She opened a door into an entry foyer then went through a set of security doors into an elegantly appointed and air-conditioned seating area. The sudden chill sent a shiver through her. To one side of the entry stood a discreetly positioned reception desk. Directly ahead of her, a middle-aged woman holding a clipboard beamed a hundred-watt smile in her direction.
“You must be Larissa Watkins,” clipboard woman gushed. “Your father described you perfectly. I’m Mrs. Hancock, and I’ll be conducting your tour today.”
Karissa froze, gaping at the exuberantly friendly woman. Her brain fought to wrap itself around the slap in the face of being addressed by her mother’s maiden name almost in the same breath as the reference to her father, as if he were still living. Could he be? Her breath caught, but then her insides wilted. No, that had definitely been her dad in the casket those short two and half years ago. Someone was playing cruel mind games with her. Definitely someone who knew her family intimately or who had studied them minutely. Who?
“Are you ready?” Mrs. Hancock’s grin faded into uncertainty.
Karissa sucked her focus back into place and forced a faint smile. “Of course.”
The woman’s perkiness returned full force. “Right this way.”
Mrs. Hancock waved an airy hand forward as she strode in the direction of a wide, carpeted hallway. They passed several wheelchairs bearing occupants both elderly and not so elderly. Disorders like Alzheimer’s disease didn’t always wait to strike the aged, and accident-related brain damage could happen to anyone at any time. Considering her recent injury, Karissa could be thankful she didn’t require such a facility herself.
At the rate the pair of them were moving, Karissa deduced this arrangement was not about a tour of the facility, and her guide was not an unwitting pawn of Kyle’s kidnapper. Mrs. Hancock’s bright smile suddenly seemed more malevolent than benevolent. Not because the wattage had changed, but because Karissa’s perception had.
“In here.” The woman veered through a door labeled Linen Closet.
Karissa followed—she had no choice—steeling herself for whatever she might confront. The first thing that hit her was the scent of freshly washed cotton towels. The next thing was the sharp sting of a hypodermic syringe in the side of her neck. Reflexively, Karissa struck out toward her still-smiling assailant and connected with something warm and fleshy. She couldn’t be sure where her fist landed or how hard because consciousness was fading.
The world suddenly went away.
* * *
The signal from Karissa’s GPS tracker showed strong on Hunter’s phone as he strode as nonchalantly as he could manage toward the long, single-story building she had entered only a few moments ago. His block-and-a-half walk to the Golden Days grounds had seemed to take forever, yet had been productive. Someone had left a baseball cap on a bench at the bus stop on the corner, and he’d snatched it up and stuffed his hair under it. He would have purchased one at the strip mall where he bought the tracking lanyard, but hats were not among the goods that mall offered. Providence had provided, however. Thank you, God. His new head-covering, along with the loss of most of his wild beard, should almost make him appear to be a different person to any hostile watcher who had encountered him sometime in the past few days.
He passed through the doors into the air-conditioning. An elegantly appointed seating area presented itself in front of him. No one occupied any of the comfy-looking armchairs or the long couch, but a tall, lean man stood behind an understated reception desk to one side of the seating area.
“May I help you?” the man asked, dark eyes narrowed and suspicious.
It was maddening not to know if foe or nonthreat addressed him. For right now, he’d play the innocent card as if he were certain of the latter. He approached the desk, grin painted on his face.
“I’ve heard good things about this place and thought I’d pay a visit.” Both halves of that statement were true, which should aid his appearance of sincerity. “Do you mind if I stroll around a bit?”
The receptionist’s narrow face smoothed into warm professionalism. “We are happy to give you a tour, sir, but you must be accompanied by a staff member. Please sign in with your name and contact information while I get someone.”
The man motioned to a three-ring binder open on the counter with lines and columns delineated for guests to fill out. Hunter scribbled some illegible particulars while precious seconds ticked past as the man behind the desk spoke to someone on a two-way radio.
His feet itched to race up the left-hand hallway that the tracker app indicated as Karissa’s direction, but now was not the time to set off alarms of suspicion, draw security personnel and find himself evicted from the premises. Kyle was out there needing to be rescued, and both he and Karissa were willing to play out this farce with the kidnappers until the baby was recovered. However, the knowledge that Karissa could be in imminent danger was like a corkscrew digging into Hunter’s heart.
How much had he already come to care for and respect this woman? Not cool, but there was nothing he could do about that unwelcome development. Once this was over, it would be best if he put plenty of distance between himself and her...provided they all survived.
At last, a smiling young woman in a colorfully patterned scrub top emerged from the right-hand hallway and introduced herself as Mandy. Beginning promotional patter, she motioned him to follow her back up the hall from which she had emerged.
Hunter stopped her with a touch on her shoulder. “Could we start in that direction?” He pointed the opposite way. “Your wall signage says the rec room is that way.”
He stopped his pretext of an explanation on that note and let his guide make what she would of it.
“Sure.” She shrugged and altered her course.
Hunter followed, barely restraining himself from rushing ahead. The tracker app showed Karissa’s location as nearby and unmoving. His heart began to hammer in his chest. Did motionless mean the worst? They came level with the tracker indicator, and Hunter halted while his guide continued on ahead, oblivious to his defection.
A linen closet door stood between him and Karissa’s location. What could be going on in there? He didn’t hear a sound from inside. Hand on the knob, Hunter gulped in a deep breath. Would he find her body on the floor? Swiftly, he shoved the door open and let out a soft keen at the shadowed form crumpled across the tiles.
He flipped the light switch on, and his stalled heart suddenly jump-started. Not Karissa’s body, but only her shirt and pants, the tracker lying atop them. Hunter snatched up the tracker’s lanyard, as well as Karissa’s purse abandoned near the clothes. If Karissa’s cell was still in the handbag, it might offer valuable clues, especially if the kidnapper had sent additional texts. He didn’t have time to investigate that avenue right now, though. He stepped back into the hallway, his gaze frantically searching and cataloging the surroundings.
Residents and staff moved up and down the hallway. Nothing suspicious or out of place. A number of the residents were in wheelchairs, either propelling themselves or being wheeled somewhere. Some wore street clothes and others were dressed in robes and slippers. That was it. They had to have drugged Karissa and dressed her in one of the generic gowns and robes. Looking like that, they could move her anywhere around here and not be given a second glance.
His guide for the tour had apparently noticed his absence and turned around farther up the hallway. Frowning, she was beckoning toward him to catch up with her, but he ignored the gesture as he continued to scan the area. His gaze settled on a woman walking briskly toward an exit at the far end of the long hallway. She was pushing a wheelchair, the occupant’s red head lolling to one side. Karissa!
Hunter hurried up the hallway toward his tour guide, who quickly resumed her smile, but she gave a startled yelp as he charged straight past her. The woman with Karissa was punching a code into a panel near the exit doo
r. The door swung open, and Karissa’s captor wheeled her through. Hunter sped up, dodging around gape-mouthed residents and staff. The portal was already inching shut, and if that door closed behind Karissa, he didn’t have the code that would open it again. Out in the mountain wilderness, he would have been able to track her with good, old-fashioned woodsman’s skills. The city was a whole different story. He would lose her trail—probably for good.
His fingertips grasped the edge of the door scant millimeters before it would have latched shut. Ripping with all his might against the hydraulics that wanted to finish the closing process, he pulled the door open and thrust his body out onto a narrow ramp sided by cement wings that must be a loading dock.
Scant feet ahead of him, a nondescript gray van spat exhaust fumes into his face. Karissa must have been loaded into it, because neither the woman nor the wheelchair with its precious occupant were in sight. Sure, he could rush in and try to attack whoever was in the van in hopes of recovering Karissa, but he had to assume the kidnappers were armed, and premature assault could easily get himself or Karissa or both of them killed. Besides, rescuing her at this time wouldn’t lead them to Kyle, which was the primary point of this exercise.
The utility ladder on the back door of the van gave him a desperate idea. With fingers that seemed all thumbs, he hurriedly wrapped the lanyard of the tracker tightly around the top rung of the ladder, where it might stand some chance of going unnoticed. Then, with every ounce of willpower in him, he forced himself to step back as the vehicle accelerated out of the loading bay.
Hunter had done many difficult things in his lifetime. Standing there, fists clenching and unclenching, helplessly watching that van disappear into traffic topped the list.
TEN
Karissa gasped and sat up, gazing around a musty-smelling room dimly lit by a single lightbulb overhead. Beneath her, the cot she’d been lying on was hard and unforgiving. The walls around her were claustrophobically close. Her head throbbed, but only mildly. Apparently, the additional, unplanned rest had done her good.
She looked down at herself to find that she was clad in a robe, sock-slippers and a hospital gown, but this was no hospital. Perhaps whisking her out of some health-care facility or another, dressed as a patient, had always been the plan, but they’d been foiled at the hospital in Eugene so they’d merely changed venues—and cities. Was she still in Portland? If so, did that mean the city was her enemy’s home base?
What sort of building was she in, and how had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was perky lady sticking a needle into her neck. How much time had passed? An hour or two, a day, maybe longer? There was no clock in this room and no window that might at least reveal daylight or starlight. The cinder-block walls and cement floor suggested a storage area, possibly in a warehouse somewhere.
Did anyone friendly know where she was? Her hand flew to the spot on her breastbone where the tracker had rested. Gone, of course. Karissa’s heart squeezed in upon itself. Hunter must be frantic and beating himself up, down and sideways for losing her, but it was probably best this way. At least he wouldn’t be another casualty of whatever was going on.
Where was Kyle? The whole point had been to get him back—at least on Hunter’s and her part. On the part of their enemy, the whole point was to get her in their clutches. The latter, at least, had worked. If only she could know Kyle was safe.
Karissa spotted a door at the other end of the room. Cautiously, she lowered her slippered feet to the cool, gritty cement floor. Her head registered only mild protest against the movement. Slowly and quietly she padded to the door panel. Holding her breath, she tried the knob and it turned. What would she find when she opened the door? A hostile party? Answers to her questions about what was going on and why? Or—she shoved the door open—a bare and empty space. The only light trickled in from a gap between another door ahead of her and the hard floor.
Cool, stale air cascaded goose bumps down Karissa’s arms. She hugged herself and started to take a step farther into the dim vacantness then froze. A sound carried to her from beyond the closed door of this room where she stood. Voices. Male and coming closer. Karissa’s gaze fixed on the doorknob. Would they be coming in to get her? The voices and accompanying footsteps approached quite near, but no one tried the doorknob. On mouse feet, Karissa hurried to the door panel and pressed her ear against it. Practically holding her breath, she strained to make out what was being said.
“How long until the boss gets here?” a gravelly voice asked.
“Who knows? We see him when we see him.”
The voice of the second man was familiar to Karissa, and her skin crawled. A picture flashed across her mind’s eye of brown eyes staring into hers while a sneer twisted a scarred mouth. Karissa’s heart pounded and sweat popped out on her forehead. The man who had kidnapped her in the forest. He was still at large and a menace.
Lava erupted in Karissa’s core. Her gaze scoured the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. She needed to get out of here before the mystery boss showed up. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce the big arrival could signal the end for her. Maybe she’d caused him so much trouble by now the boss wanted to be the one to do her in himself. And what about Kyle? If they still had the baby, they might be planning no good for him, either. Why was all this happening? The central question still had no answer.
Karissa returned to her tiny inner chamber and tested the metal legs on the small cot, but they were sturdy, offering no opportunity for her to dismantle one to form a makeshift club. She stripped the thin mattress from the frame. Sure enough, there were metal rods spaced periodically between the cheap springs. She pulled on each one and let out a glad cry when the last one jiggled. A little yanking back and forth broke the bar free of its weak weld. Now she had something she could use to clobber at least one guy if she could lure him in here. How she could keep the other one from shooting her while she put his partner out of commission she didn’t know, but the attempt had to be made. It might be die if she did, but it would certainly be die if she didn’t.
Hefting the iron bar, Karissa went to the outer door and put her ear to the door panel. The men weren’t talking anymore, but a shuffle of feet and the creak of what might be a chair betrayed that at least one of them was still out there. How to get him to open the door? She could scream, but the thugs would probably just laugh at her tantrum and ignore her. Perhaps a subtler tactic would intrigue and disquiet them.
Karissa scraped her fingernails across the door panel. Whoever was outside indicated no reaction. She scratched more firmly and repeated the action over and over.
“Hey, you in there! What’s up with that?” Gravel Voice hollered in agitated tones.
She heard nothing from the other guy, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Karissa didn’t speak, just continued to scratch. Her nails were wearing down and the skin on the tips of her fingers was beginning to abrade. This approach needed to yield results soon.
“All right, that’s it! I’m coming in, and you better be dyin’ or somethin’ to be doin’ that creepy scratchin’.” Heavy feet stomped toward the door.
Karissa pressed her back against the wall on the hinge side of the door. She would need to let him step all the way inside with his eyes trained in front of him so she could come out from behind and clobber him. The lock rattled, and then a burly, bald figure charged through the door. Karissa struck without hesitation and with all her might. The gun in the man’s hand roared and spat, but he was already falling forward. The bullet hit the cement, spraying dislodged chunks, one of which hit Karissa’s leg. She barely registered the sting as she leaped over the thug’s prone body and into the outer room, prepared to launch herself at Scar Lip, but he wasn’t present.
However, a different man stood there, gun pointed her direction. She skidded to a halt in front of him, iron bar raised over her head. Slowly, she lowered the bar.
“Hunter?” The word rasped from her dry throat.
He lowered his pistol and opened his arms. She rushed into them and welcomed the bear hug that wrapped her close in warmth and comfort. If only she could remain in these arms forever.
* * *
Hunter’s heart swelled as he held tightly to Karissa’s trembling frame. This resourceful woman took his breath away. He so very much wanted to become a permanent fixture in her life, but he’d better stop dreaming. Once the full story about him and his role in her sister’s death came out, all possibility of that outcome would vanish like early morning fog beneath a summer sun. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold and gently put a small distance between them.
“Where’s Kyle?” He gazed into her vivid green eyes.
“I don’t know, and I’m frantic to find him.”
Hunter shook his head. “I know. Me, too, but I didn’t see him anywhere as I sneaked through this warehouse searching for either of you.”
Karissa let out a small whimper and hung her head.
Hunter squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll find bitty boy. Don’t lose hope. Let me tie up the bad guys to await the cops’ arrival, and then we’ll get out of here.”
“You called them?”
“Not yet. But I will as soon as I’ve got you clear. I’m not waiting around for them, because we don’t know if we can trust the ones that show up.”
Lone Survivor Page 11
