by Kylie Brant
“You.” She freed her hands to fist one in his hair. The other clutched a muscular shoulder. Her legs crawled higher. “All.” Urgency was churning inside her, thought impossible. There was only need. Fervent and desperate. Desire, dark and molten, was heating her veins. Every nerve inside her stretched as taut as a bow.
His hips slammed into hers then with a force she welcomed. Returned. Sophia met his punishing tempo and demanded more as she reached for something just out of reach.
She could feel his muscles, tight and straining, beneath her fingers. Heard his ragged breathing. Sensed the exact moment when his control shattered, and his movements went wildly unrestrained.
His loss of control had heat, quick stabbing spears of it, arrowing down her spine. Her world narrowed until there was only Cam and her. Bodies twisting and straining as they sped through the darkness on a race for release.
And when hers ripped through her, shattering sanity, scattering reason, his name was on her lips.
It might have been hours later. Was likely only minutes. Sophia still felt pleasantly weak. Lethargic. And absolutely boneless. It pleased her that Cam’s breathing hadn’t yet returned to normal. She could feel embarrassed at her total loss of control had she not been certain Cam had been equally desperate. After the explosive climax she’d be satisfied to never move again.
But a need of another sort was making itself known. And although the last thing she wanted to do was leave Cam’s bed, nature would not be ignored.
Sliding from beneath his arm, she reluctantly swung her feet to floor and stood. He made a sound of protest, but she rounded the bed to head for the bathroom, intent on returning as quickly as possible. Her bare foot stepped on something foreign. Flat and square. “What…”
“Hmm? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Sophia reached down and scooped up what she’d stepped on and hurried into the bathroom. Closed the door and turned on the light. She stared at the object in her hand, gradual comprehension turning to dismay. It was the foil wrapper of a condom.
An unopened condom.
She gave a little shake of her head as if to dislodge the sensual cobwebs that persisted. Her reflection stared back at from the mirror above the sink. Stricken.
Sophia recalled Cam taking it from the drawer of the bedside table. She had a clear memory of taking it from him, intent on sheathing him with it.
And she had an equally vivid memory of him taking one of her nipples in his mouth at that exact moment. Teasing it with tongue and teeth until she’d grasped his head with her hands, whether to stop or prolong the torment, she didn’t know.
What she didn’t recall was what she’d done with the condom after that. One thing was certain, they hadn’t used it. They hadn’t used any protection.
The ramifications of that lapse successfully banished the lingering sensual haze.
In all her life, Sophia had never been so careless.
Of course, decades earlier she’d been on the pill. Had remained on it until a couple years ago when her gynecologist had recommended a break. That hadn’t mattered, not then, because she hadn’t been sexually active after her divorce.
Until Cam.
A quick mental calculation had some of the tension seeping from her limbs. She should be safe, but the fact remained that safety hadn’t even entered her mind last night.
And that fact terrified her. She was by nature a cautious and meticulous woman. But her normal caution had been spectacularly absent from the moment she and Cam had shared drinks at Mickey’s last week.
And Sophia could no longer dismiss the alarms going off inside her over yet another aberration in judgment.
As soon as the dim fractured light began to penetrate the building, Sophia had begun her search. A knothole signified a weakness in the wood. So she identified all the boards along the two wooden sides of the cell that contained one. Limiting herself to those easily within reach, she’d come up with four possibilities. Selecting one, she’d started to work at it.
It was long, tedious labor. The jagged metal end of the clip easily scraped a groove into the aged timber, but it had taken hours just to wear a groove around the knot deep enough to force out the small plug of wood.
Her success had brought a surge of excitement. But that emotion had quickly abated after she’d kicked at the board repeatedly, and it’d held fast in place. So she’d gone back to work, a bit more frantic now, intent on widening the hole.
Pausing to rest her cramped fingers, she took another drink of the tepid water from the now soggy paper cup. After drinking the last few trickles of liquid, she tossed it in a corner. Only then did she wonder if the monster had fed Courtney Van Wheton.
Just the thought of last night had her breath catching. An auditory repeat of the horrible sounds of the assault would creep unbidden into her mind at random moments, an emotional ambush. And yet it was nothing in comparison to what the woman had endured at the man’s hands since her kidnapping. Sophia could hardly bear to contemplate it.
It was that thought, however, that had her redoubling her efforts. She inserted the rough edge of the clip and began scraping at the wood again. The metal often hit a snag in the wood and bent. Each time she’d straighten it, but Sophia worried it would snap in half at some point, making it more unmanageable to wield. Or totally useless.
Better to focus her worry on that than on when the monster would return.
Earlier this morning, she’d again called out to the other woman, but there’d been no answer. Realizing that further effort would be wasted, Sophia had saved her breath. Perhaps Van Wheton was scared. Maybe her injuries prevented her from responding. But thinking of her suffering somewhere nearby kept Sophia working long after the splinters of light allowed in the building grew bright.
Because it kept her stronger to focus on something—anything—other than what awaited her if she failed in her attempt, she let her mind touch on the investigation. She knew each of the agents working the investigation personally. She trusted them.
But most of all, Sophia trusted the man running the case.
Despite the way their relationship had ended, she knew Cam would stop at nothing to find her. She wouldn’t wait for that rescue. Couldn’t count on it. But it warmed something inside her to be certain of his efforts on her behalf.
Just thinking of him had a host of unsolicited memories swarming her mind. Mental images of Cam, jaw squared and determined. Or the way his eyes slitted when he was vaguely annoyed.
The image of how he looked when he was lazy and sated, a slight curve on his lips. The memory of the long smooth stroke of his fingers down her spine.
The pang of loss that struck her then was as sharp and searing as any that emanated from her battered ribs. She blinked away the tears that pricked her eyes. This was no time for regrets or for weakness. It would take all her strength to outwit her captor.
But oh, if she let herself, Sophia could long to relive the time she’d once been weak with Cam Prescott.
Her fingers were cramping more and more frequently. She stopped to flex them. Studying the widening hole, she realized it was nearly twice the width of the original knot that had been removed. About an inch and a half across.
Setting down the clip, she moved to the opposite side of the stall. The hole was near the center of the board, nearly three-quarters down its length. Reasoning that the area of the board furthest from the supporting post on the other side would be the weakest, she took aim again. Running across the cell she kicked at it with all her might. Was gratified to hear a sharp sudden crack when her heel met the wood.
She tried over and over, ignoring the pain in her heel from its continued contact with the unyielding lumber. The pain was meaningless in the face of what the other woman had endured last night.
And it was a reminder of what was in store for her in a few hours if she failed.
The thought fueled her strength, and Sophia gave another hard kick at the hole she’d created.
; Then stared, in dumfounded delight, when the board finally split in two.
# # # #
Because it was just a few miles down the road from headquarters, Cam traveled to the Farm Service Agency himself. And then cooled his heels in the waiting area for several minutes as several jean clad farmers showed no sign of hurrying through the business they were discussing with the clerk at the counter.
Finally, he skirted the line of customers remaining and rounded the counter to approach an older clerk working at a computer.
“Excuse me.”
The look she gave him should have blistered several layers of skin. “You’ll have to wait your turn, sir. There are others ahead of you.”
He flashed his shield. “I’d like to speak to your manager.”
Her lips pressed into a thin disapproving line. “I’ll see if he’s available.”
Rising, she went to a closed door a few feet away and preceded her entrance with a perfunctory knock.
Cam scanned the place. Other than the young woman manning the counter there was only one other employee in the vicinity, but several empty desks suggested absentee colleagues. A moment later the older woman slipped back out of the manager’s door, a disappointed expression on her face. “Mr. Jeffries can see you now.”
Starting toward the office, Cam was met by someone who had to be the manager, although he looked for all the world like a fourteen-year-old kid. If fourteen-year-old kids wore Dockers with polo shirts and needed to shave.
“Agent Prescott? Justin Jeffries.” The younger man stepped aside and motioned him to his office. And then closed the door upon the avid interest being shown by the woman who’d announced Cam.
Closer examination had him revising his original estimate. The manager actually looked nearer to twenty. Which still had to be years off the mark, but made him feel a little better.
“Have to say, getting a visit from DCI is a first.” Given his youth, Cam figured the manager had a lot of firsts ahead of him, but took the chair Jeffries offered and waited for the other man to seat himself behind his desk.
“I’m looking for a crime site that we have reason to believe currently or once held ostriches,” he began without preamble. “Chances are it’s a rural area and I thought there might be a federal farm program operators could be signed up for.”
The manager shook his head. “If there were, we wouldn’t be able to let you look at the records without a subpoena. But we don’t have programs for livestock producers, except the dairy program.” He gave a sudden flash of perfectly even white teeth. “From what I know about ostriches, I don’t think they’d qualify.”
“But you do have records of all the farms in Polk County.”
Again Jeffries shook his head. “We have records of the commodity producers who are currently or have in the past signed up for a federal farm program.” He pointed to a large county map on the wall. “This is our most current one map. It probably details most of them, but wouldn’t include a lot of the acreages. The producers are highlighted by the yellow dots.”
Already feeling like this had been a wasted trip, Cam rose, his eyes on the map. “Ever heard of anyone who keeps ostriches in the county?”
Jeffries stood as well. “Not currently. I know there’s an operation in Boone County, because the county director there has mentioned it before. But there hasn’t been one that I’m aware of in Polk County since I was a kid.”
Attention caught, Cam remained in place. “That long ago, huh?”
Jeffries grinned again. “Born in ’85. Know what was significant about the eighties in rural Iowa?”
“Unlike you,” Cam said dryly, “I have vivid memories of the eighties. You’re talking the farm crisis?”
“Exactly. Farms going under after being overextended by banks, paying outrageous inflationary interest. Livestock and crop prices bottomed out. Lot of farmers were desperate to turn a profit, and that’s when some turned to raising ostriches and emus. There’s still a market for their feathers, meat and leather. A neighbor of my grandpa’s had a herd. You know what you hear about them eating anything? My brother and I were over at the farm looking at them once. I stuck my comb through the fence and an ostrich ate it right out of my hand. Could see the comb go all the way down his throat, too.” The young man laughed at the memory. “They’re actually supposed to be kind of smart, but it was hard to believe it that day.”
“Where was this?”
Jeffries looked surprised. “The ostriches? Next farm over from my grandpa’s, north and east of town. Maybe about eight miles from here.”
“Can you draw me a map?”
“Sure.” Jefferies got out a pad of paper and started drawing just as Cam’s phone began to vibrate. “The house is gone now and all that’s left of the place is this really great old barn. The pasture the birds used to graze on has been plowed under, though. Unlike the eighties, producers these days can’t complain about grain prices. A lot of them are farming fencerow to fencerow, conservation be damned.”
Only half listening, Cam checked the screen, saw the number for Jenna’s cell. “Excuse me,” he told Jeffries and turned half away to answer it. “Prescott.”
“Cam, you’re going to want to head over to KCCT.”
“I am?” He took the crudely drawn map the manager handed to him. “Why is that?”
There was a shake to the normally level agent’s tone. “A news anchor received a written message that’s supposedly from Sophia. There’s a note with it that says if it isn’t aired today she’ll be killed.”
Luz Servantez, the pretty Hispanic anchor, looked distraught. The station manager and Drew Harper, the station’s attorney, seemed to take turns comforting her. At Cam’s questions, the newswoman drew a breath and repeated the story she’d clearly already shared with her co-workers.
“I go on the air at six AM and I’m always at work by 4:30 to get hair and make up done. But I was late. We have a new puppy, and it was raising heck in the middle of the night, so we were up for a while trying to settle it down. I went back to sleep and must have slept through the alarm. So,” she drew a deep shuddering breath and reached for the bottled water in front of her, “I was rushing around and got out to the garage to find someone had smashed the driver’s side window on my car. In a locked garage! There was glass all over the seat, and that,” she nodded toward the rolled up papers, “was on the seat, too. But I really didn’t pay attention to the papers. I was too upset about the car, and the thought that someone must have been in our garage. I got my husband up, and took his vehicle, while he cleaned up the mess and called the police. He unrolled the papers and thought they were trash. But when he saw the writing on them he figured I’d used them to jot down some notes, so he set them aside. It wasn’t until a couple hours ago when he finished dealing with the police and talking to the insurance company that he looked at them again.” She paused to take a long gulp from the bottle. Lowering it she added, “That’s when he called me and brought the papers here.”
“So he handled them?” Gonzalez asked the woman.
Servantez shot a guilty look at the lawyer. “He didn’t know what they were. But he read some of the writing to me on the way over here, so I told Drew and Molly right away. No one has touched them since.”
“That’s not exactly true.” Harper’s smile was as smooth as his muted silk tie. “I spread them out to read them after drawing on some driving gloves I had in my car. Clearly we weren’t going to make any other move until consulting with your agency.”
Clearly the lawyer and station manager had taken the time to have a long discussion about their options before making that call, Cam thought, studying the note grimly. But he’d let Maria take care of that. He was more concerned with the words scrawled on a plain white napkin:
If this isn’t aired today Channing will be dead before dark.
He picked the papers up with gloved fingers and placed them carefully in a clear evidence bag. Sealed it. The lawyer cleared his throat. “Na
turally we want to cooperate in any way possible. But we also have a clear interest in the public good, and our viewers deserve to be apprised of this development.”
“Will you excuse us for a moment?” The station employees looked at Maria in surprise. “Of course.” When neither she nor Cam made a movement toward the door, the manager tugged at the attorney’s sleeve and spoke to Luz. “Let’s get you somewhere you can relax before you go on again.” In a bustle of activity, they all left the room.
Maria walked over to the evidence bag. Looked at the papers inside it for a moment. “Is that Dr. Channing’s handwriting?”
“It looks like it. The lab will tell us for sure, but yeah.” He stared at the paper, as well, trying to recall the score sheets she’d written when they’d played gin that time. He’d been intent on keeping score another way, but she’d insisted on keeping track of points, as well. Once she’d trounced him, he’d figured out why. “I’ve only seen a few handwritten words before. But it does look like it could be hers.” He looked up, his gaze catching Maria’s. “It just doesn’t sound like her writing, if you know what I mean.”
“Possibly because the UNSUB was dictating it. She was merely writing down what he told her to.”
He nodded slowly. “Maybe. But the professional words used…those are more familiar. The phrases are similar to some she’d use in a profile, but…”
“The rhythm to the words seems off,” Gonzalez finished.
“Exactly. It looks like he was intent on having her correct the earlier profile that had been released about him.”
“I’m guessing that it wasn’t her idea to include the sympathetic portrayal of his intelligence.” The SAC read for another minute or so.
“What are you going to do with it?” Cam thought he knew the answer, but the question had to be asked. He’d thought he knew Maria as well as any colleague he had. She’d proved him wrong by releasing the first profile.
“I’m going to do exactly what the UNSUB wants us to do.” Her simple response had something in Cam’s chest easing. “I’m going to tell the station to have it read on the air.”
