Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Thanks, man,” Lenny said and exited the restaurant. In the crook of his arm, he carried a bag of Chinese takeout, the scent of which wafted to his nose and had his mouth watering. The keys to his Jeep jingled in his hand while he unlocked the door and climbed inside.
He placed the bag in the passenger seat, thoughts of Becca never far away. He’d asked her what she wanted for dinner, but she’d told him to surprise her. Burgers and pizza seemed a bit mundane, so he’d taken a chance on fried rice, dumplings, and beef and broccoli. He licked his lips, the idea of seeing chopsticks in her fingers strangely sexy.
He eased along Tybee’s streets, heading back to the beach house and the woman he’d fallen for. Holy Moly, she was sexy. She had those deep, dark bedroom eyes that stopped a man in his tracks and legs that made him beg for mercy. The gods had blessed her not only with hotness but artistic talent as well.
But for all her exotic beauty and prolific creative ability, the thing that impressed him most was the brain in her head and her fearlessness at using it. Like when she’d asked him about the tricks of the undercover reporter trade, and he’d decided to show off his latest gadget. He’d hooked the camera pen to his laptop and pulled up the pictures he’d taken at her art show. The first picture had been of her. And Jeez Louise, hadn’t she looked amazing? A shiver of appreciation rolled through him at the memory. Although he’d left less than thirty minutes ago, seeing her again filled him with anticipation.
As he rounded the corner into her neighborhood, the bag of food shifted in the seat. He reached over to keep it from dumping onto the floorboard. The top of the paper bag crinkled in his grasp, and he glanced down.
Brown bag.
Lenny jerked his hand away. The coarse paper left a strange icky sensation on his fingertips. If a powdery substance coated his hand, he wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised. He pulled the car to the side of the road while he wiped his palm against his pant leg.
He stared at the passenger seat. Good God, there’s a brown paper bag right next to me. Just like Vicki predicted. The heavy thump of his heart pounded against his sternum, but he fought not to panic. Got to think this thing through. What does it mean? He shifted his gaze out the windshield where bright streetlights lined the road and garbage cans stood sentry at the end of driveways.
Okay, so Vicki saw a brown bag in her vision of me. But the killer’s dead. That means her vision is null and void. His focus moved back to the bag. Or is it?
A, S, and D. The first part of the vision she’d seen for him. Three letters that set his fate in motion. An image of his laptop keyboard filled his mind, the three telltale letters snuggled together on the left-hand side. Why didn’t I see that when Vicki first mentioned it?
He squeezed his eyes closed. Before he’d gone to get takeout, he’d used the computer. Even typed the cursed letters ASD to connect to the camera pen and upload the pictures from Becca’s show.
The matte-silver tube.
Oh, crap. Was the tube Vicki saw in her vision my camera pen? The manufacturer is Advanced Surveillance Depot. ASD. Wait, Vicki said the visions she saw for Becca and me were done because the killer is dead. He looked at his pen again. But, damn, if those three letters aren’t etched into the matte-silver casing.
Sweat coated Lenny’s palms. Air rushed through his parted lips as he took one deep breath after another. His stomach rolled with the realization three of the five signs Vicki predicted for him had already come to pass.
If it was true, if her vision wasn’t void just because the killer was dead, then Becca might be in trouble. With a cursory glance in his rearview mirror, he stomped the gas pedal, the back wheels of the Jeep slinging grass and dirt in his wake. When he yanked the steering wheel, tires squealed against the pavement in protest of the sharp turn. The sudden change in direction sent the bag of food tumbling to the floorboard, boxes of rice and dumplings spilling open.
Thoughts of the amazing woman he’d fallen for filled his mind. Meeting her had changed him. Compelled him to be a better man.
Dear God, what if something has already happened to her?
Lenny slammed on the brakes, and the SUV slid the last ten feet to a stop. Angled across the driveway, the car’s headlights pierced the darkness and illuminated the front of the house. He shoved the door open, tore across the yard. When he approached the steps to the porch, he stumbled to a stop.
“Oh shit.”
A yellow daisy peeked through the stair’s open risers.
He’d prayed he was wrong. He’d hoped the killer’s death had taken Becca and him off Fate’s list. But the damned yellow daisy smiling up at him pretty well cinched it. The nightmare wasn’t over. Not for him or the woman he loved.
He took the steps two at a time. No sooner had he turned the doorknob and stepped into the foyer, her name on his lips, than the brittle sound of glass breaking against tile met his ears. When Becca’s scream filled the beach house, icy adrenaline shot through his veins.
With a calm that surprised him, he retrieved the heavy-gauge frying pan he’d placed inside the coat closet when he’d believed the killer still alive. In the kitchen, Becca fought her assailant, her yelps and curses echoing off the walls. She fought for her life while he silently skittered down the hallway.
Holding the pan with both hands like a baseball bat, he raised it to his shoulder. Fate wants to take a shot at me and my lady? Fine. But I don’t go down easy.
* * *
As he exited the bridge onto Tybee Island, River reached over and took Vicki’s hand in his. Moonlight beamed through the window, illuminating her face. Stress and concern etched her features.
He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed. They would get through this together. They’d discuss what they’d seen and what they thought about it. River gritted his teeth. Of course, he might be the one who needed extra help. The things he’d witnessed didn’t fit into his neat, rule-oriented box. Hell, what he’d seen didn’t fit anywhere, box or otherwise. But he couldn’t deny it had happened.
River stopped and flicked on the blinker to make a left into Becca’s neighborhood. A sigh whispered through Vicki’s lips. When her eyes closed, he sensed some of her anxiety slip away. He imagined two words floated through her mind—almost home.
The shrill chirp of her cell phone shattered the silence in the car. Leaning forward, she grabbed her purse and pulled the phone from an outside pocket.
“Hello?” A smile tugged the corner of her mouth. “Oh hey, Lenny. We’re almost—” Her smile had morphed to a grimace. The crinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened. “Oh my God.”
He gripped the steering wheel. “What?”
“Lenny…Oh God. Okay, okay. What was that?”
The oncoming lane cleared, and River floored the accelerator. The Malibu sped into the quiet neighborhood. Tires squealed when he braked for a stop sign. After a quick check for other cars, he shot through the intersection. Something was wrong, and instinct told him to get his ass to the beach house quick.
“He what?” Vicki reached over and squeezed River’s forearm. “Oh…God.”
“What?” His gut twisted.
“They were attacked.” She choked the words out. “Lenny’s alive. But…but….”
“What?”
“Becca.” Her fingers dug into his arm. “He took her. Whoever attacked them took her.”
River yanked the wheel, almost sending the car into a spin. He compensated, brought the Malibu under control, and aimed toward the end of the block. “Did he see him? Did Lenny see the bastard who took Becca?”
“No. He said the guy came out of nowhere.” Her chin quivered. “Caught him from behind.”
“Shit.”
The beach house came into sight. In the driveway, Lenny’s Jeep sat canted, the headlights bathing the crisp white porch and peach lap siding. Did he sense something was wrong, too?
From the shadows at the side of the house, an enormous black truck emerged and tore across the lawn. River jerked the wheel, narrowly averting collision. The Malibu spun, clipping the mailbox. The fiberglass bumper scraped down the side of Lenny’s car, and the sickening crunch of crumpling metal tore through the air.
“That’s him!” Vicki yelled above the noise. “Becca’s in there!”
River revved the engine. “What about Lenny?”
Vicki put the phone to her ear. “Lenny? We see her. Do you need us to—?” She shook her head, ended the call, then tucked the phone into her purse. She looked at River. “Go. He’ll call for help.”
He took his foot from the brake. The car fishtailed from the yard. In the distance, the truck disappeared around the corner.
“You’re going to lose them.” Vicki leaned forward.
“No, I’m not.”
She eased back into the bucket seat. “God, River. How can this be happening? The killer’s dead. Detective Dauscher shot him. I thought Lenny and Becca were safe.”
“I know.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it either.” He maneuvered around a car, moving closer to the truck. But not too close. He didn’t want to spook the driver and cause an accident. Reaching down, he pulled his cell phone from the holster at his waist and punched the autodial. “I do, however, know how we might get an advantage.”
Vicki frowned. “They’re getting on the bridge.”
After two rings, the line clicked. “Detective Dauscher.”
“Dauscher, it’s River. I need your help. Becca’s been kidnapped.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I know. Crazy.” He shot a glance toward Vicki and met her hopeful gaze. “I’m tailing a black Ford F-150. We’re coming off the bridge from Tybee.” He eased around another car, forced himself to hold back so as not to be noticed.
“What’s the tag,” his partner growled. “Maybe we can get a bead on this guy.”
He recited the number. “I doubt much will come from it. The truck’s probably stolen. Check and see if the owner’s reported it yet.”
“Will do.”
The taillights of the compact car ahead of them brightened, and the blinker flashed with golden brilliance just before the vehicle turned onto an intersecting street. River tapped the brakes. Damn it. Patience beyond frayed, he gripped the wheel.
He glared at the truck ahead of them. Still within sight. He could catch up easily enough. Then a thought whispered in his mind. “I think he’s heading for the highway. Heading south.”
“What makes you think that?” Doubt rang across the line.
“Just a hunch.” Uncertainty coated his words. He shook it off. “Where are you?”
“In my car.” Dauscher paused as though checking traffic. “I was heading to the grocery store when you called.”
“Can you hightail it over to 95 South instead?”
“Will do,” Dauscher replied and ended the call.
It didn’t take long before River realized his prediction was correct. He hung back, kept his headlights on low, and tailed the truck south on the interstate. Around fifteen miles later, Becca’s kidnapper took an exit ramp.
“Damn it,” River muttered.
Vicki looked at him. “What?”
“We’re the only ones on the ramp. He can spot us.” He slowed the car, eased over so it appeared they would turn right while the truck took a left, even flicked on the blinker for good measure.
“Why not just ram them?” Anger flared in her eyes, and she scowled at the truck where her friend sat captive. “Yank her out and arrest the bastard?”
“I don’t know if he has a weapon. He might shoot her before I could get her out.” The truck turned left, and River went right. In the Malibu’s rearview mirror, the F-150’s taillights disappeared around a bend.
“What are you doing?” Panic filled her voice, and she gave him a fierce stare. “You’re going to lose—”
“Hold on.” He jerked the wheel, fishtailing the car around so they faced the opposite direction on the narrow two-lane road.
Despite the seatbelt, Vicki slammed into the passenger door. As they shot beneath the interstate, she straightened in her seat. “Okay. So, you know what you’re doing. What’s next?”
“We find out where he’s taking her, call Dauscher, and bring in the cavalry.” He glanced over at her. The moon loomed above the trees, its pale light flickering through the windows as they sped along the road. Even amid the alternating light and shadow, hope and trust shone clear in her eyes. As he gazed out the windshield, in search of the truck, resolve solidified in his core. He couldn’t let her down.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of red. The bastard had turned onto a dirt road. If they’d been any farther behind, River would’ve missed the taillight’s flare amid the tree trunks and substantial underbrush.
He pulled onto the grassy shoulder and hit the speed dial on his cell while Vicki twisted in her seat. She looked out the rear window, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Dauscher, it’s River,” he said after his partner answered. “We’re off the interstate, stopped on the side of the road.”
“Whereabouts?”
River gave him the exit number.
“I’m about fifteen behind you.”
“Good. After you exit, head east about three-quarters of a mile. You’ll see a dirt road. Our guy went down it, but I have no idea what’s at the other end. Could be a cabin. Could be a dock. Could be a damned helicopter pad for all I know.” He pressed his fingers to his forehead. If the kidnapper took her away in a boat or by some other means, River wouldn’t be able to follow. He’d lose her.
“I’ll call it in,” Dauscher replied, his tone gruff. “You stay put. I’ll be there in fifteen or less. We can go in together.”
River eased the car from the shoulder and made a U-turn. Fifteen minutes might be too late.
“River?” his partner growled over the line. “Damn it to hell. You’re going in, aren’t you?”
“I’m just driving down the road a ways. Get a feel for the situation.”
“Hey, you wait for me. You hear?”
“See you in fifteen.” River ended the call. The big guy would be pissed, but he’d get over it—especially once they rescued Becca and put the kidnapper behind bars.
When they neared the place where he’d seen the truck brake, he flicked off the Malibu’s headlights and turned onto the rutted road. The full moon offered enough brightness to navigate at a moderate speed, but he took it slow. He didn’t want to run up on the kidnapper and bring about the altercation before he was prepared.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Vicki’s question sliced the heavy silence that had mushroomed tension. “I just thought….”
“I know. I thought Becca and Lenny were safe, too.” He maneuvered the car over an exposed tree root followed by a deep rut and prayed the Malibu wouldn’t bottom out. “But don’t worry. We’ll find her. We’ve been winding through this mess for a good fifteen minutes. Much farther and we’ll hit the ocean.”
They bounced around a sharp curve, and River stomped the brakes. Just ahead in the moon’s dappled glow sat the black truck.
Vicki grabbed her purse, opened the passenger door, and slipped out before River could stop her.
“Damn it.” He cut the engine and pushed from the car, the cool night air rushing over him. The acrid scent of salt and rotting plants assaulted his nose, announcing the marsh lay nearby. He scrutinized the thick line of trees and caught a sparkle of moonlight on water not far from the road’s edge.
He pulled his gun from the holster beneath his jacket, the weight a deadly comfort in his hand. With a cursory scan of the area, he joined Vicki at the front of the car.
“Don’t even try to tell me to stay here,” she said, her voice a sharp whisper. She stared at him with fierce defiance as she looped the purse strap over her head so her bag lay across her body.
Well, hell.
“She’s the only one who knew the truth about me.” Her focus shifted to the truck, a silent behemoth in the darkness. “My parents didn’t even know. But Becca didn’t care that, at any moment, I might have some freaking vision about her. She stuck by me.” She turned back to him, pointed a finger. “So, you can just forget telling me to wait in the damn car.”
He straightened, met her fiery gaze head-on. God, he loved her. The strength running through the very depths of her being, the ability to push her fear aside and deal with the situation, the profound loyalty to her friend. Will I ever earn that allegiance from her?
“I wasn’t going to tell you to wait in the damn car,” he shot back, each murmured word punctuated with a burst of smoky-white breath. With a quick jerk of the Glock’s slide, he chambered a round. The grating mechanical movements of metal on metal pierced the cool night air. He positioned the gun near his shoulder, held in the standard two-handed grip with the business end aimed at the treetops. “I was going to tell you to stay the hell behind me.”