Jayme's Journey

by Laura Scott

  “I know. But I think we should keep it as evidence anyway.” Linc wasn’t sure why the scrap of paper bothered him. It seemed a bit of a stretch to think the perp had left it there on the bush, even by accident.

  Unless . . . he frowned. What if there had been something tucked in the guy’s pocket? The paper may have snagged on the thorny bush as the guy eased by.

  Too bad a larger chunk of the paper hadn’t been left behind. Something that would have given him a clue as to who this guy was.

  And what grudge he was holding against Jayme.

  After taking a picture of the discovery, Simons placed the scrap of paper in an evidence bag. “It’s a long shot, but maybe we can track something related to that aqua color on the tip.”

  “Thanks.” Finding three clues was excellent, more than any of the other fire scenes had provided.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  After spending another thirty minutes and not finding anything of significance, Linc left the cabin. Officer Simons promised to stay in touch, and he prayed he’d hear something about the tire track and the shoe print very soon.

  His stomach rumbled with hunger. He had his computer, so he stopped at a local diner that offered free Wi-Fi for a quick meal. He took his computer inside to work. He tried to find more arsonists who had been recently released from jail and found one more guy, Waylon James, who’d been released two years ago. His last-known address was Nashville. It was a stretch, but he still made the call to the Nashville PD asking for anything they might have on Waylon. When that was finished, he poked through shoe websites to find one that matched the image on his phone.

  To his surprise, he stumbled across a sturdy orthopedic type of shoe. The three circles on the sole were a direct match to the print found outside the cabin.

  Was their perp an older guy? Like maybe the Preacher?

  He finished eating and called Officer Simons to let him know about the orthopedic shoe he’d found online.

  “Good work, Linc. I’ll let our captain know.”

  “Thanks.” Linc put his phone away, closed his computer, and left money for his bill before hurrying out of the diner.

  Maybe it was crazy, but he couldn’t fight the desperate need to head over to the physical therapy clinic. He told himself it would be nice to know how the cleanup process was coming along.

  But he knew the real reason was that he had to see Jayme for himself. To see with his own eyes that she was doing okay.

  The trip didn’t take long, and some of the tension eased from his shoulders when he noticed a man and a woman standing outside the clinic. He slid out of the rental SUV and hurried over. “How is it going?”

  “Ah, good. We’re just about finished,” the man said. “I’m Jake by the way.”

  “Linc Quade,” he introduced himself.

  “Oh, Linc. I’m glad you’re here.” A sweet African American woman turned to face him. “I’m Sandra, and I’ve heard about you from Jayme.” He was ridiculously pleased to hear it. Before he could say anything, though, Sandra went on. “I thought Jayme was with you, but now I’m worried she’s missing.”

  “Missing?” He grasped her arm. “When? How long ago?”

  “Just, ah,” Sandra glanced helplessly at Jake. “Not that long. Maybe twenty to thirty minutes?”

  Jake nodded. “I left her sorting supplies. It looks to me like she finished, there are two piles, one marked keep, the other marked donations.”

  Linc didn’t care about the supplies. “Thirty minutes? And you didn’t call anyone?”

  “I honestly thought she was with you, Linc.” Sandra’s expression was full of distress. “She told me you dropped her off and would be back to pick her up. We didn’t realize right away that she was gone.”

  Linc struggled to breathe, to focus. “Could she be in the restroom or something?” He forced the words past his tight throat.

  “I looked,” Sandra said. “But come inside, see for yourself.”

  Linc went into the clinic building, barely registering the progress they’d made in cleaning the place out. He did notice the teal-colored logo on the wall and remembered the teal color on the slip of paper.

  Was it possible one of their physical therapy patients had targeted Jayme after all?

  Jake went over to where there was a chair and stacks of supplies. “This is where Jayme was working.”

  Linc stared down at the empty spot, his gut tightening with fear. “She couldn’t have left out the front, you guys would have noticed, right?”

  “Right,” Sandra agreed.

  “I bet she took a bunch of the damaged, beyond use supplies to the dumpster out back,” Jake said, moving through the clinic to the back door.

  Linc hoped, prayed they’d find Jayme back there. Maybe she’d fallen and hurt herself, breaking her phone and lying on the ground, waiting for them to come find her.

  But no. The area around the dumpster and the rest of the alley was empty.

  He stood for a moment, crushed beneath a wave of guilt. He never should have let her come here today. Never!

  What if she died because of his failure?

  Linc wanted to scream in frustration but forced himself to think. Think! Jayme must have brought the garbage out here. Had the perp staked the place out? Had he waited for her to show up alone before making his move?

  His gaze fell on a long skinny piece of plastic. He bent and picked it up. “Is this something that would have fallen out of the bag of damaged supplies?”

  “No,” Sandra replied without hesitation. “It’s the cap of a needle, but everything was in packages, right, Jake? We don’t store needles all by themselves. And where is the needle portion? The cap wouldn’t have dropped off the needle hub that easily.”

  “Sandra is right,” Jake agreed. He gazed around the area. “I’d say it was left by a drug user.” He grimaced. “Which makes me think we should get this dumpster picked up ASAP so other drug users don’t crawl in to get the supplies.”

  “Drug users.” Linc stared at the needle cap. “If that were the case, wouldn’t there be other signs of drug paraphernalia here? Have you seen this problem before?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone using drugs around here, and you’re right, if that were the case, we’d see other things, like syringe wrappers or tourniquets.” Sandra frowned. “It’s odd to have just the needle cover on the ground.”

  Linc feared the cap was proof that Jayme had been accosted back here, drugged, and then taken away.

  But where?

  “I need a patient list ASAP,” Linc said in a hoarse voice. “And don’t tell me about patient privacy concerns, Jayme’s life is at stake here.”

  Jake and Sandra glanced at each other, then reluctantly nodded.

  Linc’s relief was short-lived. Going through the patient list would take time. Time Jayme didn’t have.

  Please, Lord, please keep Jayme safe in Your care! Give me the strength and knowledge to find her before it’s too late!

  Jayme’s mouth felt like cotton, her brain foggy as she slowly regained consciousness. It took her a moment to realize she was sitting in a kitchen chair, her hands tied behind her back, her feet bound together at the ankles.

  Every muscle in her body screamed with pain when she tried to move. She lifted her head, horrified to realize she was in her house. In her kitchen, tied to one of her own chairs.

  Memories cascaded over her. Memories of the past, living in the cellar of the Preacher’s cabin, and the more recent memory where she’d realized Mr. Shepard was the Preacher.

  All this time, the Preacher had been alive. Alive!

  Her mind had trouble comprehending what had just happened.

  Not just that the Preacher was still alive but that he’d managed to find her after all this time. Thirteen years!

  And that he was the one who’d been starting the fires, throwing firebombs through the clinic window and last night into the cabin.

  Why hadn’t she recognized him?

  “
Well, I see you’re finally awake.”

  Her entire body shuddered with revulsion at his voice. It was different now compared to back then.

  Everything about him was different—his looks, his personality, or the one he’d pretended to have.

  But not that creepy way he rubbed her elbow.

  She wanted to close her eyes, to crawl inside herself, pretend he wasn’t there. But she forced herself to straighten her spine, to meet his gaze.

  Jayme had managed to escape from him once. She had to believe she could do it again.

  Although being tied up like a Thanksgiving turkey would add a layer of difficulty. Where was Mrs. Katz? Would she notice something was wrong and call the police?

  She was afraid to bank on it.

  “I’m impressed to see you here in Sevierville.” Jayme hoped he couldn’t hear the slight tremor in her tone. “I really hoped you’d burned to death in the fire.”

  She mentally braced herself to feel his wrath, but he surprised her by letting out a harsh cackle. “Oh, I’m sure you would have loved that, Jayme.” The way he said her name made her skin crawl. “But as you can see, I survived.”

  She thought about what Linc had discovered about the human remains being unable to be identified. “And being the coward that you are, I assume you left your dear wife, Ruth, behind to die?”

  Anger flashed in his eyes, making her regret goading him. “You’re the coward, Jayme.” He waved a hand. “But that doesn’t matter any longer. Now that I have you here, you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

  Her throat was so dry from whatever drug he’d given her she couldn’t swallow. She had no idea how long she’d been knocked out, how long she’d been gone from the clinic.

  Had Sandra and Jake called Linc to let him know she was gone?

  Even if they had, there’s no way in the world Linc would think to come to her own house to find her.

  Linc. Despite her dehydrated state, tears pricked her eyes. He’d blame himself for this even though she was the one who’d insisted on going to the clinic.

  She was the one who hadn’t recognized Mr. Shepard as the Preacher until it was too late.

  The Preacher pulled a small blue plastic tube from his pocket. When he flicked his thumb over the top, a flame ignited.

  A lighter.

  Somehow, she instinctively knew that the best way for her to stay alive would be to keep him talking. She had to believe Linc would find her. She twisted her bound hands, trying to loosen the rope.

  “I’m impressed you weren’t more badly injured from the fire,” she said, forcing herself to look directly at his face. “I mean, that long jagged scar on your cheek looks like a knife wound, not a burn.”

  “You mean this?” He reached up to touch the red jagged scar. Then he dug his fingers into his face, peeling off several layers of rubbery material revealing the burn scars beneath. “I did this for your benefit, Jayme.” He moved close enough that she wanted to shirk from his evil smile. “I knew you’d be on the lookout for a man with a burn on his face, so I simply changed it to look like something else.”

  She hadn’t given him enough credit. Not just the strength and determination to escape thirteen years ago, but even now. The man was crazy smart like a fox. Completely insane, but crazy smart.

  “You fooled me,” she admitted, continuing to work at the bindings around her wrists. They were painfully tight, to the point she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get free. “I really thought you were a wounded trauma patient.”

  “That’s because you only saw what I wanted you to see.” He took another step closer, flicking the lighter in his hand. On and off. On and off. “Do you have any idea how long I spent in the hospital because of you?”

  “Oh, you mean because I fought back when you tried to rape me?” She winced as the lighter came closer. “What did you think would happen? If you’d have left me alone, you never would have gotten burned.”

  The lighter flicked on and off.

  It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to rear back from the flame. To keep her gaze on his disfigured face instead of the lighter.

  “I had surgery, after surgery, after surgery.” He stared down at her with his good eye. “The pain was crippling, but they didn’t let up. Dressing changes, then more surgery.” He leaned in. “There isn’t enough fire in the world to make up for what you put me through.”

  Fire.

  Her inner strength began to crumble. She’d feared this was his plan. To burn her as badly as he’d been burned.

  Fire. The element she hated the most would be how he finally killed her.

  Dear Lord, help me! Please, don’t let him do this! Save me!

  The Preacher flicked the lighter right in front of her eyes, close enough that she could feel the little bit of heat, smell the lighter fluid.

  “I know your real name is Simon.” She pushed the words through clenched teeth. “Simon Penske.”

  The lighter flicked off as he reared back in surprise. “How did you know that?”

  “Ruth slipped up and used it once. The arson investigator helping me found your obituary.” She tried to smile. “That was really clever to pretend you were dead.”

  “It was,” he agreed. His good eye narrowed. “But I have to admit, I didn’t realize you and Quade had gotten that far.”

  “Linc is a very smart man. And he’s determined to find you.”

  The evil smile was back. “Well, he hasn’t. And he won’t find you, until it’s too late.”

  She could read the intent in his eyes. The Preacher was going to kill her by setting her house on fire.

  Maybe setting her on fire first.

  She was so afraid she almost threw up what remained of the sub sandwich sitting like lard in her gut. She forced the nausea away and kept talking. “Did you ever find the other foster kids?”

  “Why would I bother?” He flicked the lighter on again, staring at the flame as if mesmerized. It occurred to her in that moment that he really was the antithesis of God.

  He was the devil. Pure evil, all the way through.

  “You’re the only one I wanted, Jayme.” The emphasis on her name was wreaking havoc with her effort to remain emotionally detached. “Once I kill you, my mission will be complete.”

  “Really? That seems rather pathetic. I mean, I’m flattered that I’ve been your sole mission for so many years.” She had no idea why she was goading him again, the words tumbling out of her so fast she didn’t have time to comprehend what she was saying. “You’re a powerful man, Simon. What good is killing one woman? Don’t you have anything else important to do in your life?”

  He lashed out at her, his fist slamming into her jaw. Pain reverberated through her, but she would rather have the fist than the fire.

  Please, Lord, not the fire!

  “Enough!” He spun away and paced back and forth, clearly trying to get himself under control. Jayme strained at the bindings, craning her neck in an effort to see the time on the microwave clock. Four o’clock in the afternoon.

  Caitlyn and Annette would be finished with their lab by now. Devon would have driven them to the hotel. She’d purposefully not mentioned Caitlyn by name so as not to put any ideas in the Preacher’s warped mind.

  Linc would know by now that she’d been taken. He was out there, right this minute, trying to find her.

  The Preacher spun around and smiled again. “It’s time.”

  No! Not yet! Please, God, not yet!

  He turned and walked over to the door. She belatedly noticed the large can of kerosene he must have brought in while she’d been out.

  Fear tumbled over her in full force. If the Preacher doused her with the kerosene, it would only take one flick of his lighter to start her on fire.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Where’s my sister?” Caitlyn’s concern was etched on her features. Linc understood because he couldn’t quell the overwhelming sense of panic either.

  “Trust me, I’m go
ing to find her.”

  “How?” Caitlyn demanded.

  It was a fair question. Since leaving the clinic, he’d notified the police about Jayme’s abduction and had spoken directly to Captain Barstow about putting out a notice to all officers to keep on the lookout for her. He’d scanned the list of patients Jake and Sandra had provided to him with his phone app and had emailed that to Barstow too.

  Then he’d reviewed the list of clinic patients over the past year for himself. Unfortunately, there were more than he’d anticipated. Too many possibilities to narrow them down to a handful of suspects.

  He reviewed the list again, looking for anything out of place. The only name that struck him as being odd was Adam K. Shepard.

  Not a wildly different name exactly, but the biblical reference had given him pause. Did the K stand for King? Was it possible this was really Simon Penske, the Preacher? He’d reviewed the list again and couldn’t come up with anything else. And he couldn’t afford to discount the possibility. The fact that the patient had an apartment near the clinic only added to his concern. He’d used his computer to look up the guy’s DMV records, grimacing when he saw an older man with a scar running down his cheek. It didn’t look like a burn scar, but the disfigurement convinced him he was on the right track.

  He continued digging into the guy’s background, praying he wasn’t taking the wrong path in following this guy when the real culprit was someone else entirely. According to the DMV, Shepard drove a blue Chevy Spark. The Spark made him feel as if he was indeed on the right track. Armed with the vehicle information and Shepard’s address, Linc rose and strode to the hotel door. “Caitlyn, you need to stay here with Devon, okay? I’ll let you know as soon as I find her.”

  Caitlyn nodded while Annette put an arm around her friend. Devon’s expression was grim, but he gave Linc a nod. “I’ll take care of them.”

  “Thanks.” He believed the young man would. Linc quickly left the hotel, rushing out the back door to his SUV. He wasn’t worried about being followed any longer now that the arsonist had what he wanted.

  Jayme.