Every Last Touch

by Christa Wick

  “If it even has anything to do with the investigation,” Walker rumbled.

  Siobhan’s footsteps faded down the hall. Walker remained outside the guest room. The longer he waited out there, the more I doubted that Siobhan had correctly identified what he was feeling.

  Even odds, he really was furious with me.

  I swiped my jaw, gaze locking on what I thought the most damning screen capture for the video.

  I hadn’t picked up where the man and girl disappeared, but the camera did. It showed them getting in a full-size beat up truck driven by a big hairy male, the general details of his appearance matching the giant on the trail cam who had carried two packs instead of one.

  That meant there were either two doppelgängers or the big hairy ape was the man on Joyce Franco’s trail cam and the other guy was a close relative of the fake Michael Abbot.

  “You’re mad,” I said, tired of waiting for him to soften the least little bit.

  Closing my computer, I slid it into my bag and moved the bag on the floor in an unspoken invitation for Walker to leave the hall and sit next to me.

  He stayed in the hall.

  I glanced up to find his face caving in on itself.

  “Please,” I rasped, my hand drifting to where I wanted him to sit. “It hurts enough without you being this angry at me.”

  “I’m not angry, Ash.”

  Evidence suggests otherwise, I thought.

  Sitting straighter, I wrapped my hands beneath my left knee so I could ease the leg off the mattress.

  “What are you doing?”

  Was that worry or a warning in his tone? I couldn’t tell, had never heard this voice from him before—except maybe a little that first day when the tree fell. I had thought him furious then.

  Walker finally entered the room. Standing at the foot of the bed, arms folded across his chest, he glared at me.

  “If you don’t tell me what you’re doing, I have to assume from the look on your face that you think you’re leaving.”

  I stayed silent, all my effort directed at the dual task of stopping the quiver that threatened to vibrate my lip while ignoring the renewed waves of pain cascading through my leg.

  Growling, Walker dropped his arms, marched to the other side of the bed and sat exactly where I had wanted him to earlier. Saying nothing, he reached out and grabbed a handful of my shirt so I couldn’t further retreat from him.

  “I know you love your job, Ash, but it’s dangerous. If either of those two men is involved in what happened at the park, you were in no position to defend yourself. Did you even think about that? I know you didn’t think about the extra damage you were doing to your leg.”

  He was right. I hadn’t given a thought to my leg. Thinking could lead to fear and then paralysis. Paralysis was just as deadly as rushing in blind.

  “People care about you, Ashley.” Walker rolled onto his side, his hand sliding over my stomach to secure a hold on my hip. “I need you to remember that and be careful.”

  Hearing his voice grow scratchier with each word, I relaxed against his touch. I had never thought what I would do if I got married, especially if kids came into the picture. Nolan and I never reached the marriage discussion in any form. After that relationship ended, I had come to accept the fact I wouldn’t be getting married or having kids. And if anything had happened to me today, I could only imagine how small an imprint of grief the event would leave on my parents.

  Now, with Walker, all my old decisions and certainties were coming undone.

  “Please, Ash,” he rasped. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

  “I promise,” I answered, gently easing along the bed until I was on my back next to him, his arm draped across my chest, his hand securing my shoulder.

  “You take anything for the pain yet?”

  “No.”

  I whispered the admission. The pills made me sleepy and I had wanted to stay sharp as Siobhan and I worked through potential avenues of investigation on the white truck and the suspects. In the end, our options were limited to running the partial plate. There were no outdoor cameras at the museum. Entrance to the museum had been free for the day, so no chance of the man running a credit card. And the location was one county over, meaning Gamble couldn’t send any deputies around to businesses that might have cameras that caught more of the plate or better images of the men.

  “Here,” he said, opening the pill bottle and shaking one tablet into my hand.

  I accepted the pill, took a sip from the glass of mint water by my bed, and swallowed.

  As I settled against my pillow, Walker cuddled next to me, his chin atop my shoulder, his arm across my waist. His fingertips gently massaged my bicep, the thumb sweeping up every few seconds to brush against the side of my covered breast.

  Slowly, I drifted toward sleep thinking what life would have been like growing up in Lindy Turk's house. Even now, the woman was surrounded by her children. Maybe it was the recent losses that kept them there, but I didn’t think that was the primary reason. The Turks seemed to be a family that would never drift apart.

  In the last few seconds before I fell fully asleep, I realized for the first time that I wanted something like the family around me and how hollow parts of my life had been without parents who were anything like Lindy.

  Most of all, I realized I didn’t want to lose Walker.

  Not even for my job.

  23

  Ashley

  “Round two,” Walker deadpanned as he hefted an eight-foot folding table from the back of his truck.

  Catching me reaching for one of the chairs, he offered a tender growl.

  “Letting me do it doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing it, Ash.” He planted a whisper of a kiss against my cheek, further softening the blow to my ego. “And, I promise, sometime in the not so distant future, I’m going to catch just a touch of the flu but think I’m on the verge of death and I’m gonna get a little bell and ring it and have you check my temperature…”

  He trailed off as laughter seized my body.

  “I’ll just sit here until it’s all unpacked,” I promised.

  “Thank you.”

  He stroked his finger under my chin, my body reflexively lifting my mouth to meet his. With so many children already running around the grounds of the community park, we kept the kiss quick, but the sweet heat of even so brief a touch zipped through my body, igniting bonfires where my flesh was most sensitive.

  “Back in a few seconds,” he promised.

  Lindy had already claimed our exhibit spot and was holding it against invasion. Once the truck was fully unloaded, I could join her while Walker found a parking space.

  He returned at a jog about five minutes later, a smile breaking the strong planes of his face when he saw I hadn’t moved.

  I threw him a wink as he came to a stop. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”

  His cheeks flushed. The fresh color and the glittering gaze made me want to tug him to me for another kiss. I stroked his arm instead.

  “I know it’s hard for you to sit still, Ash.”

  I looked at the items left to move. It would take him at least a couple more trips on his own.

  “Remember, I’m going to ring that bell,” he teased. “Ring it and ring it and—”

  Raising my hands in surrender, I silenced him.

  He pulled the heavy cooler to the edge of the tailgate then whispered in my ear. “When you’re all healed up, I promise I have one heck of a reward for you.”

  “Walker Turk, you’re about to make me swoon and I don’t think anyone brought smelling salts.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” he laughed. Hefting the packed cooler, his chest and arm muscles bulged deliciously. “One of the tables already set up is for Montana’s first female apothecary.”

  A grin lit my face at the prospect of getting to watch him walk away a few more times. He set off, a little more slowly because of the cases he had to balance.
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  “I think one more after this,” he said on his return, sunlight reflecting off the soft layer of sweat covering his forehead. “You have everything you need out of the cab?”

  “I’ll check—after I finish watching you walk away.”

  “I see,” he teased, glancing around. Finding no eyes on them, he curled his hand along my jaw, his thumb under my chin to force the tilt of my head. As he kissed me, he scraped his nails lightly against the side of my throat, shivers bringing my body to hard attention.

  When he finished the kiss, I really was ready to swoon.

  “Steady there,” he laughed, hands dropping to my shoulders to make sure I could stay upright on my own. “Behave while I run this over and I’ll give you another one when I get back.”

  I sat there, gaze soft, eyes slightly unfocused as he disappeared into the small crowd that had shown up early. When he was fully out of sight, I sighed then stood.

  My bag was in the back seat. That could stay there, but I couldn't leave my phone, which was plugged into the charger.

  Grabbing my crutches, I hobbled around to the front passenger door, leaned the crutches on the side of the truck then opened the door. Balancing on my right leg, I reached in to unplug the phone.

  Something brushed against my backside. Knowing it was too soon for Walker to have returned, I stiffened. My hand shot forward, trying to grab the ignition key and hit the panic button on the fob. My fingers brushed the plastic casing just as a hand wound through my hair and, with a hard jerk away from the vehicle, slammed the back of my head against the inside of the doorframe.

  The impact stunned me long enough for the attacker to slip a burlap bag over my head, a masculine grunt sounding his displeasure as I recovered my senses and fought back with a sharp elbow. He jerked the bag’s cord tight, the burlap cutting into my throat.

  I managed a short scream before the man jammed his arm against my mouth.

  With one hand, I clung to the doorframe. The other searched blindly for flesh to scratch or eyes to gouge. I dug my heels in the ground at the same time. A shotgun blast of pain discharged through my injured leg, turning me weak for one second.

  One second was all he needed. Arms circled my waist. The attacker yanked me left and right until my grip on the doorframe failed. Hearing the crunch of tires on the gravel, I sucked in air to scream again. Burlap fibers and dust clogged my throat so that nothing but choking, wheezing coughs left me.

  A door slid open. The kidnapper slammed me onto the floor of the vehicle, the door immediately sliding and locking.

  I tried another scream, only managed to choke on more dust and further enrage my kidnapper.

  “Quit your screaming," the man warned.

  He put a hand over my mouth, his body straddling me as he fought for control. I bit his hand through the burlap, my arms and legs flailing in search of a target despite the hot bolts of pain shooting through my injured leg.

  "Turn the radio on high!"

  The man yelling jerked me up then slammed me down again before jamming a knee in my stomach.

  All the air rushed from me. When I sucked more in, I started choking all over again. My captor seized the opportunity to wrestle my hands behind my back and bind them with rope.

  Finished, he cinched me tight against one side of the vehicle, the dimensions and lack of seating in the enclosed area suggesting it was some kind of cargo van.

  Pulling at the burlap sack and my hair, he lifted my head.

  "You scream again, Agent Callahan, I’m gonna take this bag off and shut you up for good.”

  He thrust my head back onto the van's floor then hiked my skirt. I tried to roll. With his legs straddling me, the man held me immobile.

  "Don't flatter yourself, you cow," he snarled. "Just making sure you left your service weapon at home."

  Still fighting to breathe, I forced myself to calm down. The man knew who I was. He had risked a lot in kidnapping me instead of just putting a bullet in my head right there. Maybe that meant he only planned on holding me for a little while.

  I would assume the worst, but for the moment, bound and blind, I had to remain calm and use all of my remaining senses to figure out where I was going and how many people were in the van.

  There were two at least. And the vehicle had been in motion a good five minutes. Even accounting for the slower speeds of the parking lot and loading zone, we were probably no longer in the park.

  The approximate location was confirmed a few minutes later when the vehicle stopped at a railroad crossing as a train passed. From there, it continued forward.

  We took a left and another left. Then the van changed lanes and slowed down as it entered the expressway.

  Reaching the highway’s speed limit, someone turned the radio down low enough I could hear voices arguing. The driver was angry that I had been grabbed—that meant I might have an ally in the man.

  Or he might be the first one to slit my throat.

  "I told you,” the kidnapper roared. “I ain't ruining this week!”

  The driver’s response was nothing more than incomprehensible whispers that the kidnapper cut short with another high volume reproach.

  “It's a quarter million dollars! She ain't ruining it."

  "And you,” the kidnapper shrieked. “Stop trying to get loose!"

  A glass bottle hit my wrist, smacking directly across the joint. I yelped, more in surprise than pain. Liquid splashed on my skin from the discarded bottle. The smell of beer filtered through the burlap. I heard a small pop of fermented gases releasing as the man opened another bottle, then the van turned onto an unpaved lane.

  "Drive all the way to the back," the kidnapper ordered.

  He turned the radio up louder as the vehicle came to a stop. The front passenger door slammed shut. A few seconds later, the van drove forward at a snail’s pace.

  I figured they had pulled into some kind of a garage or barn, the short pause marking the opening of a door. Or it could have been a gate to reach another pasture.

  The question was resolved when the van’s side door slid open.

  "Grab her legs."

  When nothing happened, the man repeated the order more roughly.

  "Do it!"

  The driver grabbed my right ankle.

  Releasing a murderous scream, I kicked my injured leg up in the air. The soft cast with its hard plastic bars on the side connected with someone's chin as another fireball exploded along my tibia.

  “I’m gonna hurt you for that,” the driver yelled.

  “Later,” the kidnapper ordered.

  The man pulled me from the van and shoved me through a doorway. My shoulder bounced off one side before I fell face first onto a thin covering of hay.

  "Back, you varmints!”

  The vicious thunk of a heavy boot connecting with something small and yielding followed the man’s barking voice. Then the door slammed, a latch fell into place and a padlock clicked shut with the finality of the grave. Seconds later, a radio flicked on in the outer room. Heavy metal played at full volume.

  Head spinning, I struggled to sit up. The tie string on the burlap sack bit into my neck. A wave of nausea threatened to drown me. Vomiting with the bag over my head wasn’t going to improve the situation, so I sank back to the ground and rested a few more seconds.

  All around me, I heard soft, frightened pants. Not one animal, but several. A snarl erupted from among the chorus of rapid breathing, the sound issuing within inches of my face. I jerked my head away, the sudden movement a terrible miscalculation.

  Fangs sank into my left cheek. I screamed and pulled back. The bag tore open as the animal's teeth caught in the fabric's weave. Other animals brushed against my spine as they scurried out of my way. For an instant, I pictured a swarming attack and kicked with both legs.

  The pain and half-blind panic too much to bear at once, I passed out.

  24

  Walker

  Finding Ashley missing, the door to my truck open, crutches on
the ground, and blood at the top of the doorframe, my first call was to Emerson as I ran through the loading area and parking lot screaming her name.

  “Ten minutes, maybe twelve,” I answered to the question of how long since Ashley had last been seen.

  “How many ways into the parking lot?” Emerson asked.

  “One.”

  I screamed her name again, my gaze jerking left and right, hoping to spot something that would point to who had taken her.

  “Put someone on the entrance now,” Emerson ordered. “For God’s sake, don’t touch your truck.”

  Mama caught up to me and grabbed my arm.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Ashley’s been taken—”

  She shook her head, discounting the possibility.

  “Blood Mama, and her crutches and phone still there, and the gravel’s all kicked up. Find two men you know and send them to the entrance.”

  Not waiting for her to reply, I ran across the lot to stop any car wanting to leave while I waited for the reinforcements.

  “How much blood?” Emerson asked.

  “Just a smear and what looked like a bit of her hair stuck to it.”

  I bent over and planted my free hand against my knee, all the worry and adrenaline racing through my body threatening to make me throw up.

  “What was she wearing?” Emerson asked.

  “Same as yesterday, a pioneer dress, red and black—little black leaves on it. What else should we be doing?”

  Near the loading area, a wave of people began to spread across the parking lot.

  “Armstrong just got off the phone with the local sheriff’s office. They dispatched two cars that are five minutes out. We’re heading to our vehicle now. I’m going to lose you in the elevator. I’ll call right back.”

  The line went dead as the two men Mama had sent over reached me.

  “No vehicle gets out,” I told them. “Cops will be here in a few minutes, follow their directions when they arrive.”

  Finding a photo of Ashley in her costume, I opened up Air Drop on my phone and sent a transfer request to all of the other phones that showed up as available. One of the impromptu guards pulled his iPhone out and hit accept.