Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9)

by Laura Griffin

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was shrill.

  “I’ve been in the damn jail all day! I just got this. Tara, Sears knows this area inside out. He can slip through our fingers in a heartbeat. We need to find out where he is without tipping him off that we’re looking for him.”

  “That’s not easy! He’s got contacts everywhere. And he’s probably monitoring the police frequency.”

  “Call backup from your office.”

  “I will, but they’re thirty minutes away, minimum, and she’s missing now. I—”

  “Jeremy and I are en route to Corrine Timber. Meet us at the turnoff.”

  “I’m already on my way.”

  “Wait for me.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Tara—”

  “I’m almost there and you’re where? Cypress?”

  “I’m on the highway.”

  “What if he has her now? I can’t wait, Liam.”

  “God damn it! I can’t protect you if you won’t goddamn listen to me!”

  “It’s not your job to protect me.”

  Yes. Yes, it was. At this moment, it was the one job that mattered more than anything in his whole life. He gripped the phone and tried to get a grip on his emotions. “Tara. Think this through. You need to wait for backup. You can’t go after her alone.” But as he said the words, he knew she’d see the double standard—she had a radar for it. He was asking her to refrain from doing something he’d do without hesitation if one of his men needed him.

  “Tara?”

  “Liam, I have to.”

  M.J.’S THROAT WAS on fire.

  She blinked into the darkness and felt the flames sweeping up and down her esophagus. She tried to swallow and would have cried out at the pain, but her tongue was thick and swollen, and her lips wouldn’t move.

  She couldn’t see. The blackness around her seemed to hum, and she was on a hard floor. Her head throbbed. Her brain felt fuzzy. Had she been drugged or just deprived of oxygen? Her body pitched sideways. White-hot pain zinged up her arm, and a realization flashed through her mind.

  She was in a trunk. Using her uninjured arm, she groped in the darkness. The walls around her were hard metal. She moved her legs and gradually realized it wasn’t a trunk but a truck bed, something with a lid.

  Blurry snippets came into focus. Black truck bed. Flat black paint. Murdered out.

  You’re with him, an inner voice told her. He’s taking you . . . somewhere.

  The floor pitched again. She rolled sideways, and the fiery bolt of pain brought tears to her eyes.

  She was on a bumpy road. He was taking her somewhere deep in the woods.

  The horror of that fact seeped in as she explored the metal box. She groped for a latch, a weapon, a tool—anything to help her—but her fingers touched only hard, vibrating metal.

  Fear churned in her stomach as she thought about what the groping meant, what it really told her. Bits of memory came back of how he’d choked her and choked her until she felt like she was drowning. She’d blacked out. And now the fear inside her turned to panic as she realized why he’d left her hands free.

  He thinks you’re dead, the inner voice told her. And now he’s going to cut you.

  TARA SPED DOWN the bumpy road and whipped into the parking lot of Corrine Timber. The sight of M.J.’s car beside the double-wide trailer sent her pulse into overdrive.

  She parked and jumped out. “M.J.?” She was nowhere in sight. Tara slid her gun from her holster as she circled the car. A phone charger was plugged into the dash but no phone.

  “M.J.?” she called again, scanning the surrounding woods. She hurried up the steps to the office, hoping the white pickup parked out front meant someone was there.

  No one answered.

  “Shit!”

  She tried the door. Locked. Not a sound from the office or the forest or anywhere.

  Tara rushed down the stairs and noticed the grooves in the mud near M.J.’s car, as if someone had slipped.

  Blood on the ground. Tara’s heart skittered.

  She crouched down to confirm. Only a few small droplets, but it was definitely blood right there beside the door.

  She spied more droplets several feet away. And a few more. Icy dread filled her stomach as she followed the blood trail until it disappeared in the grass beside the firebreak where fresh tracks had been made in the mud.

  She whipped out her phone and texted Liam. Then she texted Brannon. She knew both would get here as quickly as they could. And she knew both would tell her to wait.

  She eyed the heavy-duty gate blocking the dirt road. Her SUV could probably plow through it, but there was a log blocking the road. She would bet it wasn’t there by accident.

  Tara gripped her weapon and scanned the woods around her. Dark, quiet. Full of shadows and secrets.

  Her phone buzzed with a text from Brannon: ETA 15 MIN.

  Fifteen minutes.

  No time at all.

  But to M.J. maybe an eternity.

  Tara ducked through the gate.

  PANIC SET IN as M.J. felt around in the darkness. She couldn’t fight it. She bumped along in the hard metal box and searched for the slightest object that would give her hope, but her hands came up empty.

  She had no weapon.

  Her right arm was useless.

  She probably couldn’t even scream effectively—her throat felt like she’d swallowed a bottle of Drano.

  The tears started to come, making her shake and gasp and hyperventilate. She tried to calm herself, tried saying a prayer over and over. But then the words jumbled together and all she could think of was the knife.

  And what could she do? She didn’t even have her gun.

  It’s your service weapon, and it could save your life.

  She thought of Jeremy and wished desperately for her pistol.

  But wishing wouldn’t help her.

  Another bump and she rolled to the side, jostling her arm and sending a spear of pain through her body. By the sticky puddle beneath her, she knew she was bleeding, probably from the cut on her mouth. She ran her tongue over it. Her arm was on fire, maybe broken. She had to think.

  What did she have?

  No gun. No tool. No weapon.

  She had her hands free.

  And her legs.

  He thinks you’re dead. And now he’s going to cut you.

  The panic was back again, but this time she fought it. She ignored the last part and focused on the first: He thinks you’re dead.

  She had the element of surprise. It was the only weapon she had.

  When he dragged her from the truck, she had to play dead. She couldn’t be crying or shaking or sniveling with fear. She had to surprise him and disable him somehow and get away.

  Right.

  It was impossible. He was armed and probably crazy, and he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. It would never work. She needed a better plan.

  The humming changed pitch, and the truck rolled to a stop.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Liam cursed and smacked his fist against the door as he read Tara’s message.

  “What?” Jeremy asked.

  “A blood trail.”

  “Where?”

  “Near M.J.’s car. And tire tracks leading into the woods.”

  Liam pulled up a satellite map on his phone. He scanned the area, analyzing roads and firebreaks and exfil routes. They were five minutes away thanks to Jeremy’s driving, but still Tara had rushed ahead.

  Jeremy swerved onto the shoulder and skidded to a halt. “I’m going in.”

  “You’re going to drop down on him?”

  “Yes.” He hopped out of the truck and grabbed his rifle from the back of the cab, then a box of ammo. “He won’t leave the way he came, which means he’ll exit west or south.”

  Liam slid over the console and into the driver’s seat. “Or east if he’s on foot.”

  “He won’t be.” Jeremy was right. He’d need trans
portation if he planned to escape. Jeremy slung the rifle over his shoulder. “You find anything, text me the coordinates.”

  Liam shoved the truck into gear. “Careful what you shoot.”

  M.J. LAY STILL. Her throat burned and her arm throbbed and her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst right out of her chest. But she didn’t move. She held her breath and waited as he shifted around in the front of the truck.

  A soft thunk of the glove box. M.J.’s blood ran cold. Was he getting a knife? A gun? She wanted to kick or scream at the top of her lungs, but instead she lay completely still.

  A loud screech. Then the door slammed, rocking the truck and jarring her arm. She bit her tongue to keep from yelping.

  Footsteps.

  M.J. held her breath. She visualized her attacker, pictured his hands, his weapons. She pictured her strike. It would have to be fast and accurate. She’d only get one chance. One.

  God, help me.

  Another sound, loud and metallic, at the back of the truck. The lid lifted. Cold air wafted over her and she struggled not to flinch or even move her eyelids.

  Her heart hammered. She held her breath. Wait, wait, wait.

  He clamped a hand around her ankle and dragged her across the metal, sending pain shooting up her arm.

  With every ounce of power she had, she kicked. Her boot connected with something soft, she hoped his groin.

  He made a low noise and doubled over. She slid off the tailgate, landing hard on her butt, then kicking and punching as she scrambled away. He was on his side, clutching himself and spewing curses as he rolled to his knees.

  She staggered to her feet and sprinted for the trees.

  DARKNESS WAS FALLING fast as Tara ran along the road. She stayed as close as possible to the tree cover, trying to penetrate the gloom of the forest as she moved between the stands of pines. She was exposed out here. She knew it. She tried to keep low, moving swiftly as she followed the curving road.

  Her mind raced. She’d come up with three scenarios, all bad.

  There had been a struggle at the car. Had M.J. made a run for it? Had she been subdued and abducted? Had she been strangled and hauled into the woods?

  Tara’s stomach knotted as she thought through each possibility. Alex Sears had a cop now, whether by accident or design. Tara took it as a sign of desperation. She’d seen many desperate people through her SWAT work, and they were the most dangerous kind because they had nothing to lose.

  He had to know the net was closing. He had to know killing a cop would send every law-enforcement officer in the state after him like the hounds of hell.

  Did he care? Would butchering a woman with a badge be his grand finale before he offed himself? Or did he plan to slip away? He was elusive—and seemed to take pride in that. Maybe he believed he could escape to bask in the glow of what he’d done or to do it again.

  Tara looked up at the slate-gray sky, which seemed to be darkening with every minute. She looked at the forest, still and ominous all around her.

  All at once she understood. He was about control. He was playing God with these women, taking their lives and their bodies, too. And then disappearing into the woods like mist. He was the ultimate controller. A force of nature.

  He was God, or at least he thought he was. A wrathful, hateful God who meted out punishment.

  What sort of twisted past must he have? What sort of childhood wounds?

  Tara’s chest tightened with anger. She didn’t give a shit. She had wounds, too, but she hadn’t let them make her into a monster.

  She heard a noise and stopped. She glanced around, listening, but the forest was dead quiet.

  She started moving again, picking up the pace now as she scanned for any sign of movement, but there was nothing but trees and bushes and ever-darkening shadows.

  She halted again.

  A noise. Something metal?

  She darted to the cover of a pine and looked around. No person, no vehicle. But she’d definitely heard something. She moved in the direction of the sound.

  A white light flickered, deep in the thicket.

  She ducked low and looked around, then darted for another tree. She could make out a beam of light now . . . two beams.

  Headlights.

  She took a quick look around, assessing and analyzing. She crouched low and pulled out her phone, then checked her GPS coordinates and sent them to Liam.

  Another visual sweep. Staying as low as she could, she moved closer to the truck. It was hard to make out in the shadows, and the glare of the headlights messed with her perception, but it was definitely a pickup. Black, from the looks of it. As she crept closer, she took in the details: engine off, headlights on. A muffled ding-ding-ding told her the key had been left inside.

  She picked her steps carefully, hyperalert for any movement around her as she eased to the next tree. And the next. And the next, until she was within pistol range. She slipped around the back . . .

  The truck bed was empty.

  She moved closer, clutching her weapon in both hands. Her gaze swept over the darkening forest, and she knew he might be watching her at this very moment, lining her up in his sights.

  She pressed her back against a tree trunk and eased around until she had a view of the driver’s-side door. It was open, but she saw no one inside.

  M.J., where the hell are you?

  Tara wanted to scream her name. But stealth might be her only advantage here.

  She went absolutely still and listened.

  In the woods to her right . . . rustling? She couldn’t tell. She strained to hear. All was quiet except for that faint ding-ding-ding.

  She crept up to the truck, gripping her Glock. She paused to detect any sign of life. Then she moved slowly toward the truck bed.

  The lid was propped up with a plastic arm. The tailgate hung open. Tara’s stomach clenched as she saw the smears of blood.

  A noise close by.

  She lunged for a tree. Bark exploded beside her, sending splinters into her cheek as she dropped to the ground. She dived behind the trunk, clutching her gun.

  Her ears rang. Her heart thundered. That had been close, forty feet max. She was within range. She had to answer the shot before he took aim at her again or fled into the forest.

  Or would he make a run for the truck?

  She gripped her weapon and tried to think over the ringing in her ears.

  The truck. He needed it. His keys were inside.

  She knelt low and waited.

  LIAM RAN TOWARD the gunshot, Sig in hand. Four hundred yards out, maybe five. Fear pounded through him as he dodged through trees and ducked under branches, no longer following the road.

  It had been a pistol shot but not a Glock, which meant it hadn’t come from M.J. or Tara. Liam raced through the forest, hurdling logs and fallen limbs.

  In the far, far distance he saw a flicker of light.

  M.J. CROUCHED BESIDE the rotten log with her arm cradled against her stomach. She’d heard the shot. It had been far away but not far enough, and now she tried to make herself small, invisible. Her best chance was to hide. She knew it instinctively. She’d managed to evade him for now, but it was getting dark, and blindly crashing through the woods would give away her location in no time.

  She hunkered down and looked at her arm. It was bent like a banana. A wave of nausea hit her every time she looked at it, so instead she focused on her surroundings.

  She was in the shadows, hidden. Her only weapon was a sharp rock in her left hand.

  She stayed silent, as silent as she could with her heart frantically thumping and every one of her limbs shaking. She leaned back against the log and tried to calm herself, tried to talk herself into the idea that she was going to be okay.

  Even though she knew he was out there right now, hunting her down like a wounded animal. He was searching, combing, probably more determined than ever to finish her off.

  Snick.

  She froze. She went totally still,
not even blinking an eye.

  Something was behind her. She could hear it. Soft, slow footsteps creeping nearer.

  She sucked in air, held it in. She was trembling with every cell of her body.

  Slowly, the footsteps moved closer. She gripped the rock in her hand, gripped it so hard the edges cut into her skin. Blood pooled in her palm.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  Her thighs quivered, and she thought she might lose her balance and fall over. Another footstep behind her, even closer now. She sucked in a breath. A hiccup escaped.

  Silence.

  She clutched the rock. He’d stopped moving. He’d heard her.

  Her heart hammered. She held her breath. Without moving her head, she shifted her gaze right as a figure emerged from the trees. A giant man holding a rifle.

  Jeremy.

  She gave a startled yelp and tipped to the side, falling against the log. The rock slipped from her fingers.

  He rushed forward and dropped to his knees beside her.

  “Oh, my God,” she rasped.

  “Are you okay?”

  She could hardly see his face in the dimness, but his voice was like a warm blanket wrapping around her. She reached for his arm, and the solid heat of him made her want to cry.

  “It’s Alex Sears,” she croaked.

  “I know.” He carefully pulled her arm from her side. “It’s fractured.” He looked at her. “What else? Your lip’s bleeding.”

  “I bit my tongue.”

  Her throat burned and her voice didn’t even sound like hers, but the relief was so intense she didn’t care.

  Jeremy pulled out his phone and sent a text message.

  “Who are you—”

  “Liam.”

  “He’s here?”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist. “Can you stand?”

  “Jeremy, Sears is out here. I heard a gunshot.”

  “I know. Can you stand?”

  She nodded, and he helped her to her feet. Her legs felt wobbly, but he took most of her weight.

  From deep in the woods, the pop of gunfire.

  TARA TOOK THE shot, but it wasn’t like in the movies. He hadn’t collapsed to the ground or fallen over dead. He’d grabbed his arm and lurched into the brush.