Stolen Daughters

by Carolyn Arnold

  More crackling wood. The fire was growing rapidly and taking on more power.

  She should just leave and let the firefighters do their job. They could be too late, kept playing in her head.

  Then she heard it over the din of the blaze. A voice. Faint at first, then a bit louder. A scream? A call for help? But where was it coming from?

  She coughed. The smoke was curling around her face in long tendrils and wreaking havoc on her lungs.

  The person shouted again, and this time, she could discern it was coming from upstairs.

  Amanda put her hand on her gun and headed up, taking each step slowly, her back against the wall.

  A couple of steps from the top, she could see into the loft—though only a few feet ahead of her, as the smoke was thick. The fire itself seemed mostly contained to the right of where she was. Two forms were struggling, but it was hard to make out faces. Daniel and Logan? Had Logan gotten free? And who was crying out for help?

  She breathed shallow, trying not to cough and reveal her position before she was ready, and crept up one more stair. She drew her gun. “Prince William—” She coughed, and both people stopped and appeared to be facing her. “Police!”

  They lunged toward her, their steps moving in close unison and eating up floorboards. They were approaching as a front against her, but that wouldn’t make any sense if one of them was Logan. She fired a high warning shot, but that didn’t stop either of them from advancing on her. She stumbled, lost her footing, and felt herself falling backward. Her heart jackhammered—but she caught her balance.

  Her gun, though, had slipped from her wet palm and clattered down the staircase. She hurried to retrieve it, sensing impending danger, and found her Glock a few steps down. She turned again to face the loft area. The pair was still coming toward her—still working as a team. It was clear now that neither of them was Logan. In fact, one of them was a woman.

  “Stop right there!” Amanda barked, but they paid her no attention.

  She squeezed the trigger again, but her aim faltered. Torso hit. Red spray cut through the smoke, and a body fell toward her and tumbled down the stairs. The woman’s.

  A quick glance behind her—at the unnatural position of the body—told her the woman was probably dead.

  Amanda turned around to look up into the loft again, but the other person was gone from sight.

  The smart thing to do would be retreat. Breathing was getting harder. Her body and clothing were drenched with sweat. She turned to leave but stopped at another cry for help.

  She couldn’t just ignore it—even with the other man still in the loft and posing a threat to her. She rushed up the stairs and stumbled around through the haze. The place was finished and furnished like an apartment. She had to stop to cough, but eventually made it to a closed door. She banged on it and called out, and a voice came from within. A girl’s voice.

  She reached for the doorknob, stopping just shy of contact. It would be scalding. She covered her hand with the base of her shirt and—

  She was grabbed from behind and thrown to the floor. Her gun flew out of her hand and down the stairs to the floor below. Her skull hit wood, and her vision flashed white.

  Daniel Ross shadowed over her. “You came.”

  He was holding something in his hand, and Amanda used all her energy to kick his arm. The object skittered across the floor, and he went after it. This gave Amanda the precious seconds needed to spring to her feet. But Daniel turned on her, and swept out a leg, brushing both of hers out from beneath her.

  She flew forward and smacked her chin on the floor. She scrambled to get upright. She could sense Daniel coming at her, but she didn’t want to look back. She just wanted to move. She had to. She couldn’t give in to the paralyzing power of fear.

  Her hair was yanked from behind, and she was flipped to her back. Daniel pinned her to the floor, and his hands went for her neck and squeezed hard. She fought against him, but she could feel her strength quickly fading away. Her eyes rolled back, and her arms reached out, her fingertips searching—and then she felt something! Was it what Daniel had been holding? She worked her fingers around it—a knife.

  She raised it and thrust it into his side with all the force she could muster.

  His eyes widened—the anger in them melting away and softening to relief. “You see me.” Daniel’s voice was barely above a whisper in the din of the fire’s roaring, but there was the hint of a smile on his lips. His grip weakened, and his body sagged and fell to the side of Amanda.

  She let go of the knife and lay there, struggling to catch her breath. She considered giving in to the darkness when there was another scream.

  She had more than herself to think about. She scrambled to her feet and returned to the door, covered her hand with her shirt, and twisted the handle. It was locked. She choked on smoke, and a violent coughing fit erupted from her lungs. She lifted her shirt to cover her mouth and turned to search for something to bust the knob. She thought of the knife. It had felt large in her hands.

  She made her way back to it and realized it was probably the Bowie knife he’d used on Fox. She returned to the door, pierced the blade into the door jamb, and wormed the door latch from its hole. She blinked away tears from the smoke as she opened the door.

  Inside, there was no sign of Logan, but there was a teenage girl with red hair. No longer screaming, she was curled into a ball on the floor. Amanda was too late and considered resigning to death herself. The burning in her lungs was surreal. But when the girl coughed weakly, Amanda was compelled to action.

  She helped the girl to her feet, even though Amanda could barely stand herself. She had to get them down the stairs and out the door as fast as possible.

  Stay strong for a few more minutes, she coached herself.

  She hooked the girl’s arm over her shoulder, and they staggered toward the stairs and started going down. She could feel the heat of the fire kissing her skin, and the stalls at the side where she’d entered the barn were completely engulfed in flames.

  She passed the woman and glanced at her motionless body. Her gaze landed on a vine tattoo crawling up the woman’s neck. Was she the one who had lured Ashley and Crystal to Dumfries? What was she doing here?

  The observation and thoughts were made in milliseconds as Amanda and the girl rushed by. Amanda got them out the side door and into the night air. She took them a safe distance away and collapsed. She could feel the cold rain beating down like ice pellets on her hot flesh.

  Amanda closed her eyes, and she had two final thoughts before her world turned to black. Where the hell is Logan? And who is that woman?

  Fifty-Nine

  When Amanda came to, she was lying on a stretcher in the back of a medic’s vehicle. An oxygen mask was in place over on her face, though breathing still felt like an effort.

  “There she is,” the medic said, smiling.

  “I feel like—” Her head swooned, and she tugged at the mask.

  “No, please leave that on.” The medic fought her, and for a second, she didn’t have enough strength to argue. Then she saw Logan’s face in her mind.

  “Where’s Logan? Did we find him?”

  “I…” The medic’s brow screwed up like he was confused. She bolted upright to a seated position, and her head felt like she’d drunk a few martinis—from what she remembered when she did drink. She tore the mask off and coughed. “And the girl…” Images were coming back to her in pieces.

  “The girl should be fine. She’s been taken to the hospital.”

  The medic’s response barely sank in, and she flung her legs over the side of the gurney.

  “I’d advise that you stay—”

  “There was a man…being held hostage.” She realized she was talking in fragments but couldn’t help herself. Her lungs were burning, and she was having a hard time catching her breath. But she slid to the floor until her feet found purchase and stood. Her head spun, but she had to move… Logan. She stepped out of the vehic
le and saw that she was still at the Ross property.

  The sky was dark, but the rain had stopped, and the fire was out. Smoke clung stubbornly in a low-lying haze. The place was teeming with emergency responders. The lights from their vehicles gave the entire area a glow.

  She got off the bumper and stumbled across the driveway. She spotted Trent among the throng. At least he’d stayed outside like she’d told him to; he looked fine. She took a step toward him, but Malone cut her off before she could reach him.

  “It’s best you don’t talk to him.” His voice was gruff, but his eyes were soft, like he wasn’t sure if he should be mad or relieved. “There’s going to be shit to pay for this, Detective.”

  She bristled at the formal address. She glanced again at Trent, but he had turned away. She said, “I saved a girl. That has to count for something.” She coughed again and gripped her chest.

  “Might not be enough, and you could use a doctor.” Malone looked at her firmly.

  “Did we find Logan?” The question cut from her throat, and when Malone shook his head, her knees buckled.

  He helped hold her up and nudged his head toward the medic’s van. “You really need to take care of yourself, Amanda.”

  He was certainly torn between which hat to wear—the professional or the personal.

  “Logan has to be here somewhere,” she pleaded.

  “He doesn’t have to be, but people are searching.”

  “Let me. Please. If I could just…” Her voice disappeared to nothing, and she reached inside her pocket and pulled out the bagged photo and removed it to get a better look. “He’s against a wood-paneled wall.”

  “Amanda, please, just leave it to the rest of us to find him.”

  But she couldn’t just let it go. She returned her focus to the photo, following it around the edges, and she saw something. “Look.” She pointed and showed the photo to Malone. “The ceiling looks like packed dirt, and there are beams.” She met his gaze, and they both spoke at the same time.

  “It’s a storm cellar.”

  “Spread out,” Malone bellowed to anyone within hearing range. “We’re looking for a storm cellar! Our hostage may be in there.”

  She started toward the house.

  “Nuh-uh. I’m sticking right to your side.” Malone hustled to catch up with her.

  She was dizzy and panting for breath, but she would push through for as long as she could.

  She went to the west side of the house and traced around the building, shining the flashlight from her phone ahead of her. “There!”

  Barely visible was a door practically buried in the grass, but there had been some recent foot traffic that had flattened some blades.

  She bent over to open it and swooned.

  “Let me get it,” Malone huffed out.

  He threw the door open, and she shone her light into the hole. She couldn’t see anything from the entrance, and slowly proceeded down some wood steps. She reached the bottom and put her flashlight around the space. Wood-planked walls just like in the photo.

  “Logan?” she called out hoarsely.

  She heard mumbling and followed in its direction. It took her around a large shelving unit full of canned goods.

  Logan was there, and he widened his eyes at the sight of her. Fear replaced by relief.

  She hurried to him, pulled the gag from his mouth, and freed his wrists and ankles.

  “What happened to you?” He pressed the pads of his thumbs to her cheeks and held them for her to see. They were black.

  Soot. Of all the things for him to say first… “Never mind me. You okay?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  She put her arms around him and squeezed tight, but she was the first to pull away. Her chest felt heavy, but there was also something she wanted to do. “Logan Hunter, this is Scott Malone. He’s my sergeant and also a family friend.”

  “Hey,” Logan said, “we spoke on the phone before.”

  Malone glanced at her, and she shrank under his gaze. The time Logan had referred to was when he’d provided Amanda’s alibi.

  “Nice to meet you,” Malone said. “Now, I don’t want to come across as an ass, but you both need medical attention.”

  She and Malone helped Logan out of the bunker and summoned for a stretcher.

  It wasn’t until he was loaded and on his way to the hospital that Malone turned to her. “Why am I still looking at you? Shouldn’t you be in an ambulance yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine.” It took all her power to suppress another cough.

  “Nope. You’re out of here.” Malone signaled to another paramedic to come over.

  “Fine, I’ll go, but…” She was almost hesitant to ask her next question in case she’d fabricated all of it.

  “But?” he prompted.

  “Who was—” she coughed, no longer able to hold it back “—that woman?” If she was real—and not imagined, that is—Amanda needed to know her identity.

  Malone held up his hand to stay the paramedic, who came to a standstill about thirty feet away.

  “I should say ask her yourself,” Malone said, “but then you’d go do it. She was taken to the hospital for treatment. Again, something I recommend that you do.”

  “She survived?”

  “No thanks to you, I’m guessing?”

  “That woman tried to kill me.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “Are you going to tell me who she was?”

  Malone blew out a big breath. “We believe she was hired by the DC sex-trafficking ring to take out Daniel Ross because he was killing their girls.”

  “Trent and I thought that might happ—” She silenced under his glare. No one liked being interrupted. “Sorry.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, Ross’s van was found near a dive motel in Dumfries—where Hart was shot.” He held up a hand, and she shut her mouth. He continued. “We have an eyewitness who saw the entire thing, and his descriptions line up. Hart was shot by the woman and stuffed in the trunk of his Nissan by her and Daniel. There was also a young girl in the car.”

  “The one I pulled from the barn.”

  “I’d assume.”

  “Okay, but if the woman was hired to take out Daniel, why didn’t she shoot him when she shot Hart? And why did Daniel help put Hart’s body in the trunk?”

  “She had Daniel at gunpoint. But why she didn’t just kill him then, too, I don’t know.”

  “Do we know the woman’s name?”

  “This part you might do better sitting down for.”

  “Tell me, and I’ll go to the hospital.” She’d prepared her mind to anyway, but Malone didn’t have to know that.

  “She let it slip that Daniel was her brother.”

  Her mind was murky, but eventually the name surfaced. “Christina Ross? But how? She’s dead.”

  “She was ID’d incorrectly. Sometimes it happens…”

  Malone had been right when he’d suggested it would have been best for her to be sitting for that news. Wow. Christina Ross was back from the dead—and she’d returned to kill her own brother. So many questions, starting with: what had happened to turn Christina from sex-trafficking victim into one of the perpetrators?

  Sixty

  Five days later, Sunday

  Amanda hadn’t slept very well since the fire. The screams, the smoke, the heat, the feeling of being strangled. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in the barn about to die, and she’d wake up drenched in sweat, the sheets soaking wet.

  She’d survived, but she hadn’t gotten away completely unscathed. She’d hit her chin really hard in that loft, as well as her knee when she’d fallen down the stairs—not that she’d noticed until much later thanks to the adrenaline coursing through her veins—and she’d inhaled more than her fair share of smoke. But she was grateful there were no burns. Her doctor said she was lucky and told her to get some rest and pop ibuprofen as needed to ease the pain.

  The “lucky” part was debatable,
and certainly not how she felt at the moment. Malone had forced her to take sick leave until her fate with Lieutenant Hill was decided.

  But Amanda had her reasons for doing what she had. At least the girl was going to be fine—though it would be a long road ahead. They discovered her name was Abigail Butler, only fifteen years old. And Logan, who Daniel had taken from his home Monday night, had been dehydrated and starved for over twenty-four hours. He had recovered physically, but Amanda could tell he’d been mentally scarred by his experience—not that he was admitting as much to her. But she hadn’t talked to him a lot in the past week, and every time she did, he had a reason for cutting the conversation short.

  She grabbed a coffee from her kitchen and got as comfortable as she could manage on her couch. She normally loved tucking her legs beneath her, but that was not on the agenda for the time being with her blasted knee. She grabbed a folder from the side table.

  Malone had come by yesterday and delivered it to her. She really was living a waking nightmare. Not only had she disappointed him by “going rogue,” as he put it, but she hadn’t been able to question Christina Ross at all. It had been Cougar who got the job, along with Patty Glover in Sex Crimes. Malone didn’t want Trent to touch the case anymore either. Her partner was just one more casualty for how everything went down. Malone had strongly cautioned her not to speak with Trent until after her meeting with the lieutenant. She’d ignored his advice—apparently, she was in a rebellious phase—and was happy she had. Trent told her he didn’t hold any of what had happened, or what would, against her. As he’d said, “I’m a big boy, Amanda, and more than capable of handling whatever’s coming my way.” She hoped he was right.

  She opened the folder and gleaned the takeaway points again. Daniel Ross had died in that barn from the stab wound she’d inflicted. Finding this out hadn’t filled her with regret. He wouldn’t face his day in court and be held accountable by the justice system, but it was assured that no one would suffer at his hands again.