd try to call Steve. But Steve's cell phone didn't pick up. He could only hope Steve had everything he needed. He was usually pretty organized when it came to their outdoor trips but he was mindful it had been quite a wild night as far as weather was concerned, and he wasn't sure what standard the cabin was. But Steve's phone was obviously out of range and there was no point in worrying. Doubtless Steve would be in his element fishing on this fine and clear morning. With a final check of the beach house, he set out.

Mark was quite cheerful as he drove. He was feeling satisfied and content that he'd helped Del with his patient. He made a mental note to follow this up when he returned for he was always interested in the treatment of patients. His own patient who he'd been worried about was progressing well and he could now look forward to spending some quality time with his son. He knew Steve had been disappointed at him remaining behind but he had every intention of making it up to him. He looked at the map and the instructions Steve had left. The cabin was in an isolated area and the road looked like it was little more than a track. He hoped his car would be able to handle the drive – somehow Steve's truck seemed like a better option, especially as he turned off the main road onto the track. His only consolation as he looked at the rough track was Steve would have found a way to call him and warn him if he thought a car would have difficulties negotiating the track. Mark found he had to concentrate fully on the drive as he tried to avoid the potholes. He was getting a bit bothered by the drive, when he saw the first glimpse of the cabin. Taking a deep breath, and driving very slowly, he saw the familiar and welcome sight of his son's truck. He turned off the ignition and breathed deeply.

"Steve?" He called out loudly as he stepped out of his car. As he did, he got the first good look at the cabin. It didn't look very promising! Grimacing as he noticed the poor state of the exterior, he could only hope the interior was better. He walked towards the door, noticing it was open.

"Steve? I'm here! Steve?"

But as he entered the cabin, the chaos which greeted him made him freeze. Overturned furniture, Steve's belongings strewn all over the floor. Something was wrong. He walked carefully to where the sofa had been knocked over – a first aid kit, Steve's novel he'd been reading. His keen eyes took in a few red spots – blood. He felt himself move mechanically through the debris. Something was terribly wrong. There was no sign of Steve.