Chapter 4 - Sins of the Past
The Blackwood Sawmill had been abandoned for over twenty years. Its rusted corrugated tin roofs groaned under the immense weight of three feet of fresh snow, and its broken wooden beams rattled like dry bones in the gale-force wind.
Inside the main cutting shed, the air was bitter cold, smelling of ancient sawdust, rusted iron, and diesel fuel.
A single battery-powered halogen work light cast long, harsh shadows across the concrete floor.
Tied to an old steel support beam in the center of the room was Claire Mercer.
Her blonde hair was matted with dried blood from a deep cut near her hairline where her head had struck the steering wheel. Her hands were bound tightly behind her back with thick yellow plastic zip-ties, her wrists raw and bruised. She wore only a thin wool sweater and jeans—her heavy winter coat had been ripped away during the struggle.
Standing three feet in front of her, tossing an iron crowbar from hand to hand, was Roy Vance.
He had grown thinner in prison, his skin sallow and scarred, his eyes sunken into dark sockets that held a wild, unhinged fever. He wore a heavy camouflage parka and dirty snow boots, his breath blooming white in the freeze.
"You're running out of time, Claire," Roy hissed, stepping closer and bringing the cold iron bar up until it rested under her chin. "The storm is moving in fast. In another hour, it’s gonna be minus thirty in this shed. You give me the twenty-four-character decryption key for the Swiss ledger accounts, or I leave you here to turn into an ice cube."
Claire raised her head slowly. Despite the blood on her face, despite the icy chill creeping into her limbs, her blue eyes burned with an icy, unyielding fury.
"Go to hell, Roy," Claire spat out, her voice raspy but firm. "I know how those ledgers work. The moment I give you that key, you'll put a bullet in my head."
Roy laughed—a dry, raspy sound that echoed off the tin walls.
"You think you have leverage?" Roy sneered, leaning in until his breath stank of stale tobacco against her cheek. "You think those two brats of yours are gonna save you?"
Claire’s eyes widened in sudden, agonizing terror. "What... what did you do to my children?"
"I left them," Roy smiled wickedly, his yellow teeth flashing in the harsh work light. "Right on the shoulder of Route 12. Seven-year-old girl, baby boy in her arms. The wind up there is gusting at sixty miles an hour, Claire. By now, their little hearts have stopped beating. They're frozen solid like ice pops."
"NO!" Claire shrieked, her body thrashing violently against the steel beam, her zip-ties cutting deep into her wrists. "You monster! You utter monster! I'll kill you! I'll tear your throat out!"
"You should have thought about that before you put me in Deer Lodge!" Roy roared, backhanding her across the face with his gloved hand.
The force of the blow snapped her head to the side, fresh blood welling from her lip onto her sweater.
"I spent three years in a six-by-eight cell because of you and Caleb Hart!" Roy spat, pacing back and forth on the concrete floor. "Hart took my company, my money, my reputation! And you provided the paper trail! But I'm taking it all back tonight. The key, Claire! GIVE ME THE KEY!"
"Never," Claire whispered through her bloodied teeth, staring at him with pure hatred. "Kill me. Do it. But you will leave this mountain with nothing."
Roy’s face twisted into an ugly, demonic mask. He raised the iron crowbar high over his head, aiming for her shoulder. "Then I'll break your bones one by one until you change your mind!"
BOOM!
The heavy wooden double doors of the sawmill shed were suddenly blown inward off their rusted hinges. A massive wave of white snow and sub-zero air rushed into the building, snuffing out the halogen light’s stand and knocking Roy off balance.
Through the blinding curtain of white snow, two dark figures strode into the shed, their tactical weapon lights cutting through the darkness like blinding white lances.
"DROP THE IRON, VANCE!" a thunderous voice roared over the storm.
Roy spun around, his eyes squinting into the blinding glare. "Who the hell is that?!"
A tall man stepped out of the whiteout, dropping his thermal mask to reveal a jaw of set granite and eyes of storm-cloud gray.
Roy froze, his mouth agape. "Hart?!"
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Caleb raised his SIG Sauer .45, pointing the barrel straight at the center of Roy Vance’s chest.
"Put the bar down, Roy," Caleb said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Or I'll put three rounds in your lungs before you take another breath."
