Seven years later
With a frustrated sigh, I turned on my signal and checked my mirrors before easing over to the next lane, my speed slowing as I took the exit ramp. I’d really hoped to make it to Columbus before night fall, but my eyes had begun to swim in front of me and my stomach had started rumbling about fifty miles back. I’d grab something to eat and drink a gallon of coffee and I’d be good as new, I decided.
I turned right off the exit and scanned the restaurant options available. Unfortunately, the small stop along the highway didn’t offer much in the way of cuisine. A few truck stops and several fast food restaurants seemed to be all that were available, other than the adult entertainment store which I’d seen advertised on countless billboards along the way.
I couldn’t stand fast food, so I pulled into the closest truck stop and killed the engine. Having spent the last six months on the road, I’d learned that most truck stops weren’t like they used to be. Gone were the days of greasy spoons and heartburn-inducing meals. Truck stop restaurants had finally begun to offer healthier, home-style meals, catering to the truck drivers who spent the majority of their time away from their families.
I grabbed my leather bag off the passenger seat and locked up my Jeep before heading inside. Stopping in the restroom first, I quickly took care of business and then washed my hands. My eyes felt gritty, so I splashed some cold water on my face hoping to wake myself up a bit, and then reached for a paper towel. I paused as I caught my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes were bloodshot and dark smudges lined the skin underneath. I gripped the edges of the sink to keep myself from falling as I suddenly started to sway on my feet. Perhaps I should stop for the night and get a fresh start in the morning, I conceded. At the rate I was going, I was going to wind up causing an accident or landing myself in the hospital, and then I’d be no good to anyone.
With the decision made, I tossed the paper towel in the trash and walked out the door. A few minutes later, a waitress showed me to a booth and handed me a menu. I settled in and scanned the selections and by the time she returned with a glass of water, I’d made my choice.
“Are you ready to order, hon?” she asked distractedly, as she pulled a pen and a pad of paper out of the pocket of her apron.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have the grilled pork chop with steamed vegetables and applesauce, please,” I answered. She reached for the menu and I handed it to her, but then stopped her before she could turn away. “One more thing, ma’am. Is there a hotel nearby?” She looked up at me then and her eyes widened. I didn’t miss the way her eyes slowly roamed over me or the way her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip in an obvious invitation.
“There just happens to be one on the other side of the exit. I’m off in an hour if you’d like me to show you where it is,” she purred.
“That’s very kind of you, ma’am, but I think I can find my own way. I just need a place to sleep before I hit the road again,” I explained gently.
“Okay, but if you change your mind, my name is Kim,” she said with a wink then sauntered off with a sway of her hips before I could tell her that that was never going to happen. It wasn’t my first time being hit on by a woman, but the softer sex did nothing for me. I preferred my bed partners to be a little more masculine, with stubble along their jawline that scratched against my own and hard edges instead of soft curves.
I turned my attention to my leather bag and pulled the manila folder from it, wanting to look it over one more time while I waited for my dinner. It wasn’t necessary. I’d looked at it enough over the past five months to have memorized every piece of information in it, not that there was a lot, but something about the picture inside pulled me back over and over again.
The boy in the photo was probably only around sixteen years old, with a gentle smile and dirty-blond hair, but his bright blue eyes held the look of someone twice his age. There was a knowledge and depth in those eyes that should never have been there in someone so young and I’d found myself studying them on more than one occasion and wondering what things the young man could have possibly been through to put that look there.
I thumbed through the other pages in the file. The hospital report, surgery notes and basic information that Micah had given me.
Zane Andrew Wilkinson:
-Twenty-five years old
-5’8” (at eighteen years)
-Blue eyes, dark blond hair
Zane had been eighteen when he was found, barely conscious, outside the emergency room doors of Northwest Memorial Hospital in Illinois, the victim of a vicious beating. There were no witnesses to see who had dropped him off and left him there to fend for himself.
He was rushed into emergency surgery to relieve the swelling in his brain. Extensive reconstructive surgery followed to repair the shattered bones in his cheek and nose, and dental surgery was required to replace the teeth that he’d lost in the attack. Scans of his body showed evidence of multiple healed rib fractures, alerting doctors of a potential history of abuse.
Zane refused to tell anyone his real name and checked himself out a month later, against medical advice.
I’d been intrigued by the young man’s story as soon as Micah had told me about him, and I’d readily agreed to take the case. He’d instructed me that I was to locate Zane and bring him back to Chicago. His only other instruction; I was not to use any force.
That right there had told me that Zane was not considered dangerous, but I’d also gotten the feeling that Zane’s case was more of a personal nature for my boss than the other cases we normally took on. As curious as I was about all of that, it wasn’t my place to question Micah. My job was simply to follow through on my orders, even if those orders had begun to feel like searching for a needle in a haystack.
I’d started my search at the hospital. The law limited what medical information they were able to give me; one nurse, Stacey, had agreed to talk to me about what she remembered of Zane, personally. She had been the nurse assigned to him during the duration of his stay and she told me that he was a nice kid, but sad. He was broken in more ways than one, she’d told me, tears welling up in her eyes.
Stacey told me that Zane was the same age as her younger brother, so she’d felt an immediate connection with him. She’d been worried about what had happened to Zane and what he would face once he left the hospital, so she and a few other nurses pooled their money and gave him enough to get him far away from there.
That piece of information had been enough to help me start my search. I’d specialized in search and rescue as a USAF pararescueman, and through my training, I’d learned the best way to find someone was often as simple as learning to think like that person.
Putting myself in the mind of a scared and injured eighteen-year-old with little money, I decided that Zane had most likely taken a bus to leave town. It was the easiest and cheapest way to travel and would have required no I.D.
No one at the bus terminal recognized the picture I’d shown them, not that I’d expected them to after so many years, but I was able to see the different locations he might have been able to get to with the money the nurses had given him. From there, I visited each location, showing his picture and asking questions as I combed the streets. A few people along the way told me that the guy looked familiar. Some even said that he reminded them of a guy that used to work or live near them, but they all ended it the same way; he no longer lived there.
It had been a long and tiring process, and at one point around Christmas I thought I’d finally found a solid lead. It had turned out to be nothing though and I’d felt terrible when I heard the disappointment in Micah’s voice.
As usual, I became absorbed in the information in the file and the eyes looking back at me from the photo. I wasn’t sure how much time I spent staring at it, but a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention and I looked up in time to see Kim making her way towards my booth, holding a tray of food over her shoulder. I quickly slid the papers back in the file and shoved it down into my bag.
“Here you go, sweetie,” she said as she laid the food in front of me. My mouth watered at the sight of the delicious meal. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you, this looks great,” I responded.
“Such manners,” she sighed. Her eyes wandered over my face, but then she turned and made her way back to the kitchen. Feeling uncomfortable with the attention, I shook my head as I picked up my fork and dug in. As I ate, I went over the plans in my head for once I reached Columbus.
I’d just finished the last bite when Kim sauntered back over. “How was everything?” she asked in a peppy voice.
“Very good, thank you,” I told her sincerely.
“Did you save any room for dessert? A slice of chocolate cake or cherry pie perhaps?” she urged.
“No, ma’am. I’m not sure I could fit another bite,” I said, leaning back in my seat and patting my stomach.
“Are you sure? Miss Patty makes the best pie in the county and I’d hate for you to miss out on it before you leave. In fact, she’s won the blue ribbon three years in a row at the fair. She says it’s because she uses…” Kim continued speaking, but my attention was drawn to the front door where a man had just walked in.
He was dressed in a gray tank top and jeans that were smudged with grass stains as if he’d been doing some sort of yard work. His dirty-blond hair was cut short around his ears, but the top was kept longer, allowing some of the strands to hang down over one eye.
I followed his movements as he made his way to the counter and spoke to the waitress there. She smiled at him then I watched as she handed him a white carry-out bag of food. He pulled a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and reached inside, pulling out several bills. He handed them to her, waving her off as she offered to get his change.
He turned to leave, and our eyes connected for just a second, but it was enough to make me feel as if I’d been sucker punched. “Where did you say you were headed?” Kim’s voice cut into my thoughts just as the man walked out the door, closing it behind him.
“Umm, I didn’t,” I responded distractedly. “Do you know the guy who just left?”
She glanced over her shoulder and we both watched as the man climbed into an old beat-up blue Ford truck. “Who? Oh, that’s Zach.”
I looked back at her, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. “Does he live around here?”
“He moved here a couple of years ago. Works over at the lake,” she informed me.
“Which lake is that?” I asked, already climbing up from my seat. Kim eyed me suspiciously but answered anyway.
“Bradbury Lake. It’s a pay lake just down the road.”
“Thank you,” I said, grabbing my bag and tossing more than enough money on the table to cover my food and a tip.
I raced out the door and hurried to put the name of the lake in my GPS. Seconds later, I turned around in the parking lot and peeled out onto the road. A couple of miles down the road, I turned into a gravel drive and pulled to a stop. A sign welcoming me to Bradbury Lake stretched over the entrance to the drive. It was blue with various fish hand painted across its surface.
I slowly crept down the long drive, my tires crunching the gravel below and kicking up dust in my wake. The lane was nearly a quarter of a mile long and as I neared the end, I let out a whistle at the surprising beauty laid out before me.
The setting sun shone over the lake’s surface, casting beautiful pink and orange streaks across the water. The area was surrounded by trees, cutting it off from the rest of the world and giving it a private and secluded feel, even though it was obviously open to the public.
I pulled up alongside a small building with a sign that read BAIT SHOP and I turned off the engine as I looked around. The lane I’d been on separated at that point, going off in either direction and circling the lake.
Having been born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts, I’d never been fishing in my life, never really understood the draw of it and it seemed absurd to me that people would actually pay money to sit and stare at a pole, but it was obviously a very popular thing to do in the middle of nowhere Ohio. There were campers and tents scattered along the edge of the lake, their owners spread out, enjoying the warm spring air. Some were grilling their dinners over open fire pits while others sat in chairs, laughing and drinking beers with their buddies as they kept an eye on their fishing poles and prayed for the fish to bite.
I could see a woman moving around inside the bait shop and I figured she must work there. Maybe she could tell me more about the guy the waitress had called Zach. Perhaps I could even charm her into telling me where he lived. I got out of my car and continued to scan the area as I came around the side of the building, but suddenly, I stopped in my tracks.
On the other side of the lake, situated just inside a heavily wooded area, I saw several small cabins. They looked fairly new from what I could tell, but what caught my attention was the old blue Ford parked at the side of the furthest cabin to the right. A man sat on the tailgate of the truck. I could tell it was the same guy from the truck stop because of the clothes he was wearing.
As I watched, he wadded the white bag beside him then stood and stretched his arms up over his head. His hands came back down, but he left his face tilted up towards the sky. He stood that way for several minutes and I found myself unable to look away. Finally, he dropped his head back down and turned, making his way to the front door of the cabin. It must have been his place because he pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
I continued staring until he’d disappeared inside the cabin and then I turned to walk into the bait shop. I glanced down at the sign in the window and a plan immediately started to formulate in my head. I didn’t even have to force a smile as I walked up to the counter and introduced myself to the woman working there.
After six months of searching through the proverbial haystack and turning up absolutely nothing, it seemed my luck had finally changed. If what my gut was telling me was correct, I may have just found the elusive needle.