by Rita Herron
“I asked my deputy to notify the foster parents in person and to see if they’d noticed anyone suspicious hanging around their houses. Someone stalking the girls.”
“Good idea,” Lucas said. “Also, ask him if one of the foster parents seemed suspicious. We had a case once where a stepfather actually sold a girl for money to buy drugs.”
“Good God,” Harrison said. “What did the mother say when she found out?”
Lucas grimaced. “Hell, she was too strung out to even notice the girl was gone.” Lucas and his brothers were damn lucky to have had the family they’d grown up in. In spite of their troubles and trauma over losing Chrissy, his mother had hung in there. If only his father had...
“Find out if any of the girls had computers at their foster homes. If so, confiscate them and send them to the lab. It’s possible our kidnappers contacted the girls online. There, they can find out personal information about them, who their friends are, if they belong to a club or group, what their schedules are...”
“So they may be cyberstalking their victims, looking for groups to target?” Harrison said.
Lucas nodded. “Social media has opened up a new hunting ground for predators. People pretending to be someone they aren’t. Scam artists. Pedophiles.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
The doctor walked to the door, his expression concerned.
“How is she, Doctor?” Lucas asked.
The older man narrowed his eyes. “Are you family?”
“No.” Lucas flashed his FBI credentials and Harrison indicated his sheriff’s badge. “We’re investigating the shooting that put Ms. Reacher in here,” Lucas said.
Harrison cleared his throat. “We’re also trying to find the four girls abducted from Ms. Reacher’s studio. If she saw something, it’s imperative we speak to her ASAP.”
The doctor ran a hand through his thick gray hair. “I understand the situation, but under the circumstances, my patient needs rest. We have to run tests to determine the extent of her injuries. I’m calling in a specialist, ordering a CAT scan, MRI and full neurological.”
Lucas glanced through the window and saw Charlotte roll over in the bed to face the door. Compassion for her filled him. She’d obviously been traumatized and needed time to heal.
But every minute that passed meant the trafficking ring could be getting farther and farther away from Tumbleweed. And that any chance of rescuing Charlotte’s students would be lost.
* * *
CHARLOTTE FOUGHT DESPAIR as she lay in the dark. She needed to do something to help find her students, but she was so groggy from the medication they’d pumped through her that she could barely function.
The doctor said her blindness could be temporary.
Which meant it could also be permanent.
No, she had to hold out hope that she would see again. Even if she didn’t, she had to pull herself together and talk to that FBI agent. He wanted to find Evie and Mae Lynn and Agnes and Adrian.
She needed his help to do it more than she’d ever needed anyone in her life.
She hated being needy.
But the girls’ lives depended on her swallowing her pride, not wallowing in self-pity and fear.
Still, she was so tired she drifted to sleep. Sometime later, she woke up and realized she was in the midst of an MRI. She drifted in and out of consciousness through that procedure and the CAT scan, but couldn’t keep her eyes open as they wheeled her down the hall.
The nightmares of the day plagued her. The bullets pinging off the floor and wall around her. The girls’ terrified screams...
That group was the closest thing to family she’d had in a long time.
She had to fight her way back so she could find them. If she didn’t, she’d never forgive herself.
* * *
WHILE LUCAS AND Harrison waited on Charlotte to undergo tests, Lucas brought Harrison up-to-date on the abductions in Abilene and Waco.
“Sounds like the same group,” Harrison said. “Were the other victims foster kids?”
“No,” Lucas said. “One case involved dance students at a ballet camp, the other, cheerleaders from a high school. The ballet instructor was shot and died instantly. No witnesses. Girls at the ballet camp were from various parts of Texas.”
“So these guys aren’t targeting a specific type, just females between the ages of twelve and eighteen.”
Lucas nodded.
“Sick,” Harrison muttered.
“Definitely,” Lucas agreed. “Human trafficking is a widespread problem and has touched every major city in the US.” Although Tumbleweed was just a small town...
Harrison spread pictures of the missing girls on the table in the waiting room. “These photographs correspond with the names of the girls in the class scheduled at that time, but we should confirm with Charlotte that they were in fact the ones abducted.”
Lucas’s heart hammered as he studied the pictures. All young and vulnerable, mere teens.
Prime targets for predators.
Lucas noticed the nurse slip Charlotte back into her room. He walked over and peered through the window again. Charlotte was agitated, waving her hands.
The nurse rushed to the door, and Lucas braced himself for her to tell him to leave her alone. Instead, she motioned for him to come in.
“She wants to see you. I told her she should rest, but she insists it’s important.”
Lucas’s pulse jumped. Maybe she had a clue to help them find these bastards.
* * *
CHARLOTTE WAS SO exhausted that all she wanted to do was fade back into sleep and forget the horror that had happened today. Forget that four of her students were missing, and that she was blind.
The doctor said she needed time for the swelling to go down. The possibility she might need surgery existed, but they wouldn’t discuss that yet.
Footsteps sounded and the door to her room squeaked shut. Her lungs tightened.
“Haley? Doctor?”
“No, Charlotte, it’s me. Agent Lucas Hawk, Harrison’s brother.” The footsteps again, soft, as if he was controlling the sound, working to be quiet. “But you can call me Lucas.”
Call him Lucas? She didn’t even know him. Although she’d seen pictures of all the Hawk men, and Lucas was the most virile, handsome one of the bunch. He was also the most intimidating.
But his gruff voice was soothing, caring...almost sensual.
She thumbed her hand through her hair, self-conscious when what her fingers connected with was sticky, matted. Blood from her head wound must have soaked the strands. She probably looked a mess.
Not that she should care. But she had the sudden urge to see herself in a mirror, to know just how deep the injury was. To know if she’d have a bad scar.
A dark chuckle bubbled in her chest as she realized she might never be able to look in a mirror again.
Footsteps again, then the scent of the agent’s masculine aftershave wafted toward her. A musky odor that was pleasant, sensual, like his voice.
“You told the nurse that you wanted to see me? That it was important.” He paused. “What is it, Charlotte?”
“I’m sorry about earlier,” she whispered.
His hand gently brushed her shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal today. I hate to bother you, but the longer we wait, the more time it gives these bastards to escape.”
“I know,” Charlotte said, battling tears. “They could be out of the country. We can’t let that happen.”
“No, we can’t,” Lucas said. “Can you tell me the names of the girls they abducted?”
Charlotte twisted the sheets in her hands. “Evie, she’s thirteen. Mae Lynn is fifteen. Agnes and Adrian are sisters. Agnes is sixteen and Adrian fourteen.” Her voice cracked with emotion.
> “All right,” he said quietly. “Just take your time and describe what happened. What you saw and heard.”
Charlotte sniffed. “We were in the middle of class. I should have had the door locked.” Guilt sucker punched her. “But it was midafternoon so I thought we were safe.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. This was not your fault. Tumbleweed is a small town. Most businesses don’t lock their doors during work hours,” Lucas said.
Charlotte latched on to his words. “But if I had—”
“Stop,” the agent said more firmly. “Again, it wasn’t your fault. Playing the what-if game won’t help. Let’s just focus on what the men looked like, anything they said. There were four of them?”
She stiffened. “How did you know that?”
“Because we believe they’re the same group who struck in Abilene and Waco. Could be different hired men, but connected.”
The implications he suggested sank in. “It’s an organized group?”
“Yes, they’re professionals,” Lucas said. “Four armed and masked men strike, and kidnap teenage girls. So far they haven’t left any witnesses behind.”
A chill of foreboding washed over Charlotte. She was lucky to have survived.
They’d probably thought she was dead.
“Can you describe any of the men?”
Charlotte swallowed back bile. The pain was making her nauseous.
He continued in a gruff voice. “Were they tall? Short? Big? Small?”
She struggled to see the men in her mind’s eye. “One was a big guy, tall, heavy, he seemed to be the leader. It happened so fast—we were painting, then the men rushed in. The leader ordered us not to move, then I realized they all had guns. I offered them money—”
“They didn’t want money,” Lucas said bluntly.
She shook her head. “The big one slammed his gun against my head. I fell and was dizzy, then the others started snatching the girls. They’re young, but they’ve been through hell and they’re tough.” Maybe that toughness would help them survive. “They screamed and fought, and tried to escape. I tried to stop them but...” Her voice trailed off, her throat clogging with tears.
“But they shot you,” Lucas said.
She nodded, swiping angrily at the tears that fell. “Then the leader hit me in the head again, and the others dragged the girls out the door. I crawled after them, but I was too late.”
* * *
THE IMAGE OF Charlotte’s bloody handprints on the floor taunted Lucas. She was a petite woman, but she’d made it to the door. Anger shot through him. He wanted to hurt these guys bad.
“You said you crawled to the door,” Lucas said. “Did you see what kind of vehicle they were driving?”
Charlotte inhaled a deep breath as if struggling to piece her memory together.
“Was it a car? An SUV? A van?”
“A van,” she whispered. “Black. Tinted windows.”
Lucas’s pulse jumped. The teacher in Waco had also mentioned a black van. “A minivan or full-size?”
“Cargo,” Charlotte said in a pained voice.
“That’s good, Charlotte. How about a license plate?”
Her brows furrowed together, the bandage on her forehead stark against her ivory skin. “I didn’t see a tag.”
“Was there any writing or a logo on the side?”
“I don’t think so.” Her face crumpled. “It happened so fast...”
“You did good, Charlotte.” Hopefully she’d remember more as time passed. “Think about the men now. Did any of them have any distinguishing marks? A mustache or goatee? Scar? Tattoo?”
This time she pressed both hands over her face and rubbed her eyes. “The big one, the leader, had a tattoo on his hand. A snake.” She paused. “His face was covered with a mask, but I think there was some kind of tattoo on his neck, too. It looked like a bolt of lightning.”
“Good work, Charlotte. These details could be helpful.”
He quickly texted the analyst at the Bureau the information. Keenan Hart was thirty, smart, and obsessive about details.
She quickly responded with a return text.
Black van reported in the Waco kidnapping. Authorities already on the look for it. Researching tattoos now.
When he looked up, Charlotte’s eyes were closing. Sensing she was about to fade again, he hurried to ask his last question. “One more thing, Charlotte.”
She moaned softly. “Hmm?”
“Did all of the men speak English or did one of them speak another language?”
She twisted her head toward him as if she could see him, but the blankness glazed her eyes again. “The leader was really the only one who talked. He spoke English.”
“Did he have an accent?”
She frowned. “I don’t think so. Why? Do you think they’re foreign?”
His gut tightened. He’d suspected Columbian or Eastern European. But without witnesses to the other kidnappings, that was a guess.
His phone beeped with a text. Harrison.
Black cargo van spotted outside Tumbleweed at an abandoned warehouse. Meet me downstairs and we’ll check it out.
Hope made Lucas’s adrenaline spike, and he placed his hand over Charlotte’s. Her hand was small and delicate, and her skin felt soft, feminine.
Thankfully, she was tougher than she looked.
“Charlotte, I may have a lead on that van. Harrison and I are going to check it out. Get some rest.”
She nodded weakly although she was already drifting asleep.
He smiled at her, then sadly realized that even if she was awake, she couldn’t see him. The thought bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
All the more reason he’d track down these sons of bitches and put them away.
Determination kicking in, he hurried to the elevator, rode to the lobby and rushed outside to meet his brother.
Harrison was talking to Honey on the phone. When he hung up, emotions clouded his face. “I broke the news to Honey. She’s going to pick up some flowers, then visit Charlotte in a little while.”
They hurried to his brother’s SUV, and Harrison sped from the hospital parking lot. “Any more word on Charlotte’s condition?”
“No. She’s trying to be strong, but she’s hurting and scared.” Lucas tensed. “Doc says the blindness might be temporary. They have to wait on the swelling to go down. That might take a while. Days. Maybe weeks.”
Harrison’s expression turned grim, and they fell into silence as his brother maneuvered through town then veered onto the road leading to Dead Man’s Bluff.
This place held bad memories for them both.
“Those warehouses have been abandoned for so long I’d forgotten about them,” Harrison said.
Lucas nodded agreement.
But they would be the perfect place to hold the girls until they could move them to the buyers.
* * *
CHARLOTTE’S SHOULDER THROBBED, the pain intensifying as images of the kidnappers flashed through her mind. They had stolen the girls she was in charge of, girls she loved. Girls she was supposed to help.
The door squeaked. Her eyes flew open, but the black nothingness filled her vision.
Then a footstep. And another. So soft that she had to lie perfectly still to hear it.
“Lucas?”
A hushed sound. Breathing. Deep breathing. But no voice.
Terror seized her. “Agent Hawk? Harrison?”
No answer.
She reached for the call button, fumbling along the bed to find it.
The acrid odor of cigarettes wafted toward her.
Dear God, the leader of the kidnappers had smelled like cigarettes.
Had he come back to kill her?
Chapter Four
Cold fear pressed against Cha
rlotte’s chest. Lucas said that the men who’d taken her students had struck before and had never left a witness behind.
Had one of them come here to finish the job he’d begun?
She was stone-still and held her breath, hoping whoever was in the room would think she was unconscious and leave. If not for the scent of cigarette smoke and the fact that he hadn’t said anything, she might think it was a doctor.
But doctors identified themselves.
Footsteps padded softly. Every cell in her body tensed with anticipation. Her left arm was hooked to an IV. All he had to do was inject her with a drug that would seep into her system and she’d drift into oblivion. No one would ever be the wiser.
She did not want to die.
Another footstep. The tray table made a noise as he pushed it away from her.
His breath punctuated the silence. The bed jarred as he bumped it.
She finally found the call button and pressed it, praying the nurse or a staff member would come quickly.
Her lungs ached for air. She slowly released her breath, straining not to make a sound or rustle the covers.
“Ms. Reacher,” a deep voice murmured. “Are you awake?”
She lay perfectly still, careful not to flinch or even bat an eye.
“I hate to disturb you, but my name is Gerald Ingram, I’m with the police. I need to ask you some questions about what happened at your art studio.”
He was a cop?
She slowly released a breath. But questions nagged at her. If he was investigating, why hadn’t he been with Harrison or Lucas?
In spite of her efforts at control, her breath wheezed out, shaky and rattling in the tense silence.
Being in the dark heightened her other senses. If she could see his face, she might be able to tell if he was lying or out to hurt her.
“Ms. Reacher, I know you were injured and underwent surgery, but the men who shot you kidnapped four of your students. Can you describe them?”
Tears burned the backs of her eyelids, desperate to escape. In her mind, she pictured Adrian and Agnes, and Mae Lynn and sweet Evie. What was happening to them?
If the men planned to sell them as sex slaves, hopefully they wouldn’t hurt them, at least not physically. That would mess up their product.
