Run to Me Read online

  About the Book

  It’s been two years since Shyler O’Neil’s beloved son Jesse was killed – but his final moments are as vivid to her now as they were that dreadful day. Suffering from post-traumatic stress, and convinced she did not do enough to protect him, she retreats to an isolated cabin in the woods of northern Maine.

  Meanwhile, Zack Ballinger – a ten-year-old boy who has never known a mother’s love – finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s seen too much and is now running for his life.

  Fleeing into the woods, Zack soon finds himself at Shyler’s cabin. He’ll take whatever help she can give – even though, for some reason, she keeps calling him Jesse . . .

  With the pursuers hot on their heels, ‘mother’ and ‘son’ go on the run. Protecting Zack may well be Shyler’s one chance at redemption.

  Either that, or she is the child’s greatest threat . . .

  Run to Me is a suspenseful, impossible-to-put-down thriller with riveting twists and turns . . .

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Contents

  Title

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the Book?

  For Michael

  Prologue

  ‘Jesse, come down from there, you might fall.’

  ‘I’m throwing sticks in the water, Mommy. See how fast they float away.’

  Shyler came up behind her son where he stood on the railing’s lowest bar. Sliding her arm around his waist, her cheek pressed to his, she peered over the side of the bridge.

  ‘The water’s moving really fast, isn’t it? Must be all that rain we had. Now come on, sweetheart, we better get going. Your baseball training went late today; it’s starting to get dark.’

  ‘All the sticks went under the bridge.’ He held up the last one. ‘I want to see where this one comes out.’

  ‘All right, one more, then we have to leave. Daddy’ll be home soon.’

  With a five-year-old’s flair he threw the stick, watched it hit the water, then jumped down to race to the other side.

  ‘Look both ways before you cross.’ Though he quickly obeyed, though they’d not seen a car since the edge of town, she couldn’t help double-checking to be sure.

  That’s when she saw the three men step out.

  They emerged from the bushes at the end of the bridge as though they’d come up from the banks below. But with no poles or reels they couldn’t have been fishing.

  She moved to where Jesse was scanning the water.

  ‘There it is, Mom!’

  ‘I see it, honey.’ But in truth she was looking the other way, keeping watch from the corner of her eye.

  The men had spread out across the road. Even before she could see their faces she knew the one in the middle was the leader, just from the way the others watched him, held back behind him as they started towards her.

  Their sudden appearance could be totally innocent, random chance.

  Still, why had they spread out across the road?

  Jesse climbed down and took her hand. ‘Timmy brought a rabbit to school today. A live one.’

  ‘Did he? I bet that was nice.’ She turned him to head back the way they’d come. Maybe they’d walk home the other way today, just to be –

  Two more men had stepped out behind them.

  ‘It had real soft fur, and big floppy ears. Can I get a rabbit, Mom?’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Pulling him close, she looked from one group to the other. Clearly together, clearly an ambush. A mugging? Here? In their quiet little corner of New Hampshire?

  ‘What is it, Mommy?’

  She scanned the road in both directions. No cars, no people. The fields sweeping back to the woods either side held nothing but drying rows of corn. She knew there was a house just past the first turn. But trees lining the banks of the creek would screen them from view, muffle any cries for help. The bridge they had crossed nearly every day since Jesse started school had never felt so lonely and remote.

  The men closed in, encircling them. Younger than she’d thought. Late teens perhaps. Taut and wiry, ragged as strays.

  The one with his hands jammed in his pockets twitched like a puppet on invisible strings. Another had a snake tattoo on his neck, his eyes red-rimmed. The plaid flannel shirt on the gangly one made him a scarecrow, a jaunty beret an incongruous touch for the one incessantly scratching himself.

  Stay calm. Don’t provoke them.

  She faced the fifth, the gang’s leader. ‘What do you want?’

  A scar tugged the side of his mouth like a fish hook. ‘Wallet,’ he said.

  She fumbled in her bag, handed it over. The others pressed closer as Fish Hook looked through it.

  ‘You gotta be kidding. Five lousy bucks, that’s all you got?’

  ‘That’s all I brought with me.’

  An unseen hand jerked Puppet’s strings. ‘Oh man, no way.’

  ‘That’s bullshit, she’s lying. She’s gotta have more.’

  ‘Here, take my bag if you don’t believe me.’ She held it out. The instant he snatched it, Puppet yanked Jesse away from her legs.

  ‘No, please, let him go.’

  Scarecrow and Beret cut between them as Puppet lifted the boy to the railing. ‘Soon as you give us what we came for.’

  She strained to see past them; Jesse’s eyes were now huge and frightened. ‘It�
�s okay, baby, they’ll be gone in a minute.’

  Scarecrow leered. ‘Yeah, baby, it’s okay. Mama won’t let her little boy fall.’

  She couldn’t pry her gaze from Puppet. Those twitching hands, that nervous dance . . . ‘Please, let him down. There’s rocks . . . the water . . . He can’t swim.’

  They shoved her back.

  Fish Hook was throwing things from her bag. ‘There’s nothing in here.’

  Bargain. Say anything. ‘There’s an ATM in town. I’ve got lots of money in my account. You can have it all.’

  ‘Think we’re stupid?’ Puppet swung Jesse’s legs over the edge.

  ‘There’s an iPod in my bag. A mobile, credit cards.’

  ‘Not enough.’

  ‘I have nothing else!’

  A jab from behind. ‘Empty your pockets.’

  ‘Car!’ Snake said, before she could move.

  ‘Don’t see nothin’.’

  ‘I hear it, man.’

  ‘Let’s get outta here.’

  Fish Hook threw the bag down, jerked his head. The others ran after him.

  All but Puppet.

  ‘Hey, what am I supposed to . . .?’ His look grew frantic – the car was getting closer.

  Raising her hands, a calming gesture, inching forward. ‘Please, be careful. Don’t –’

  He let go and ran.

  She sprang to the rail, the moment imprinting itself like a scar. Silken hair sliding between her fingers.

  The terrified scream she would never stop hearing.

  Chapter 1

  Two years later.

  Zack felt their stares on his back as he moved about the kitchen. The two of them, just sitting there, expecting him to make it all right. What the hell did they think he could do? He was just a kid himself.

  He jerked up the bread box lid and peered in – two mouldy crusts and a donut that had probably been there since the year he was born, the little brown things scattered around it either chocolate sprinkles or petrified mouse turds. He slammed the lid and moved to the fridge. A six-pack of Bud, a jar of olives, a can of Cheese Wiz. Something black and fuzzy that might once have been a carrot lay in a puddle of slime at the bottom. Zack grabbed the Wiz and shut the door.

  From the cupboard he’d pawed through earlier, he took down the half-eaten box of Ritz. He fished the cleanest plate from the sink, tipped the remaining crackers onto it, squirted each with a dollop of Wiz and plunked the plate on the kitchen table.

  Reece and Corey sat dead quiet staring down at it.

  ‘I thought you guys said you were hungry.’

  ‘We are.’ Reece shifted. ‘It’s just . . .’

  ‘Just what?’

  Reece shoved a knuckle into his mouth. Zack pulled it out again. He couldn’t stand it when the kid chewed himself. Corey rested his chin on the table, hiding his face beneath a mop of blond curls.

  Be cheerful, reason with them, Zack told himself – that’s what you did with little kids. ‘Well, that’s all there is so you better eat it.’

  Reece shook his head, inching his hand towards his mouth again.

  ‘You sure? They’re pretty good.’ Zack picked one up and popped it in his mouth. ‘Mmm, yum.’

  Corey looked up. ‘But the crackers. They’re Frank’s.’

  ‘Yeah, so what? Frank’s not here, so you get first dibs. Now go on and eat.’

  Neither boy moved.

  ‘I said eat!’ He thumped the table.

  They jumped in unison, then hid their faces. Corey’s shoulders began to quake.

  Zack clenched his jaw. The only thing worse than when they nagged him was when they cried. It twisted everything up inside him, made him feel sad, scared and angry all at the same time.

  Slowly, as always, his resistance ebbed. He sidled up to Corey and gave him a nudge. ‘Scooch over, Runt.’

  The boy slid aside and Zack perched half his butt on the chair.

  ‘Now listen, you guys, I’m in charge and I say it’s all right for you to eat this, so that means it is.’

  ‘But what about Frank?’ Corey’s voice carried the threat of more tears. He often played at being the baby, but this time Zack knew his fear was real.

  ‘You let me worry about Frank.’

  They stared at the plate. Reece chewed the skin on the back of his hand. Corey bit down on his quivering lip.

  Zack heaved a sigh. ‘Okay, what if . . .’ He couldn’t believe he was going to do this. ‘When Frank gets home you can tell him I ate all the crackers, all right?’

  The pair looked up as though he’d just offered to walk barefoot over broken glass for them. In a way, he supposed he had.

  They each grabbed a cracker and started to eat, for the moment happy. Probably a good time to mention the other thing. ‘There’s something else I needed to tell you.’

  They waited, expectant.

  ‘You gotta stop following me around everywhere.’

  ‘How come?’ Reece said.

  ‘Well, I got things to do, that’s why.’ Not to mention how uncool it was to be seen with a five- and a seven-year-old.

  ‘Why can’t we do them with you?’

  ‘Because the places I go aren’t safe for little kids. Like yesterday, that old building. It’s okay for me to go in, I’m big, but you could get hurt in dumps like that. Plus you can’t run as fast as me. I mean, what if one of those guys had spotted us?’

  ‘What guys?’ Reece said.

  ‘There, ya see, you didn’t even notice.’

  ‘I saw him,’ Corey piped up. ‘The one with the suitcase.’

  ‘Sports bag. And I didn’t mean him. One guy on his own wouldn’t matter; I’m talking about the others that showed up after him. You gotta pay attention to stuff like that. You get caught doing what I do and they put you in jail.’

  They sat absorbing the weight of his words.

  ‘So why do you go in places like that?’ Reece said.

  Zack stuck his chest out. ‘To lift stuff. Buildings that aren’t used any more have all sorts of junk lying around, stuff you can hock or get a deposit for.’

  From the front of the house came a knock at the door. Zack got up.

  ‘You mean you steal stuff?’ Corey said, his eyes like saucers.

  ‘Where do you think your candy bars come from? Think Frank buys ’em for you?’ Zack left them with their mouths hanging open and walked to the living room.

  He unlocked the front door, and opened it just enough to peer out. On the other side of the tattered screen stood a man and a woman, each with a briefcase.

  The man stepped forward. ‘May we speak to Frank or Julie Leary, please?’

  ‘Not home,’ Zack said.

  ‘When will they be back?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘Do you know where we might find them?’

  Zack gave a laugh. ‘The nearest bar?’

  ‘Son, it’s very important we speak to your parents.’

  He jerked the door back. ‘They’re not my parents.’

  A second’s pause. ‘Yes, of course. Any idea when they’ll be home?’

  ‘You got shit in your ears? I said, I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, would you mind if we waited for them?’

  Zack took a closer look at the man. Gelled brown hair slicked back off a male-model, clean-shaven face. Younger than Frank and a lot more polite. The woman’s dark hair just skimmed her shoulders. Pants, smart jacket, big round eyes. They seemed safe enough. But the briefcases, the man’s suit and tie . . .

  ‘You’re not Mormons, are you?’

  The man smiled. ‘No.’

  ‘Jehovah’s Witness?’

  ‘We’re not from any church.’

  Zack shrugged. ‘Guess you can wait as long as you want then.’ He started to close the door but the man spoke up again.

  ‘What I meant was, could we wait inside for them?’

  ‘Nup, can’t let any strangers in.’

  The man nodded, then tilted his head. ‘I’
m guessing you’re Zackary Ballinger, is that right?’ He opened his briefcase and pulled out some papers.

  ‘How’d you know that?’

  ‘You look the right age. Nine, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ten,’ Zack corrected, standing taller.

  ‘That’s right. And the others? Let’s see . . . Reece Dennings, seven; Corey Ingles, five. They inside too?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Zack frowned. ‘Hey, who the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m Mr Westgate and this is Ms Knowles. We’re with the New Hampshire Department of Child Welfare.’

  Zack went still. Social workers. Just like the ones who’d brought him to this dump, and the ones who’d brought him to the dump before that. He didn’t know these particular workers but he knew what a visit from one could mean. ‘What do you want with Frank and Julie?’

  ‘It’d be better if we discussed that with them.’

  They stared at each other.

  ‘So.’ The man slipped the papers back in his case. ‘Now that you know who we are, may we come in?’

  Zack squinted up at them. Would anyone say they were a social worker if they weren’t? Robbers maybe. But there wasn’t anything worth stealing here.

  ‘Lemme see something.’

  ‘You mean an ID?’ Another smile. Then the pair pressed laminated cards to the screen, complete with their pictures. Their names were Westgate and Knowles all right.

  Still Zack hesitated, imagining what Frank’s reaction would be if he came home and found these strangers in his house. Then again, knowing what they were probably here for, it might just be worth it to see Frank squirm.

  He unlocked the screen door and held it open.

  Chapter 2

  Westgate stepped into the tiny living room and stopped as though he’d been slapped in the face. ‘Christ, what’s that –?’ He cut himself off.

  ‘What’s what?’ Zack said, pretending innocence. He’d never grown immune to the smell but at least he was used to it.

  The man’s gaze swept over the dirty dishes heaped on an end table, the mouldering remains of food that clung to them, the grease-stained furniture, the take-away wrappings, the overflowing ashtrays. ‘Never mind.’

  The woman pulled a handkerchief from her bag and held it to her face. She was thin and tough-looking like she worked out a lot, like maybe the padding in her jacket’s shoulders wasn’t all padding. ‘Is the place normally this . . . untidy?’