Autumn Secrets (Seasons Pass Book 4)

by Susan C. Muller

  “No CD player, either?”

  He couldn’t hear an answer over the roar of the road.

  “Well, what type of music do you like when you have a radio?”

  He turned toward Conner and lowered his voice. “Call Montgomery. See if they can get a trace on this call.”

  Conner worked his magic while Noah held the phone close to his ear, listening for any tell-tale sound.

  “I don’t blame you. I don’t care for rap either, but I like most other kinds. I hate to admit it, but I have a thing for Rachel Platten. You know, Fight Song?”

  She didn’t sound frightened. Was that because she didn’t know what was going on or because she knew what was at stake?

  She started to sing. Something about a boat, then yelling FIGHT SONG as if leading a charge. He’d never heard the song and off key the way she sang it didn’t make him want to.

  He listened closer to the words. Ocean. Waves. Was she trying to send him a hint or was the reference to water a coincidence?

  And how could he spend his life with a woman who could murder a song that badly?

  Whoa! Where the fuck had that come from? He’d only had three dates with her. And why the hell was he worrying about a lifetime when he hadn’t figured out if he’d be here next week?

  Maybe he had decided, gradually, over the last year, without realizing it.

  For now, he had to find Laurel. Then he could decide what to do.

  Laurel gave another off-key shout that might be part of a song and he tried for a calming breath. As long as I can hear her voice, she’s safe.

  Conner placed his phone in the cup holder between them. “Montgomery says they can get us in the vicinity using the cell tower her signal’s bouncing off, but not to the exact spot. If she has a Find My Phone app turned on, he can get us closer.”

  Did she have one? And was it on? How was he supposed to know?

  “What do you want to do?” Conner sat with his hands on the wheel, waiting.

  “Let’s take the Westpark Tollway to 59. The killing field is that direction. So is the place Constanza was abducted.”

  “So is Trusty Property management, but not the convenience store where he purchased the money order or the motel were Stella Fitzgerald was last seen. Let’s head north toward I-10. Then we’ll be ready to go either direction as soon as we hear back from Montgomery.”

  “That motel is near I-45 which would give him a clear shot south where we know he feels comfortable. South to Westpark, then east. That’s the way he’d go. I can feel it. It’s easier to drive a long way when you’re looking to buy a money order than when you’re carrying a dead body.”

  At the last two words, a shiver shot up Noah’s spine. At least he knew Laurel was still alive. He could hear her singing.

  She’d moved on to one of Adele’s songs. He recognized that one by the words if not the way Laurel sang it. Water Under the Bridge.

  The woman was hurting his ears. If she didn’t quit that screeching, he might have to take her out now. Or at least give her a punch to the jaw to shut her up.

  That had always worked before.

  He wasn’t used to making nice with one of his special projects. Pow and they were out. Secured by the time he had them in the van. But he hadn’t been able to do that on the street by this one’s office. Too many windows. Too many eyes. Too big a risk.

  He forced his hands to grip the steering wheel until they ached, but it was the only way he could keep from hitting her.

  Finally. She stopped the caterwauling and leaned back against the seat.

  “Sorry.”

  She didn’t sound sorry to him.

  “I guess I’m nervous. Maybe if I could talk to Noah. Can I borrow your cell phone?”

  A laugh threatened to bubble up, but he swallowed it back. “He’s driving. He can’t answer the phone. Regulations. Besides, cell service is spotty out here. That’s why they picked this place. Less chance of someone tracing a call. We’re only a few minutes from the cabin. They have one of those secure SAT phones just for that reason.”

  “What’s a SAT phone?”

  Did she have to talk that loud? God, he hated pushy women. Maybe she wasn’t a tramp like the others, but she was still a bitch with a capital B. The type who led a man around by his cock until he turned into a groveling mass of jelly, willing to do her bidding. “A SAT phone. They work off satellites instead of cell towers. That’s why they can’t be traced or hacked. They’re much safer in this type of situation.”

  What a bunch of crock. But it sounded good. All those forensic programs he watched on TV were worth the price of cable.

  A car pulled next to them at a light and he could see the driver talking on his cell. If she noticed, she didn’t comment. He wasn’t used to coming this way during the day. The amount of traffic was an unpleasant surprise.

  She picked up her purse again—what was it with women and their purses?—and set it in her lap, next to the center console. Her hand slid under the purse, close to her seatbelt buckle.

  The light changed and he floor-boarded it across the intersection.

  If he didn’t get to the cabin soon, she was going to become a real problem.

  “She quit singing.”

  Conner watched as Noah pressed the phone against one ear and covered the other with his free hand, trying to shut out traffic noise.

  “Are they still moving?” He eased the speedometer from eighty-five to eighty-seven. His hazard lights were flashing, but if he flipped on the siren, Noah would never be able to hear Laurel. God he wished he was sure they were traveling the right direction.

  His radio crackled and Montgomery came on before Conner could say a word.

  “We have her.” Excitement flooded the Feebie’s voice. “They just passed Montrose and I-59. Looks like they’re headed east. Judging by the time it took them to get from Kirby to Montrose, he’s driving about five miles over the speed limit.”

  How the hell did Noah figure that one out? The man must be psychic.

  “Keep us posted.” Any minute now, the Sanitizer, with Laurel aboard, would hit the downtown interchanges and could take off any direction.

  “I will. I contacted your boss. Jansen has an APB out on the white van and SWAT is under orders to be prepared for immediate deployment.”

  Noah leaned over and shouted into the radio mounted on the dashboard. “Lotta good that’ll do us if they sit at headquarters and wait to find out where he lands. Tell them to saddle up and head toward the killing field. He’ll be somewhere in the area.”

  “Will do. I’ll check back as soon as I have the next update.”

  Conner eased his speed to eighty-nine and swerved around slower cars, although in Houston, that wasn’t everyone. Once they got closer to downtown, the traffic would pick up and he’d have to slow down. Maybe he’d use the siren then. “Can you still hear her?”

  “I catch an occasional word. A few minutes ago I think she asked about a SAT phone.”

  “If she’s asking for a phone, do you think there’s any chance she’s not with our killer? Maybe driving with someone else?” But who would she be with? And why?

  “Her car was in the lot and her phone’s turned on. Probably under the seat judging from the road noise. I think two songs about water was the best hint she could give us. And we have to find her, no matter who she’s with.”

  “Elgin and 59.” Montgomery’s voice sounded through the radio.

  “Check.” Conner was too busy navigating through increasing traffic to say more.

  “If he turns onto I-45 south, let’s take Elgin as a shortcut. Maybe shave off a few minutes.”

  “Wouldn’t the freeway be faster?”

  “Not if you use lights and siren. I’ll sacrifice hearing Laurel to close the gap.”

  It was risky. They could get caught behind a truck. But if it worked…

  Laurel was done. She couldn’t sing anymore—her throat closed up and any sound that came out was more of a squawk. She
could no longer carry on a casual conversation with a man who had abducted her for who knew what reason and wouldn’t be able to think of a subject if she were able to.

  She wasn’t even positive this man had abducted her. He could still be Lefty Bob. If she knew what to do, she’d do it. But she was out of ideas.

  If only she could ask Noah.

  Face it, she was on her own. No one knew where she was. Hell, she didn’t even know where she was. She’d never been anywhere around here.

  She sat in silence. Praying Noah had heard her. Praying Noah didn’t say anything her abductor could hear. Praying Noah would send her a sign of what she should do next.

  After several minutes in which no one spoke, they passed an exit sign for University of Houston. Finally, something she recognized. Was that the sign she had prayed for?

  “Did you see the U of H game last weekend?” What had Noah said about it? “They always play best when they have the home field advantage and they were on fire Saturday.”

  Bachman, if that’s who he was—why hadn’t she clicked on the photo of him?—didn’t answer except for a noncommittal grunt.

  Had Noah heard her? Was he even there? She had an idea they were on the southeast side of town, but what good did that do?

  Another five minutes of silence and she thought ants would crawl out of her skin. They crossed over a short bridge and she recognized her surroundings. “I’ve been to that restaurant before.” What the hell was the name of it? She strained to read the sign but could only make out Crossing. “Peter brought me here for a client’s Christmas Party. The food was delicious. It’s getting late and I never had any lunch. They have a crab bisque that’s to die for.”

  Shit. Had she actually said that? Poor choice of words. “Can we stop here to eat? I know it’s expensive and might not be in your budget, but I’ll treat. I have a credit card and know how to use it.”

  But they were already past the restaurant, heading the opposite direction.

  There was only one way on and off the island, so this had to be the place he planned on taking her. Her heart raced. Each second was an hour. Every move in slow motion.

  Was this barren deserted spot where she would die? It couldn’t be. She’d only started to live.

  She felt under her purse for the cold metal of the seatbelt latch and snapped it open as the van lurched over the rough roadway. Her purse was still unzipped and she lowered her head as if digging through it.

  He switched off the engine and turned toward her. GoGoGoGo ran in a constant loop through her frozen brain, but her body didn’t respond.

  For the first time, she saw his true smile, and it sent chills all the way to her toes. He pulled back his fist—his right fist.

  Without hesitation, she screamed and threw her purse his direction.

  Noah jumped an inch off the leather seat of Conner’s car. His hand flew up and he nearly lost his grip on his phone. His heart ping-ponged between his ribs and backbone until he thought something would break.

  “What happened?” Conner’s eyes were wide, showing too much white.

  “She screamed.” He had to force the words out. “One minute she was talking about going to lunch. The next she screamed.” The sound had turned his blood to ice.

  “Can you hear anything now?”

  “No more road noise so the car’s stopped. Some type of movement inside the car. Maybe door’s opening? Yes! That’s it. There’s a pinging sound, like he left the door open with the key in the ignition.”

  Montgomery’s voice filled the car. “La Porte Highway onto Broadway.”

  Noah placed his phone on his knee and grabbed Conner’s. Using the app for maps, he pulled up the area. He’d be ready the moment Montgomery gave them the next street name.

  “He’s somewhere near Broadway, but I can’t be sure where.” For the first time, the ever-cool FBI agent sounded frustrated.

  Fuck. Just when they needed specifics most.

  Shortcutting on Elgin and using the siren meant they had gained seven or eight minutes on the van. But that still left Laurel on her own for at least ten minutes. “She talked about a nice restaurant. This doesn’t look like the part of town with one on every corner. Maybe Siri can find it.”

  He sent up a silent prayer and pressed the Home button. “Four star restaurant near Broadway and the ship channel.”

  Several came up. Three were closed. One was a sushi place. Not the first choice for a Christmas party. He’d found one that sounded right when Montgomery came back on the radio.

  “Guys? I think he crossed onto a strip of land jutting out into the ship channel called San Jacinto Peninsula.”

  Noah tapped Conner’s phone. “San Jacinto Crossing, Seafood and Steaks.”

  Laurel flew out of the van and into the woods. Her head start on Bachman wouldn’t last long.

  Plus he had a gun.

  Two steps into the dense undergrowth and she wished she’d run the other direction. That way would have led back to the restaurant and civilization but she’d have to cross an open space and race past Bachman to get there.

  There was nothing this way except vines that tangled around her legs and soggy earth covered with leaves and full of hidden stumps.

  She had to lift her feet with each step to avoid sinking into the marshy ground. What a day to wear a skirt and heels. Her calves already stung from a multitude of scratches.

  The air reeked of rotting leaves and little light filtered through the trees. The area was too dark to see where she was stepping, but too well-lit to hide undetected.

  She glanced back to see if Bachman was following and ran into a low hanging limb. Her hair caught in a mass of twigs and she yanked it away.

  “Ms. Newcomb. Ms. Newcomb. What are you doing? I need to get you inside the safe house. Noah will have my ass if I don’t take good care of you. Come back now, before you hurt yourself.”

  Could she be wrong? Was all this her overactive imagination? Was this man actually Lefty Bob? A watch on the wrong arm, a gun on the wrong hip, and a pair of right-handed scissors could all have a reasonable explanation. Maybe he pulled back his arm to reach for something in the back.

  Why would Bachman want her anyway? She didn’t know anything or have any power. She hugged the back of the tree and tried to make herself thin while she caught her breath.

  She was a fool. Was it too late to come out and beg Lefty Bob not to tell Noah? She glanced down at her torn skirt and bloody legs. No way to hide this.

  Heavy footsteps startled her and she crouched behind a bush. To her left, the man pushed through an open spot between the trees, his gun held in front of him. In his right hand.

  A surge of fear ran through her and she wet her pants. Great, now she stank of dirt and rot and sweat and pee. He wouldn’t have to see her. Another couple of minutes and he could smell her.

  His foot crashed through a decaying log and he bellowed out a string of curses. When he worked it loose, he waved his gun and shouted, “You better come out, you little bitch. Every minute I have to spend hunting through this filthy jungle is going to cost you.”

  The place was dirty and smelled bad and things caught at her from every direction, but it was hardly a jungle. Just a small patch of overgrown trees that would run out if she went too far in any direction.

  She tried to stand and something moved beside her foot. She wanted to scream more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. She forced herself to look down. Hidden among the leaves was a snake.

  Okay. Take a breath. Don’t startle it.

  Was it poisonous? What had she learned in that documentary? Check for slit eyes and a triangular head. Great. Why didn’t she just ask him to stay still while she looked at his face?

  The snake uncoiled and slithered through the leaves, giving her a chance to see its markings. Little Hershey Kisses shapes ran along its side.

  ShitShitShit. A copperhead.

  A soft eeeeee escaped from between her clinched lips. Her teeth chattered. Sh
e couldn’t breathe or move.

  The snake slid through the undergrowth and she took a step back. And another. And another. Until she backed into a tree and a limb crashed to earth.

  Noah bit his lip as the car caught air bouncing over the one street leading onto the peninsula.

  His partner’s head swiveled from right to left. “Which way?”

  Yeah. That was the question. And the wrong answer could cost Laurel her life. According to Conner’s map, the peninsula was long and narrow, lying on its side like a flower with a broken stalk. The restaurant was on the left, where the broken stem would attach to the land. “Right. They kept going for several minutes after she mentioned the restaurant.”

  Conner spun the wheel and swerved right without slowing down.

  Noah grabbed the door handle and held on. Had he really accused his partner of driving like an old man? Never again.

  The peninsula had few roads and fewer places a white van could hide, yet several tries left them at a loss. Conner threw up his hands. “We’ve been down every street. Now what? Want me to head back to the restaurant?”

  “Let’s see if the fucking FBI can earn their pay.” Noah keyed the radio. “Montgomery. What’d you see?”

  “You’re close. That’s all I know. They’re pinging off the nearest cell tower.”

  “Are you sure they’re on the peninsula?”

  “I’m not sure of anything. Just that the signal’s not moving.”

  Fuck. A hundred things could have happened. Bachman could have found her phone, tossed it, and driven the opposite direction. He could have planted it on one of the restaurant’s delivery trucks at any time since leaving the realty office.

  No, he’d heard her voice and she’d mentioned a fancy restaurant. A couple of minutes later the van had stopped and she screamed.

  What if they’d changed cars and weren’t in the van? If so, he had no idea what to look for.

  He opened the car door and stepped out. The air smelled of saltwater. Cranes dotted the skyline. Nothing on the land moved. A cry sounded in the distance. A scream? A seagull? Barge traffic on the ship channel? “Let’s start over and take each street slowly. Maybe we missed something.”