Free You Can't Escape by Nancy Bush Page B

embarrassed. He was right, of course. The house was a quarter mile down a curving lane, and there were fields and rolling hills on either side. The property backed up to the foothills of the Cascades and the nearest neighbor was over a mile away. This was her family home, located on the outskirts of Rock Springs, about three hours southeast of Laurelton. She’d chosen it because it was a helluva hideout for Jay Danziger, though she didn’t like the place at all. She’d never felt completely safe here, for reasons burned into her own psyche.
    She aided him from the passenger seat and could see how much his helplessness bothered him. “Stop fighting me,” she had to tell him as they hitched their way toward the woodshed door and then moved slowly along the planks that had been laid down on dirt, a makeshift walkway to the back door. Chunks of firewood were stacked to the ceiling on both sides and the only illumination was from the series of pane-less windows that ran along the southern exposure. Now there was only darkness beyond so Jordanna used her free hand to hold her cell phone, its flashlight app on.
    “Woodstove,” she explained as they neared the door to the house.
    “I did a story in Rock Springs once,” he mused, though his voice was tense from the effort of walking. “Animal cruelty.”
    “Mr. Purdy’s horses,” Jordanna said.
    “That’s right. He was a hoarder. More stupidity than out-and-out cruelty. He didn’t realize he was starving them.”
    “You defending him?” she questioned as she shoved her shoulder against the sticking door. She didn’t have keys, but unless her father had changed things, this door only needed an extra hard push for entry.
    “Of course not,” he said as the door gave. “It was a criminal act and it was lucky the horses were found when they were. But hoarding’s a mental disease. Used to be categorized with obsessive/compulsive disorder, but it’s a whole ’nother thing.”
    “You researched it,” she said.
    “That’s what I do.”
    It was cold in the kitchen, and when she hit the switch nothing happened. “No electricity. Goddamn you, Dayton,” she muttered.
    “Who’s Dayton?”
    Jordanna didn’t answer as she helped him to the couch. He sank down with a sigh and immediately closed his eyes and laid his head back.
    “I’m going to unload the car.”
    He didn’t say anything as she returned to the car and started making the trips through the woodshed to the house and back again. She’d changed back into her Nikes when she’d replaced the plates, and now she yanked out her suitcase, trudged upstairs to her old bedroom, then switched into jeans, a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a light jacket, her arms breaking into gooseflesh at the drop in temperature as night descended. Dressed again, she hauled the rest of the boxes of her belongings inside, making a half dozen trips back to the car, feeling her arms quiver from weariness. No surprise there. She was on an emotional roller coaster herself. The fear and thrill of sneaking through his house and helping him to her car—she’d left the wheelchair in the parking lot—and then sliding the RAV behind the empty building, putting on her plates again, and driving to Rock Springs, all the while keeping one anxious eye on Jay Danziger, was taking its toll.
    She’d purposely taken a circuitous route, heading into the heart of Portland and around the city before turning further east and finally south toward Rock Springs. Danziger had roused himself about halfway through the journey and looked out at the countryside as they clipped along the two-lane highway that led to the town, the landscape growing more rural by the minute. They weren’t all that far from Portland in distance, but it was a world away in almost every other respect.
    “Where are we going?” he’d asked.
    “Home,” she’d answered after a moment, and though she felt his eyes on her, she hadn’t turned to look at him.
    “Where is