Countdown - Iris Johansen [114]
“I’m not arguing.” Jane forced herself to look away from Jock. “How long are we going to leave him out there?”
“Thirty minutes. We’ll go to the next exit and double back.”
“Thirty minutes can be a long time.”
“A lifetime. His lifetime.” He stepped on the accelerator. “Or his sanity.”
I don’t see him.” Jane’s gaze frantically searched either side of the road. Three times MacDuff had driven slowly down the stretch where they had left Jock, and there had been no sign of him. “Where is he?”
“He could have wandered into one of the subdivisions. We passed by Timberlake golf community and Mountain Streams subdivision on this stretch. We’ll do one more pass and then we’ll start searching—”
“There he is!” Jane had caught sight of a figure sitting in the ditch by the side of the road. “Oh, God, do you suppose a car hit him or—” She jumped out of the car as MacDuff screeched to a stop. “Jock, are you—”
“Four eight two.” Jock didn’t look at her. He was staring straight ahead. “Four eight two.”
“Is he hurt?” MacDuff was beside her, dropping to his knees and shining his flashlight on the boy. “Jock, what happened?”
Jock stared blindly at him. “Four eight two.”
MacDuff was running his hands over Jock’s arms and legs. “I don’t think he was struck by a car. No obvious injury.”
“I think his injury is pretty damn obvious.” She tried to steady her voice. “My God, what have we done?”
“What we had to do.” His hands grasped Jock’s shoulders and made him look at him. “We’re here now. Nothing is going to happen. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“Four eight two.” He suddenly bent double in agony and closed his eyes. “No. Can’t do it. Little. Too little. Four eight two.”
“Jesus,” she whispered.
MacDuff handed her the flashlight. “We have to get him back to the chalet.” He scooped Jock up in his arms. “You drive. I’ll get in the backseat with him. I don’t know what he’s going to do next.”
“I’m not afraid. For God’s sake, he’s hurting.”
“You drive,” he repeated, and straightened. “If there’s a risk, I’ll take it.”
Because Jock was one of MacDuff’s people. She could tell by the possessive way he was holding Jock that there would be no arguing with him. And she had no desire to do anything but get the boy back to the chalet as soon as—
482.
The beam of the flashlight MacDuff had given her had fallen on the earth where Jock had been sitting.
482. The numbers were etched deep in the earth. The numbers were repeated over and over. 482. 482. 482.
“Jane.”
Her head rose at MacDuff’s call and she hurried toward the car.
How is he?” Mario asked as she came out of Jock’s room.
“I don’t know.” She glanced back at the door. “He seems almost catatonic. Poor kid.”
“It may be my religious upbringing, but I’m having trouble pitying a murderer.” His lips tightened. “And when you think about it, if he worked with Reilly then he’s one of them.” He held up his hand. “I know. I’m in a minority here. But I can’t give him either understanding or forgiveness.”
“Then you’d better stay away from MacDuff,” Trevor said. “He’s a little touchy right now.”
Mario nodded. “I’ve no desire to antagonize him. He may still be able to get something out of Jock.” He headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make a pot of coffee.”
“Four eight two,” Trevor repeated, his gaze on the bedroom door. “Is he still saying it?”
She nodded. “Like a mantra.”
“But that mantra didn’t start until he hit that particular stretch of road. Has MacDuff tried to ask him any questions?”
“Not yet. Would you?”
“Probably not. We don’t need the boy going into meltdown.”
“It’s pretty sad that we have to worry about what we need, not what Jock needs.” She stopped him as he opened his lips to speak. “I know,” she said wearily. “It’s necessary. And I’m the one who was all for pushing him to get the answers. It just breaks my heart to see him hurting like this.”
“Then