Page 44 of In Her Grasp

She’d said that someone told her they’d seen something at the reservoir, something she needed to know. She’d said that whoever it was had told her to meet her by the willow tree at dusk.

Her words hung in his consciousness like the lone crow perched atop the weathervane, an omen of things to come. He’d thought the past was dead and buried, and someone was threatening to stir it all up again. Mike, Clive, Jimmy—they were supposed to be chapters closed, names to be forgotten as he got on with his quiet rural life.

This meeting, called by an unknown observer at a place so intimately connected to his sins, set off alarms in the primal part of his brain. Who could have seen him? What had they seen? And why had they waited until now to threaten to reveal whatever it was? He couldn’t make sense of it, but he knew he’d never feel secure again. Paranoia, once a silent stalker, became a loud companion, whispering scenarios of exposure and downfall.

As the afternoon sun descended slowly in the sky, Tommy made his decision. He retrieved a heavy flashlight from the cab of his truck, the weight reassuring in his calloused hand. If someone really knew what had happened at Sablewood Reservoir and had decided to talk, they wouldn’t stop with one call to the Sheriff. One way or the other, Jimmy had to make sure that this whole nightmare was brought to an end, once and for all.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

As dusk painted the sky in shades of purple and orange, Jenna Graves adjusted her position beside the willow tree that hung over Sablewood Reservoir. The gnarled trunk felt cool against her back. The vibration of her phone got her attention. She felt a surge of excitement. Had the action begun?

She glanced down at the screen to see Jake’s message: “Still awake?” Apparently, nothing was happening yet, and he was feeling impatient, too.

Jenna stifled a smirk and tapped out a reply: “Just bored.”

Seconds later, another alert buzzed. This time it was Frank. “No clowning around now people. It’s getting dark. Time for Jake and me to get well out of sight. Jenna, be sure he won’t be able to recognize you immediately.”

Jenna read the text, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly at the image in her mind of Frank’s annoyance as he typed the commands.

She pocketed the phone and surveyed the area once more. Then she slid into a crouch behind the willow’s drooping boughs, cloaked by shadows that grew thicker as the dusk darkened into night. She knew that anyone who arrived could see a dark figure silhouetted against the water. That was the idea. But the willow branches would help obscure her outline. Whenever Jake or Frank sent the word that Larson was arriving, she would pull up the hood on the sweat-shirt she wore. Tommy had to believe that he was meeting a person who had offered Jenna information on his murders at the reservoir.

Her eyes remained fixed on the dimming horizon, waiting for any sign that the plan they had discussed in Frank Doyle’s home only hours earlier might begin to unfold.

“Tommy Larson won’t be able to resist,” she’d said confidently. “He’ll show up thinking he’s taking care of a problem.”

“You think he’s that arrogant?” Frank’s skeptical tone had questioned, his eyes scanning Jenna’s face for certainty. “He won’t assume you’re setting him up?”

“Arrogance and guilt often walk hand in hand,” Jenna had replied.

So that no give-away car would be parked near the site, Officer Dilkins had dropped each of them off at their designated spots, like pieces on a chessboard strategically placed to corner a king.

Jake would be watching the road leading to the dam; his presence there was a quiet reassurance. Frank, ever the protector, waited where the other road met the reservoir’s edge at the far side, where the public had access to the water. And here she was, the lure in their trap, waiting at the willow that marked the deepest part of the reservoir.

Settled in place beside the very tree she had mentioned to Larson, Jenna expected the stillness around her was just an eerie prelude to what was to come. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the faint rustle of wildlife preparing for the night. If Larson took the bait and came to get rid of the caller in a vain effort to bolster his perceived invincibility, they would have him dead to rights.

The dwindling sunlight cast long shadows across the Sablewood Reservoir as Jenna crouched low behind the willow tree. She adjusted her position, the damp earth cool beneath her hands, and scanned the tree line. The plan was simple: watch and wait. Jake and Frank would give a signal if Tommy Larson showed up at either entrance, and they’d close in as he headed toward Jenna.

The only other person on the site was Paul Rauer, who knew all about the plan. From his vantage point inside the dam’s control room, he kept his usual vigilant watch over the reservoir, his eyes darting between the security monitors and the large windows that overlooked the water. He’d been alerted to the gravity of the situation — a murderer potentially walking into a trap — and he took his role seriously.

Jenna’s gaze remained fixed on the road leading around the reservoir, the one that passed by the willow. There was no movement yet, but the night was young. She trusted Frank and Jake to spot Larson if he appeared; until then, she was just the silent bait.

She shifted her weight, the muscles in her legs protesting the prolonged crouch, but she ignored the discomfort. The first stars began to prick the darkening sky. Jenna’s breaths came slow and even, her body poised and ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. The air grew chill, and the last light faded from the horizon, leaving only the soft whisper of the evening breeze through the willow branches. And so, under the watchful eyes of her allies, Jenna waited for the darkness to reveal its secrets.

***

Tommy Larson’s boots crunched over dry leaves, breaking the hush that had settled over the whole area. The Sablewood Reservoir shimmered through gaps in the dense foliage as the dying light of day pierced the thick canopy above. He had been navigating this familiar terrain for the better part of an hour, walking across fields and through the woods near the reservoir rather than driving a car through either entrance to the property. Each step he took brought him closer to the fateful willow tree, where he would find the person who threatened to uncover his years of secret actions.

With dusk casting long shadows across his path, Tommy mulled over the information Sheriff Graves had relayed with her typical stoic composure. An anonymous caller, a meeting at dusk—the details nagged at him, tugging at the corners of his focused mind. For all he knew, it could be just another layer in an intricate tapestry of deceit, a ruse meant to draw him out. If so, it wasn’t going to work. He’d make sure of that.

He knew these woods around the reservoir better than anyone—knew that every fox den and rabbit burrow could be a potential hiding spot for an ambush. That’s why he’d chosen to approach from the north side, where the thick foliage provided cover, and the ground was less trodden. The terrain here was tricky, the forest floor littered with unseen dips and roots ready to trip the unwary. But Tommy was no city-dweller; his gait remained unfaltering, eyes scanning, senses alert.

He swiped a hand over his brow, pushing back the disheveled dark hair that clung to his skin, damp with sweat from the hike. The water now lay fully in view, still and somber under the twilight sky. The willow tree was close; its weeping branches would soon be within reach. He saw no sign of activity, no patrol cars or lawmen in sight.

“Graves might have been playing it straight,” Tommy mused silently, considering the possibility that the Sheriff had no intention of keeping the clandestine appointment offered to her. If that were true, then whoever had made that call would be unsuspecting, vulnerable—a perfect target for Tommy’s brand of justice. And they wouldn’t be likely to expect anyone to meet them by walking all this way instead of driving in to the property.

A surge of adrenaline fueled his muscles as he envisioned the scene—there would be another body sinking beneath the surface of the reservoir, joining Mike, Clive, and Jimmy in their silent watery graves. He prepared himself for what was to come—the inevitable confrontation with the unknown stranger at the willow tree, where only one would emerge unscathed.

With each step, Tommy measured the distance to the willow tree, its branches like tendrils of despair against the dusky sky. His mind, a fortress of suspicion, wasn’t lulled by the calming hoots of an owl hidden within the forest. The fading light played tricks on his vision, casting elongated shadows where there should have been none. Yet, his focus never wavered. He wasn’t just a man trekking through the woods; he was a predator closing in, his prey unsuspecting, his mission clear.

---