He dropped both her phone and the battery into a pocket of the windbreaker. “What does it look like?”
“Like you’re rendering my phone useless.”
“Good guess. Mine’s already disabled. For the rest of the night, we’re off the grid.”
“Are you insane?”
“Just deranged.”
“Mitch!”
“You won’t be missed for a day or two.”
“Missed fora day or two? I have patients.”
“Not tomorrow. Your office is closed. Three-day weekend. I know because I called to make an appointment. Ellie told me she had to go out of town to see her sick sister, so you decided to take a long weekend, too, and didn’t book any appointments for Friday.” He gave her a look that dared her to contradict him.
She didn’t, but she was vexed. “You’re taking me home, Mitch. Right now!”
“Not tonight. Not until I learn how Malone reacted to the incident in the median.”
“He had nothing to do with that.”
“We’ll see,” he said in a doubtful tone. “But until I’m sure of that, you stay within my sight. No more argument. Buckle up.”
He started the truck and executed a jerky three-point turn that pulled at the knife wound and caused it to hurt. Securing the steering wheel with his right hand, he pressed his left against his side. His palm came away wet with fresh blood. “Shit.”
Having seen the problem, Dylan said, “Mitch, please be sensible. Find the nearest emergency center and get stitches.”
“We’ll put some of those clips on it when we get there.”
“Get where?”
He looked at her and grinned. “You’re in for a treat.”
An hour and a half later, Dylan wouldn’t use the word “treat” to describe the environment in which she found herself.
The large, cluttered room was dominated by the stuffed head of a snarling razorback. The boar shared the faded-wallpaper walls with other hunting and fishing trophies, yellowed and curled Mardi Gras posters from years gone by, and photographs and artifacts representing aspects of the Cajun culture.
If everything collected here had been displayed in glass cases inside a modern building surrounded by civilization, it would qualify as a museum.
But there hadn’t been any signs of civilization for the last few miles Mitch had driven in order to get here. There hadn’t been a signpost on the narrow state highway to indicate a turnoff,but Mitch had known where it was and had taken it at an indiscriminate speed, plunging them into a forest as eerie as any in a Grimm brothers’ fairy tale.
The darkness was unrelieved by any light source save for the pickup’s headlights. The beams bounced off low-hanging tree branches draped in Spanish moss, and once caught the shiny, agate eyes of some species of wildlife.
The rutted track they’d taken off the highway led to a building that was barely detectible. Mitch boasted that he and John Bowie had painted it in camouflage themselves. He’d gone through a tedious process to unlock and open an overhead garage door. Inside the structure was a compact car.
He’d steered his pickup in alongside it and helped her to squeeze out. He’d gathered up all the bloody clothing and used gauze pads from the floorboard and bundled everything into the jacket he’d worn to look homeless.
He’d asked her to grab the bag of first aid items, then had reversed the process to secure the garage. To Dylan, its near invisibility made the security measures seem superfluous.
Taking her hand, he’d said, “Don’t let go, or you might never be found,” and had struck off on foot through the woods.
“Couldn’t we use a flashlight?”
“Definitely not. They attract the gators.”
She stopped in her tracks.“What?”
