by D P Lyle
“Coffee maker?”
“You know. I told you I’d look into Keurigs for us. I found a good price so I bought us each one.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” She stood. “Come on. Let’s run down and we can put it in your car.”
Megan hesitated. Glanced at her computer.
“Might get busy later,” Abby said. “Or I might forget again.”
“Okay.” Megan glanced at Darren. “Back in a sec.”
“Need any help?” he asked.
“I think we can handle a coffee maker,” Abby said. “You have enough to do.”
Megan followed Abby down the stairs and into the parking deck.
“I’ll get it,” Abby said. “Pop your trunk open.”
Megan punched the button on her key fob. As the lid rose, a jolt pierced her neck and took her off her feet. The world spun, faded, not completely to black, but rather to a murky gray. She was vaguely aware of car tires squealing and someone moving around her. She felt her ankles and wrists being bound. Duct tape? That’s what it felt like. Then someone pressed a broad strip across her mouth. As the world began to sort itself out, she felt herself lifted and placed on the back seat. A blanket dropped over her. Thick, heavy, and coarse, it seemed smothering.
The car engine churned as the vehicle rose from beneath ground and humped over the speed bump at the top. A couple of turns, accelerating, decelerating, a few more bumps, traffic noise, a car horn. Then the whine of the tires as the car reached what she assumed was freeway speed.
The fog began to clear and everything returned to a sharper focus. The thick blanket allowed no light to filter through. The car continued at high speed, the ride now smoother.
Megan had no illusions about what was unfolding. Wasn’t this what happened up in Salt Lake City to that girl that was killed? She was also a TV reporter. What was her name? She knew. Pancake had told her, but she couldn’t retrieve it. Is that what would happen to her? Would people forget her name?
She tested her bindings, tugged and twisted, but found no play whatsoever. Tears pressed against her eyes accompanied by a wave of nausea, followed by a new fear. What if she got sick? She’d drown in her own vomit.
Relax, she told herself. Think.
They were definitely on a freeway. For fifteen minutes, maybe more, they had moved at a steady clip. Where were they taking her? Up the 55? North or south on the 405?
“There’s a cop up ahead.” It was Abby talking. “Slow down.” Megan felt the car slow slightly. Did the cops know she was here in this car? Were they pulling them over? She heard no siren, only the hum of tires on concrete.
“He’s giving a ticket.” A male voice. “He isn’t even looking at us.”
“Still, best to stay well below the speed limit. Getting pulled over now would be a problem, don’t you think?”
“I know. I’m just anxious to get there.”
“Me, too,” Abby said. “But we got away clean. Let’s not press our luck.”
Anxious to get there? The man’s words echoed in her head. Get where? For what purpose? A sob lurched against her chest and she let out a low moan. She tried to sit up, but a hand pushed her back down. The blanket slipped down a few inches, and she found herself looking Abby in the face. She had leaned into the gap between the two front seats and now stared at Megan.
“Don’t fucking move,” Abby said. “I’ll taze you again if you try anything stupid.”
The blanket again fell over Megan’s face. She couldn’t see, or breathe. She felt as if she’d been buried alive.
CHAPTER 51
AFTER LEAVING THE Newport PD, Nicole and I headed toward Channel 16 to see what was going on and to prop up Megan. Our feeling was she was getting shaky and could do with friendly faces and moral support while we waited for Detective Mills to call. If she called. If she could secure a warrant. Seemed a no-brainer to me. With all that Pancake had cobbled together, Abby/Stacy and her brother, Greg, looked as guilty as homemade sin.
But what did I know?
After Ray admonished us to “be cool,” of course, he and Pancake opted to drop by the condo so Pancake could look into a couple of things while we waited on news from Detective Mills.
Nicole and I pulled into the parking lot out front of Channel 16. Everything appeared normal. Not sure why I expected it wouldn’t be, but on the way over I felt tension in my neck. As if some disaster loomed beyond the windshield and that we just might roll into chaos. I hate that feeling.
Inside, Phyllis P greeted us with her usual smile. A good sign that all was well in Channel-16-land. Now, I felt stupid for getting all wound up in my what-if thoughts.
“I think everyone’s back in their offices,” she said. She glanced at her watch. “They have another half an hour before the studio will be ready for them.”
We walked down to the office. No Megan. No Abby. Darren Slater was hunched over his desk, nose buried in an array of photos.
“Hey,” I said.
He jumped.
“Sorry.”
“No problem. I was lost in all this stuff.” He waved one hand over his desk and then leaned back and massaged his neck with the other.
“Where’s Megan?” Nicole asked.
He spun his chair. He seemed to be surprised she wasn’t at her desk. “Oh, she and Abby went down to get a coffee maker.”
That made no sense. “What coffee maker?”
“Apparently they both wanted one of those Keurig things.” He pointed toward the machine in the corner. “Abby picked up a couple and they went down to transfer Megan’s to her car.”
An electric prickle crept up my back. I glanced at Nicole. Her face betrayed that she felt the same thing. Okay, take a breath. This is nothing big. Merely a friend doing a favor for another. Except that Abby wasn’t Megan’s friend. I was sure of that now.
“When will they get back?” Nicole asked.
“I thought they were.” He looked at his computer screen. “Oh, they’ve been gone over half an hour.”
We were out the door, down the stairs, and into the underground parking in what seemed less than a second. Megan’s car sat in its usual slot. The trunk lid stood open. No Megan. No Abby.
That prickly feeling spiked, rose into my neck, over my scalp, and flashed down both arms.
“Look,” Nicole said. She pointed.
Megan’s keys and fob lay near the rear tire. Nicole picked them up.
I called Ray.
CHAPTER 52
MEGAN HAD LOST track of time and determining where she was became virtually impossible. The thick, heavy blanket blocked all vision, even light. Maybe a faint glow but that might be her imagination. It smelled like wool and its abrasiveness underlined that belief. Hearing and feeling, the only senses available to her, weren’t helpful.
She had tried to follow their travels as best she could. They had been on a freeway for maybe twenty or thirty minutes, but she had no idea of how far they had gone, or in which direction. Then they slowed and took an off-ramp. No doubt about that as the car rose up an incline before coming to a stop. She could feel as much as hear the engine’s idle. They moved forward and swung left onto a more uneven road. She felt what seemed to be several lane changes and could easily hear the engines of other cars.
It was at that point that she concluded that she had to do something and that this just might be her last chance to do so. Not that she had many options, but maybe if she sat up, kicked at a window, and made some kind of fuss, someone alongside would see her, all wrapped up in a blanket and struggling, tape across her mouth. If so, they might alert the police.
She struggled to rise but didn’t get very far. A hand against her chest pushed her back against the rear seat.
“I told you to stay down,” Abby said. “Or do you want some more of this?”
She heard the sizzle of the taser.
She tried to say something, but it came out as muffled grunts and squeaks.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Abby laughed. Then she said, “Relax. We’re almost there.”
Relax? Was she freaking serious? Abby and whoever was with her and snatched her from the parking area, had bound her like a carpet roll, and covered her with a blanket that blocked all light and seemed to suck the oxygen from the air. Relaxing wasn’t an option.
Abby had also said that they were almost there. Where was there? More importantly, what would happen then?
Soon the sounds of traffic and civilization fell away. The road began to wind. Right, left, up, down, bouncing her against the seat. Her head banged against the door panel.
Could she open that door? How? And then what? Slither out? To where? The road, a ditch, under the moving car. Even if by some miracle she survived that, she wouldn’t be able to run or fight or scream or anything. She felt tears gather in her eyes.
Think, Megan. There must be some way out of this.
Did Nicole and Jake know she had been taken? Did they call the police? Even if they did, how would they ever find her?
The car slowed and turned uphill onto a rough and serpentine road, bumping and gyrating over ruts, gravel pinging the undercarriage.
“This is in the middle of no-fucking-where,” Abby said.
“Told you. No one ever comes up here it seems. I’ve been here four times now. Never seen anyone.”
“Rugged for sure.”
“Oh yeah. Nothing but hills and scrub brush.”
Where could they be? What part of Orange County would have that kind of terrain? Most of it was houses, and parks, and golf courses, and shopping malls. And Disneyland.
The car took a left and a hard bounce, then accelerated up a steeper hill.
“There it is,” the man said.
“Not as bad as I envisioned,” Abby replied. “Pull around back.”
“Why? Nobody’s going to come up this way.”
“You never know. Better if the car’s hidden from the road.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so. We got this far and got away with all our other adventures because we’ve been overly cautious, overly prepared, and left nothing to chance.”
A minute later the car jerked to a stop and the rear door opened. The blanket slid away and Megan looked into the man’s face. He smiled.
Abby appeared at his side. “Let’s get her inside.”
The man grabbed her beneath her arms, tugged her from the car, and stood her up. Hard to balance with her ankles taped together. She wobbled but he held her up.
She looked around. She was indeed in the middle of nowhere. Rolling sandy hills and scrub brush in every direction. No houses or any signs of civilization in sight. The house was dirty, dingy stucco that had once been tan. The roof was flat and made of corrugated metal that was rusted and bent along the edges.
Her stomach knotted. No one would ever find her here.
The man lifted her over his shoulder, told Abby to grab the ropes, and then carried her inside. She swiveled her head, taking in everything she could see. They moved through a kitchen, an empty dining room, and down a short hallway to a bedroom. He dropped her on the bed. The mattress was flimsy, lumpy, and sagged under her weight. It had no sheets or other coverings. The frame was sturdy and seemed to be composed of rusty metal.
“Let’s get her settled and then we can bring in the supplies,” the man said.
They unwound the tape from her ankles and wrists and then used the ropes to bind her spread-eagle to the bed frame. Her heart leapt against her chest as if trying to escape. She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Air whistled in and out through her nose.
Abby smiled down at her. “It’s showtime.”
CHAPTER 53
NICOLE COULDN’T STAND still. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her head constantly on a swivel. “Where the hell are they?”
“They’ll be here in a minute,” I said.
She let out a breath. “I can’t stand this.”
We had pulled the Range Rover down into the underground area and parked next to Megan’s car, where we stood, waiting for Ray and Pancake to arrive. I hugged her. Her chin rested on my shoulder.
“Relax. The calvary’s on the way.”
“But then what? She’s gone.”
“Remember? Pancake put a tracker on the car.”
Nicole broke my embrace and stepped back. “That’s right. I forgot.”
“We’ll find her.”
Unless the tracker fails, or falls off, or was discovered and discarded, or they were in a different car. In which case we are screwed. I thought that but said nothing.
“There they are,” Nicole said.
Pancake’s car raced down the ramp and jerked into an empty space next to us. He and Ray hopped out. Ray retrieved a canvas bag from the back seat.
“Let’s go,” Ray said. “We’ll take the Range Rover.” He yanked open the rear door.
“Up the 55, south on the 405,” Pancake said.
We piled in, Ray and Pancake in back, both working their phones. I zigged over to Newport Boulevard and then on to the 55 freeway. Fortunately, the sparse traffic allowed me to bump the speed to seventy-five.
“Where are they?” Nicole asked.
“Maybe thirty miles from here,” Pancake said. “Off the 74. Looks to be a rural and unpopulated area.”
“Moving or stopped?” I asked.
“They’ve been stationary for the past fifteen minutes.” Pancake looked out the window. “Can you go a little faster? Or maybe Nicole should drive.”
“I like that idea,” Nicole said.
Of course she did.
I top-gunned it through the broad sweep of the connecting ramp and onto I-5. Once I merged, I accelerated to eight-five. Which basically matched the rest of the traffic. Speed limits on California freeways were similar to stop signs in Italy—merely suggestions.
Fifteen minutes later—seemed much longer—I could sense Nicole willing the Rover to go faster—we reached the exit to Highway 74, the Ortega Highway. To the right was downtown San Juan Capistrano and the famous San Juan Mission, where the swallows returned every year. Sort of. They had been a bit sparse in recent years from what I had read. I turned left. Two miles later the traffic and signs of civilization faded and the road became narrow and serpentine.
The Ortega Highway was one of the most dangerous roads in California, actually the nation. Once you left the residents of San Juan Capistrano behind, the highway—that was being generous—narrowed to a two-lane blacktop. It rose, fell, twisted, and tilted through scrub brush–covered hills with rocky hillocks and often deep ravines on either side. Fatal accidents, head-ons, and tumbles down hillsides weren’t rare. Add the fact that people liked to test their driving skills as if it were Le Mans, and dudes hurled rocket bikes along the road like it was a video game, often reaching triple-digit speeds.
To me, it also looked like a good area to dump a body.
“Take the next right,” Pancake said.
The road, also a generous description, was called Tenaja Truck Trail. An apt name as it looked more like a trail than a road, and a truck was definitely the vehicle of choice. Ratty, rutted, and poorly maintained, it wound up hill, then down, then back up, and so on.
I was getting motion sickness.
“We’re close,” Pancake said. “Slow down.”
I eased my foot off the accelerator, reducing the Range Rover’s speed to a crawl. A paved driveway veered off to the left and I could see a house maybe a hundred feet away. It looked to be well kept, the drive flanked by shrubs and bougainvillea. A white sedan sat in front of the house.
“Here?” I asked.
“No. Keep going.”
Another two hundred yards and a dirt track spurred to the left.
“That’s it,” Pancake said.
I stopped.
“They’re maybe two hundred yards up that way.” He pointed up the incline.
The dirt drive rose up a hill and
disappeared from sight beyond its crest. Off to the left sat an old and very rusty metal shed. At least what was left of one.
“Pull over there by that shed,” Pancake said.
I did. We climbed out.
My cell buzzed. I answered. Detective Mills.
“Jake?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell is going on? I’m at the studio. They said something about Megan being missing.”
“She was kidnapped from the parking deck.”
“When?”
“Less than an hour ago,” I said.
“Why didn’t you call?”
“We’ve been busy. But I think we’ve found them. I’m going to put you on speaker. We’re all here.”
“Where is here?”
“Off the Ortega on a side road called Tenaja Truck Trail.”
“How did you find them?” Mills asked.
“Pancake put a tracker on Greg Morgan’s car. We followed it here.”
“So what’s going on?”
“This is Ray,” Ray said. “We just rolled up. Can’t see the car yet but it’s nearby. There’s an abandoned shed here where we are and I suspect we’ll find some kind of structure once we move in.”
“You’re a little out of my domain but tell me where and I’ll get the OC Sheriff’s Department rolling your way.”
Ray hesitated, then said, “Okay. But tell them to come in quietly. No lights or sirens and for sure no helicopter. I don’t want them to know they’ve been found. It might not go well for Megan if they feel cornered.”
“Got it.”
Ray told her exactly where we were, then said, “We’re going to move closer, see what we’re dealing with.”
“Might be better to wait on the sheriff.”
“Might be,” Ray said. “But we aren’t.”
“Somehow I figured you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t take them more than fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“We’ll have it scoped out by then. Tell them to look for a green Range Rover on a dirt track off the left side of the road. The house is just over the hill from there.”
