by C. J. Lyons
The main reason was that Nick and Megan couldn’t come with her on a helicopter. And once she had them here, safely in her arms, there was no way in hell she was letting them go again. Or her mother.
She picked up the cell phone the nurse had lent her. Better warn Mom that the police were stopping by the house and Walden was coming to pick her up. Mom liked Walden, but she did not like being ordered around or rushed. Thankfully, Walden was less likely to annoy her than Lucy would have if she’d been able to go herself.
“The tech’s doing a CAT scan now,” the doctor said to the nurse. “Can you get her down to MRI and prep her?” His tone made it clear that he was past ready to get this difficult patient out of his ER and into the hands of someone else.
“No problem.”
Lucy dialed her mom’s cell. No answer. Probably didn’t even have it with her. She left a message on the voice mail just in case.
The nurse pushed her toward the hall. The deputy waited there, looking a bit abashed—he’d spoken with Walden, no doubt. Lucy met his gaze, held her wrists up to ask if he was going to use handcuffs, and he shook his head and turned to lead them through the ER, hand on the butt of his gun as if expecting an ambush from the snotty-nosed kids slumped in chairs in the waiting room or the old man wheezing as he pushed an IV pole down the hall.
Lucy tried her home phone. No answer. Maybe the police had escorted her mom out of the residence while they cleared it and checked for danger? A thin hum of anxiety vibrated through her. Her captor had said he was going after Nick. Mom should have been safe at Lucy’s house.
If her captor was a man of his word.
“We’re shorthanded,” the nurse prattled as they rolled down the corridor. “Flu and RSV hitting hard, not to mention that stomach bug. I think the radiology tech is doing a belly CT, but hopefully we won’t have to wait too long.” They reached an elevator bank, where several visitors stood waiting.
Lucy barely saw them as she stabbed the phone, calling Walden this time.
The deputy commandeered the first elevator that arrived and shooed the visitors away. “What floor?”
“Basement,” the nurse answered. “The MRI’s one of the older ones. Only thing down there. Except the morgue.”
Idiot, Lucy berated herself as she waited for Walden to pick up. What the hell had she been thinking? Believing for an instant that the psycho who’d taken and tortured her would ever keep his word? Fear and guilt collided. Walden finally answered but was cut off almost immediately as the call was dropped.
“You won’t get any reception,” the nurse said, sliding the phone from Lucy’s hand and pocketing it. “Can’t have it near the MRI battery, anyway.”
The elevator doors opened and they entered a dimly lit hall. It smelled less hospital and more moldy basement. The tiny squeak from the chair’s wheels on the dingy linoleum echoed and bounced from the exposed pipes overhead. The walls were cinder block, painted an institutional pale green meant to be calming but that reminded Lucy of baby puke.
Which made her think of Megan. Wished she’d had time to talk to her. But they’d be here soon—it was only a fifteen-minute drive.
But what about Mom? “Is there another phone I can use?” she asked the nurse. “I really need to check in with my family.”
They reached the far end of the corridor, where the MRI suite was. The deputy opened the door to a waiting area, took a look inside, saw the room was empty, held the door as the nurse pushed Lucy inside, then closed the door to stand guard outside.
A row of chairs stood along the near wall. The far wall had several curtained changing areas. A reception desk, empty except for a phone and a computer terminal, guarded a large solid door leading to the MRI examination area. On the wall behind the desk was an emergency call button with a small intercom speaker.
“You can use the phone as soon as we get you prepped,” the nurse told her.
“How long will this take?”
“Thirty-forty minutes.” The nurse scrutinized the bag of IV fluid hanging from the pole extending up from the back of the chair. “All done. That’s your first dose of antibiotic.” With swift fingers, she detached the tubing from the IV, leaving Lucy’s hands free. “Your vitals have been fine, and they have a special monitor of their own.” She removed the sticky monitor leads from Lucy’s chest and unhooked her from the portable monitor that hung from the back of the chair.
“Okay, now I need you to answer this questionnaire.” She took a clipboard from a hook on the wall. “You work on that while I go check on the tech.” She nodded to the large red-and-white sign on the opposite wall, warning about the MRI’s powerful magnet. “Don’t skip any questions. We don’t want any surprises. I once had a patient who forgot about a dental bridge—not a pretty sight.”
Lucy nodded and took the pen she offered. The nurse left, and Lucy began the slow process of wheeling the chair with her one good hand, ignoring the questionnaire, to head to the desk where the phone was. To her surprise, the deputy entered and moved to stand in front of her, thumbs hooked into his duty belt, fingers stretched along the wide belt buckle.
“You know officer safety comes first,” he said. His way of apologizing.
“Of course,” she answered. He’d done everything by the book. Wasn’t anyone’s fault that the book didn’t cover situations like this.
“And after finding Lloyd like that…” His voice trailed off. “You sure he’s the one did this to you? Sure doesn’t sound like him. No history of violence. Bit of a prepper type, keeps to himself, except for his dogs of course. Trains them and rents them out as guard dogs. Loves those animals more than most humans.”
A sudden thought speared through Lucy, distracting her from her mission to get to the phone. No—she couldn’t have. But the barn had been dark. She’d never gotten a good look at man’s face, just the faintest impression as they’d struggled. “Photo?”
“Of Lloyd Cramer?” He pulled a driver’s license encased in an evidence bag from his pocket, held it in front of her. “This is him.”
Brown hair. Brown eyes. Lucy hunched over the photo, studying it for clues, her stomach revolting as her fingers gripped the plastic bag so tight it almost slipped through them. This was not her man—not the man who’d kidnapped her.
The man was still out there. Her family was still in danger.
She’d killed the wrong man.
Now
7:38 p.m.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the buzz and crackle of the fluorescent lights. Lucy tried to gather her thoughts. Had she killed an innocent man? No, he had a gun, had attacked her… Farmers carry guns. She was on his land, hiding in the dark… No, the dog was his. He had to be working with the man who’d taken her.
The man who was still out there. Her family wasn’t safe yet.
The phone on the desk rang, the shrill noise jump-starting Lucy’s attention. She thrust her fear aside as the deputy answered. “Yeah, she’s right here.” He wheeled her to the desk and handed her the receiver. “It’s Special Agent Walden.”
Walden. The man had impeccable timing. “There’s definitely one subject still out there,” she said. “Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to Riverside.” His voice sounded distant, heavy.
“Is my mother with you?”
A pause. “Lucy, I need you to wait at the hospital. Don’t leave until I get there.”
“Why? What happened?” Fear clenched her heart so tight she couldn’t breathe. “Are Nick and Megan okay?” Then she realized he hadn’t answered her original question. “Walden, let me speak to my mom.”
“I can’t. Lucy—”
She knew that tone. Had used it herself when preparing victims for bad news. The worst possible kind of news. “No. No, it can’t be. He said—”
The man had said he’d go after one of her family. A man of his word.
Suddenly the deputy and everything else in the room seemed very far away as Lucy’s world collapsed.
Not her mother… Denial, always the first instinct. No protection against the truth revealed by Walden’s silence.
Finally, Lucy found her voice again. “What happened?”
“The locals I sent to your house found her. She’s on her way to Three Rivers.”
Relief rushed over her. “She’s alive. What did he do to her?”
Bastard must have gone straight to her home after leaving Lucy in the pit. Maybe seven o’clock wasn’t a deadline but the time when his window of opportunity opened. Her mind picked at the tiny details, refusing to recognize the gruesome truth. Her mother injured, her home a crime scene… and all of it her fault.
Lucy closed her eyes, tried to see her mother’s face. She couldn’t. Her entire body was awash in cold, more numb than it had been when she climbed from the pit into the snow. She swallowed twice before she could force any words out. “How bad?”
He hesitated, and she knew it was worse than she’d dared think.
“Don’t make me imagine it, Walden.”
They both knew the things Lucy had seen in the course of her work. The stuff of nightmares. The truth could only be a tonic to whatever horrors her fear and imagination could conjure.
“A knife,” Walden finally said. “He used a knife.”
Christ. The phone slipped from Lucy’s grasp. She fumbled for it on her lap.
“She was unconscious but still had a pulse,” Walden continued. “But the medics—”
“She’s not going to die.” In Lucy’s head the words translated to an anguished plea: she couldn’t die. Not her mother. Not because of Lucy.
“Nick? Megan?” Lucy asked, both hands awkwardly gripping the phone. Please, God… She couldn’t finish the silent prayer, too fearful it might not be answered.
“Just got off the phone with Nick. They were pulling into the Riverside parking lot. I told him to find you and stay there. I’m only a few minutes out, and the county is sending more men as well. I was just calling to make sure you were still there. I’ll alert hospital security as soon as I hang up.”
His voice, calmly delineating the mundane tasks associated with protecting her and her family, helped to keep her focused. It didn’t stop the roiling in her gut or the chills that had suddenly overtaken her, but if Nick and Megan were safe, nothing else mattered. Except… Mom… No, she still couldn’t quite make that fact feel real. Her mother. She clutched at the blanket over her chest with the fingers of her left hand, twisting it into a tight ball wedged against her splint. Not Mom. No. She was going to be all right. She had to be.
A knock came at the door, and the deputy answered. Nick and Megan?
“Talk later,” she mumbled into the phone, then hung up. With her good hand, she turned the wheelchair around to face the door. Saw the deputy standing, relaxed. Couldn’t see who he was speaking to but heard the words “FBI.”
The deputy backed up, holding the door open for the people outside. Lucy straightened, anxious to see Nick and Megan but also haunted by the bad news she’d have to share with them.
The door clicked shut, and the deputy turned to her, leaving his back to the newcomer. A man in a conservative dark suit. Brown hair, brown eyes. Six feet. Caucasian.
Her captor.
Lucy’s warning emerged in a rasp, too late to help. The gunshot was a mere muffled pop that would never make it past the thick walls of the MRI suite. The deputy’s eyes went wide, then he slumped to the ground, a gaping bloody hole in the base of his skull.
“Nice to see you again, Lucy.” The man stepped over the deputy’s corpse. “Well, maybe not for you.”
He glanced at his watch. “Good thing I was just down the road at the technical college. Remember the campus safety initiative you spearheaded? Hooking up all the local colleges with the NCIC and the Uniform Crime Reports databases so serial rapists could be identified and caught sooner? Can’t tell you how helpful the folks over there were. So ready to help an FBI agent chasing a sexual predator.”
He slid a black leather wallet from his pocket and flipped it open like an actor on TV. Lucy’s stolen credentials. He’d been following a timetable, not a deadline. 7:00 p.m. Perfect time to find a small campus security office understaffed as the long twelve-hour night shift arrived.
She had given him what he wanted, leaving him enough time to visit her home and find her mother first. Anger tunneled her vision, and she forced herself to breathe deep, clear it. She needed to find a way to stop him. Now.
Nick and Megan are on their way. The words hammered through her mind. One way or the other, the man couldn’t be here when they arrived. Her heart pounded at the thought of what “the other” option might entail.
What choice did she have? Trapped in a wheelchair. No way could she reach the phone or emergency call button behind her before he struck. Anyway, did she really want to call civilians here, risk their lives? Bad enough her own mother had been hurt because of her.
“Why are you here?” she asked, hoping his answer might provide her a way out of this.
He smiled. That same half-joking, half-leering smile he’d given her out in the field after he’d sicced the dog on her. “You saw my face. Can’t have you live to tell anyone. Besides, I promised you that you would die today.” He flashed a wink at her. “I’m a man of my word.”
She had a hard time finding enough spit to swallow. Gave up and simply nodded. Sat up straight and tall in the chair. She needed this to happen now, before Nick and Megan arrived. “Get it over with.”
His smile widened, but he didn’t shoot. Instead, he lowered his weapon and kicked the guard’s body to the wall behind the door. “Don’t you want to say good-bye to your family first?”
He opened the door and gestured outside. “You can come in now.”
Lucy’s blood turned to ice, horror freezing her from the inside out as Megan rushed in, followed by Nick.
Now
7:56 p.m.
Megan only had eyes for her mom as she raced through the room, falling into a half crouch beside the chair to hug Lucy fiercely. “Mom, are you okay? What happened?”
Lucy didn’t answer; she just held on, wrapping her arms around Megan—splint be damned—as if she could stop any bullets aimed at her daughter. But it was Nick she was worried about.
After fifteen years of marriage, some of her habits had rubbed off on him. Including how she entered a room. Just as she would have, Nick paused, assessing the situation in two blinks. Cataloguing her injuries. Catching the warning in her eyes. Seeing the dead deputy half-hidden behind the open door.
He was torn between running inside to protect her and Megan, fleeing to get them help, and attacking the man behind him. The tug-of-war ended with Nick awkwardly pivoting, fist raised, only to be met by a pistol in his face.
The man chuckled, jerked his chin to invite Nick all the way inside, then closed the door and locked it. “Figured you’d want a little privacy for our family reunion.”
“Who are you?” Nick asked. There was a dangerous edge to his voice and his fists were still clenched. Lucy saw his struggle as he forced his emotions aside and tried to negotiate. “What do you want?”
The man was having none of it. He glanced past Nick to Lucy. “Does he really think I’m going to fall for any of his shrink BS?”
“He doesn’t know you like I do,” she answered. Her voice was getting stronger—driven by desperation or simply a sign that the swelling was beginning to ease, she wasn’t sure. Good thing, though, because her voice and her knowledge of this man were their only weapons.
“Guess we’ll have to change that.” Before Lucy could protest, the man raised his pistol. For a heartbeat she thought he was going to shoot Nick like he had the deputy, but at the last minute, the man instead struck him on the side of the head with a blow so forceful Nick fell to the floor. Then he kicked Nick in his stomach.
“Dad!” Megan screamed, but Lucy held her tight, forcing her face into Lucy’s shoulder.
“Don’t look,” she whispered.
Nick groaned, doubled up in pain, hands up to protect his head, blood seeping through his fingers.
The man nudged Nick with his shoe. “Getting the picture, doc? Oh, and by the way, your taste in music sucks. How can you listen to that wailing and whining country crap?”
Another piece of the puzzle. The man couldn’t track Nick or Megan by their phones—they both had units secured by FBI software. He must have placed a tracker and bug inside Nick’s car.
Lucy squeezed Megan tighter. She ran her fingers through Megan’s hair and rubbed her shoulder, brushing the IV pole on the back of the chair. She remembered how the nurse had placed the metal rod into its housing, tightening it with a simple collar screw. Hope flared through Lucy as she stretched her fingers to try to loosen the screw.
Megan placed a hand over hers. “He’ll see. Let me.” She breathed the words into Lucy’s ear.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Megan,” Lucy said, patting Megan’s back. “Now, get behind me.”
Megan obeyed, moving to crouch behind Lucy’s chair. The man shook his head at them. “Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Lucy.”
She didn’t. Not ever. “Let them go. The police are on their way.”
“You telling me what to do?” The silence between them filled with hostility. She had one chance to play this right—play him right—and save her family.
“No. Of course not. I’m giving you information. You’re a smart man. Leave now and you can slip away. The police will never find you.”
“You know this is all your fault, right?” he said. “You chose this path. From the moment you decided you were better than the rest of us, that you were a hero.”
The vision of the man she’d killed filled her mind. “I’m no hero.”
“No. You’re not. It’s time your family knew that.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m going to play our conversation for Nick and Megan. Let Nick hear how you chose him to die. How you sent me to kill him.”
