29
Saturday, April 22, 2000 hours, MDT, near Burning Tree, UT
No word from her teams. Not the one in North Carolina. Not the one frantically searching for Kyra. It nearly drove Nabeelah mad. Finally, she snatched up her radio. “Nesbitt, sit rep. What’s going on?”
Static blurred Nesbit’s voice as lightning flashed in an evening blackened by storm clouds. “We’re a negative. Her Forester’s here. No bike, though. But we did find the remains of a cell phone. Looks like someone smashed it.”
“It wasn’t dropped?”
“Looks like the destruction came from above. We’re looking. It’s just a lot of ground to cover on foot, even with the sensors.”
The handheld sensors should have enabled a blind man to see. Nabeelah’s gaze swung the to the jeep Sergeant David had driven to the burning tree. “I am headed to you.”
“Good, ’cause we need all the help we can get.”
Nabeelah took a deep breath. She’d be leaving the Command Center unmanned. It was a chance she’d have to take. Sergeant David’s sister was in danger, and no way would she let it be over her head if the woman died. Could anyone else help her?
The Delta men guarding the airfield? No. She’d not involve them. Better that only her small group would go down in flames if something happened. But what about Monica Wiseman, the sheriff? The woman knew the area. She could help.
Nabeelah darted to where the sheriff stayed.
Wiseman sat on her bed and leaned against the headboard. A paperback, one of the thrillers Nabeelah had seen Docek reading, rested on her lap. She peered at her intruder. “To what or whom do I owe this honor?”
“I need your help.”
Wiseman raised an eyebrow. “Wait a moment. DIA needs my help.”
Nabeelah swallowed hard. “Yes, we do. I do.”
“Why should I help you when you’ve treated me like a prisoner?”
“Because Kyra Martin might die.”
Wiseman shrugged, but the concern reflected in her eyes as much as the glow from the electric fireplace.
Once more, Nabeelah ran her hands down her braid. “You know this area better than I. It seems as if foul play might have visited Kyra.” Nabeelah winced at the sick feeling rising in the pit of her stomach. “It is getting ready to rain out there. And you know what happens when it rains in the desert.”
“Flash floods.”
“Exactly.”
Monica rose. “All right. We go.” She tugged on her hiking boots as well as a fleece.
Nabeelah led the way to the Jeep. She shoved a tablet into Monica’s hands. “Here. Tell me the quickest way to the Devil’s Canyon Trailhead.”
Monica set it on her lap. “Don’t need it.”
“What?”
“I grew up here, remember? Here’s the way to go.”
With the sheriff guiding her, Nabeelah took off toward Devil’s Canyon. Between bumps that jarred her spine and potholes that nearly caused her to cut her lip, she filled in Monica on what the guys suspected had happened. Foul play. Her bike was missing, as was Kyra.
Monica shook her head. “That’s not good. But, if her phone was in the parking lot, chances are really good that she might not be far away.”
“Unless they took her away in a vehicle,” Nabeelah muttered.
“True. But, if I were trying to get rid of someone along the trailhead, I’d either throw them off a cliff or put them near a streambed. My gut says they wouldn’t make her bike to her death but would knock her out and carry her somewhere.”
They barreled into the trailhead parking lot and hopped from the jeep just as the first raindrops began, then quickened to a downpour. Within seconds, Nabeelah was drenched. She demanded another update. Nesbitt had divided their six-man crew into three teams of two and had started a grid search. The terrain of rocks, nooks, and crannies had slowed them down as they checked for signs of Kyra.
Nabeelah stared at the streambed. Before her eyes, the normally placid stream had begun raging and creeping up its banks. Something cold unfurled within her, something that didn’t come from the rain. She darted toward the slope leading to the streambed. Underneath her foot, scree shifted. She cried out as she landed on her hip.
Wiseman extended her hand. “Easy there. We move too fast, we’re in trouble as well.”
The sheriff had a point. Carefully, Nabeelah made her way down the slope to the edge of the streambed. Kyra, where are you? Nabeelah shone her flashlight around. Nothing. She moved to the water’s edge. The narrow beam of her light revealed black water with flourishes of white as it tumbled over stones. A large branch shot past her. Almost before her eyes, the water rose. She shivered as childhood memories of streams flush with the spring rains coursed over her. The village had lost at least one child a year to the floods.
They had to find Kyra. Now. “Kyra!”
The howling wind ripped her call away.
The beam reflected nothing but wet rocks and boulders.
Nabeelah’s foot slipped. She toppled forward. Her knee slammed onto a sharp rock. More agony spread across her already aching leg. She bit down hard enough on her lip that she tasted blood. She wouldn’t be the weakest link. Not now.
The rain thickened.
Somehow, she got her good leg underneath her. Carefully, she put weight on her other one. It barely held. She added her voice to Wiseman’s as they called Kyra’s name.
Nothing.
Then her flashlight beam picked up color. Not the color of red rock or black, raging water. Hot pink. Like clothing. At the water’s edge.
Gritting her teeth against the pain in her knee, she lurched forward.
Kyra lay half in the water. She feebly struggled, her bound limbs sluggish as if she were already succumbing to hypothermia.
Dropping her flashlight, Nabeelah grasped her under the arms and pulled hard. “Kyra, I have you.” But her knee gave way, and she collapsed.
She hauled again. Sergeant David’s sister was like a deadweight.
“I’ve got you.” Wiseman shouted for help, then reached down. She slipped and moaned as she landed hard. “Ow, that hurt.”
“Knees?”
“On rocks. Oooh.” She climbed to her feet.
Nabeelah tried again, but the stones were so slick from the water that both women fell beside Kyra. They’d all three die together if they weren’t careful.
At the top of her lungs, Nabeelah shouted, “Over here! I found her!”
Cold water began filling her boots. Her breath caught. The water had risen inches in less than a minute. It lapped at her feet and Kyra’s waist. She tugged with all of her strength.
Footsteps pounded toward her. “Hold on, Khan. We’ve got you. Rothstein! Over here. Now!”
Hands dragged all three women well clear of the water. Nesbitt freed Kyra of her gag and bonds. The medic, Rothstein, knelt beside Nabeelah. “You good?”
Nabeelah’s knee throbbed in time with her hip. Through gritted teeth, she muttered, “Yes.”
Nesbitt cast a glance at the sheriff, then at Nabeelah. He nodded toward Wiseman. “You good too?”
Wiseman winced. “As good as can be.”
Uhler and Smitty brought a litter down the slope, and they shifted Kyra onto it. Rothstein’s mouth pressed into a grim line as he watched them head toward the Hummer. “She’s got a weak pulse and tons of confusion. And she’s not shivering. It all points to severe hypothermia.”
Nesbitt cringed when lightning crackled overhead. “That was too close. Let’s go!”
Nabeelah rose, but her leg collapsed beneath her. She began shivering.
Nesbitt crouched beside her. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” Except for her hip and knee.
“Bull.” He swept her into a fireman’s carry.
Everyone bolted to the safety of their vehicles.
Nabeelah barely heard Nesbitt as he ordered Uhler and Smitty to take the Jeep. He slid her into the cargo area and wrapped her in a blanket. S
hivers continued wracking her as they hit the highway and sped through town, then southward. Kyra, hold on. Hold on. You’re safe.
She endured the rough roads leading to the gate. The Humvee ground to a halt.
When the cargo area opened, she slid toward the back and almost collapsed again when her feet hit the ground.
Nesbitt caught her by the arm. “You need medical attention.”
“I’m fine.” No, she’d not be fine until she saw Kyra with her own eyes. She hobbled through the rain toward the infirmary.
He muttered something about stubborn women and blocked her path. “Go get something dry on.”
“I—”
“Rothstein’s got it, and he doesn’t want anyone in his face while he works on Kyra, understand?”
Nabeelah turned and retreated to her quarters while Wiseman hit the showers first. Shivering, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. For the first time in the longest time, tears filled her eyes. Let her be okay, she pleaded to no one.
Someone tapped on the doorframe.
Wiseman, now cloaked in a clean, dry set of clothing with her damp hair hanging loosely, stood in the doorway. “Shower’s free, and the boys are waiting until you’re finished. You might want to get cleaned up before they get sick or something.”
Nabeelah only nodded. Then the words came. “Thank you for helping.”
Wiseman shrugged. “I wasn’t going to leave Kyra to die. I’d never do that, even to my worst enemy.”
Nabeelah rose. “If you wish, you may move into the quarters where the other three were.”
“Nah. I kind of like my cozy hovel.” She began strolling toward the container. She turned. “If you need my help again, let me know.”
Nabeelah gathered her things and limped to the shower. The hot water sluiced away the mud and grime. As she stood beneath its penetrating stream, her shivering stopped. Her pains eased. Warmth drained the tension from her shoulders. She’d be okay.
But Kyra?
Her muscles bunched again.
She turned the shower to full cold. Don’t let her die. Don’t. Don’t! I don’t want to face Sergeant David if that happens. She slammed her fist into the painted cinder block wall again and again until she went numb all over.
Finally, shivering once more, she turned off the taps and dried herself vigorously before pulling on a pair of fresh ACUs, a T-shirt, and a fleece. With her parka warding off a fresh blast of cold air, she headed to the infirmary two doors down.
Rothstein the medic worked with Warren assisting him.
Kyra lay under a mound of blankets. An IV line snaked beneath them. Her skin remained pale, and for a moment, Nabeelah feared she’d died. But no, the cardiograph told a different story. A slow heartbeat. And low temperature.
Rothstein muttered, “I can’t work with her in here.”
Warren took her arm and led her to the other side of the room. “Core temp is still low, but it’s on the upswing. Rothstein’s gradually warming her with thermal blankets and warm IV fluids. It’ll be a while, like a long while, but she’s going to be fine.”
A feeling of failure swept over Nabeelah.
“Promise, okay? Rothstein wants me to check your hip and knee. You took a couple of hard hits there.”
Though she hated it, she submitted to his examination.
“Bruising,” he said a few minutes later. “Take some ibuprofen and get some rest. You should be fine in a couple of days.”
Sleep? She nearly laughed. Not until Kyra was okay.
Docek approached. “Nabeelah, you have a call. David Shepherd.”
Her head jerked around. She limped out the door and to the Command Center.
She gripped the receiver. “What happened?”
“He got away.” Anger lowered Sergeant David’s voice to a growl.
She closed her eyes. “But you are alive.”
“Praise God for that.” He drew in a breath. “Frisco’s fine too. We all are. We’re tracking Randleman right now and suspect he somehow got away from Stone, ’cause he’s headed toward the airport where the private jet is located.”
She nodded because the lump in her throat stole her voice as she thought about Kyra.
“You okay?” David asked.
“It’s... it’s your sister.”
“Kyra? What happened?”
She couldn’t speak.
“Nabeelah, is she all right?”
“Someone kidnapped her.”
“What? I thought—”
“We found her.” Nabeelah fought the lump in her throat. “She has severe hypothermia. We’re—”
“I’m coming there. We’re coming there. Right now.”
She didn’t have the strength to argue.
“If she dies, it’s on your head, and I’ll never forgive you. Understand?” The line clicked.
A tear trickled down her cheek.
She placed the receiver on the table, then fled as best she could into the night.
30
Sunday, April 23, 2017, 1000 hours MDG, near Burning Tree, UT
“Where is she?” David shot toward Smitty, who’d greeted their Gulfstream shortly after it had landed at their hideout in Utah.
The pilot caught his arm. “Easy, man. Nabeelah’s—”
“I don’t care about Nabeelah.” David shook loose. “Where’s my sister?”
Smitty studied both him and Jonathan, who’d nearly bumped into David. His face remained expressionless. “She’s in the infirmary. Rothstein’s looking after her.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Jonathan asked.
Smitty shrugged. “Don’t know since Rothstein kicked us all out. This way.” He led them through the crisp morning air to a building across from the command center and next door to the container where Monica now resided. “Go ahead in.”
David burst through the door. “How is—”
“Can it, would ya?” Rothstein’s sharp Brooklyn accent stopped him in his tracks. The medic deftly inserted himself between David and his sister. He pointed to a chair. “You put your butt on that seat and don’t move, got it?”
“But—”
“David, breathe,” Jonathan muttered. On the other side of the bed, he eased onto a chair near Kyra’s head. “And why don’t you sit down as well?”
Because seeing his sister so pale and weak made David want to pace.
Rothstein folded his arms across his chest and waited.
With a huff, David pulled over another chair and sat down across from Jonathan. He stared at Kyra’s face. It remained pale. Her lips were pulled down in at grimace. And she shook. “Rothstein, is this normal?”
“She’s shivering, which means her body’s working to warm up. Her temp’s at ninety-three point five. A whole heckuva lot better than what it was when we got her here.”
“Which was?” Jonathan asked.
“Eighty-one point eight.”
David cringed.
Rothstein made more notes on a clipboard. “I’ve had her under heated blankets and have given her warm IV fluid. And light sedation at first because once she regained consciousness, she started thrashing some. I stopped that around 0400 hours.” He set the clipboard down on a table and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Man, I’m beat.”
“If she’s out of the woods, we can watch her,” Jonathan said.
“Nope. Not ’til she stops shivering. Then I’ll go and get us all some hot chocolate and coffee. Once she’s on her feet, I’ll crash.”
“How long?” David asked.
“As long as she needs.” Rothstein moved off to the other end of the room and gave them some privacy.
His eyes never leaving her face, Jonathan stroked her forehead. Something knotted in David’s throat. His friend had never voiced his feelings, but his touch conveyed his care for Kyra. His gaze met David’s. “She’s going to be okay.”
“I know.” David ached to take Kyra’s hand, but it remained tucked under the blanket. He settled for leaning clo
se and kissing her temple. “I’m here, Kyra. Jonathan and I are both here for you.”
David didn’t know how long they sat there, only that for him, Kyra’s temperature climbed too slowly. As it did so, the sun’s rays shifted from morning to afternoon. His stomach growled, but he refused to move. So did Jonathan. Rothstein gave them both sodas and told them what had happened. A sister with a propensity to seek solace in God’s creation when upset. A team dreadfully short on resources. A desperate gamble to find her. And success. They’d snatched her from the jaws of death. Barely.
As he sat there, David thought about all that had happened. It was like a jigsaw puzzle where he didn’t have the image he was after. Pieces lay scattered in his mind. The armored car ambush. The glass house. Randleman’s double-cross. Nabeelah’s coercion. Their attack on Stone’s house on the Outer Banks. And Abigail’s two cases. Plus what had happened eight years before. Everything was linked. How, he didn’t know.
Finally, as the light turned golden, Kyra’s tremors ceased.
David checked her temperature. Ninety-six point two. His tense muscles began easing. Officially, she’d shaken the hypothermia.
Oh, so gradually, she opened those dark eyes so characteristic of the Shepherd clan. In a thin, almost ethereal voice, she murmured, “David?”
He bent close. “I’m here, Kyra.”
“I love you,” she mouthed as a tear slid from the corner of her eye.
Rothstein offered her a gentle smile. “Welcome back, Kyra. Your temperature is almost back to normal. Let me raise the head of the bed a little. Then I want to check your vitals.”
She closed her eyes as he worked.
“Things look good,” he said after a moment. “Pulse is good. Oxygen levels are good. So is the blood pressure. I think we can safely remove that IV.” He eased her blanket down and slid her left arm from underneath so he could take out the needle. “Your temperature’s getting there. Something warm to drink would help. Hot chocolate?”
With a slight smile on her face, she nodded.
“One for you, then.” Rothstein focused on David and Jonathan. “Gentlemen?”
One hot chocolate turned to three and a coffee with promises of hot soup later. With orders in hand, Rothstein headed to the chow hall.
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