by Anne B. Cole
He took a seat in the chair opposite her.
“Comfortable?”
When she didn’t respond, he smiled, revealing a crooked front tooth.
“You never were one to speak much. As you saw downstairs, I’ve been watching you ever since you came to my cabin and ruined my plans. But have no fear, Gretta. I’m truly grateful. Instead of one beautiful woman, I have two.” He pulled a handgun from the back of his jeans and studied the trigger.
“Plans have changed, since you found Rachel.” He tapped the gun lightly in the palm of his other hand. “You just had to snoop around.” The intensity of his voice rose.
Gretta shrank into the couch, scared to death he would lose control.
“Well, you can make amends by doing me a little favor.” He leaned closer. “Want to know what it is?”
Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.
“You, my dear, will kill Rachel.”
As Gretta’s lips quivered, he added, “Oh yes. And you will choose your weapon.” He set the gun on the coffee table, inches out of her reach, and drew a hunting knife from his belt.
“Decisions, decisions. You could take this knife and stab poor Rachel to death as I hold the gun to your head, or you can shoot Rachel as I hold the knife to your throat.”
Gretta swallowed hard. Breathing became difficult.
“The choice is yours,” he offered.
Pure fright rendered her mute.
“Can’t decide? Well, let me tell you about killing.”
Her mind raced with possible escape plans, but she couldn’t leave Rachel.
A phone chirped within the folds of his jeans. He grabbed the gun before pulling out the phone to read the text.
“Well, my dear, we will have to wait for story time. I have a meeting I must attend.” He pulled a hypodermic needle out of the front pocket of his flannel shirt and held it up.
Gretta scrambled over the back of the couch, but he grabbed her arm. She fell to the floor in an instant, bringing him with her. Remembering Ryan’s self-defense sessions, she struggled. He predicted her moves and pinned her to the floor.
Her eyes widened as he pulled off the plastic cover on the syringe, revealing the shiny needle.
“You won’t feel a thing. But you'll see things. Happy dreams, Gretta. You will choose your weapon later.” The needle plunged into her arm, dispensing the drug.
Every one of her muscles relaxed before darkness surrounded her.
Chapter 45
A Tip from a Waitress
Sam
“Where are you, Gretta?”
Sam pounded his fist against the steering wheel. He had scoured every street in Greenview, twice. Calling Greenview a small town would be an exaggeration. There were two street lights, a fifty yard strip of stores with apartments above, and twenty-eight homes. Her car had to be here somewhere.
Sam scanned all of the parking lots and systematically checked each street and driveway. Nothing. He had arrived at nightfall and slept for a few hours in the truck before beginning his search. He decided not to inquire about Gretta. Being a small town, word could get out he was searching for her. If she found out, she could flee. He wouldn’t chance losing her again.
After surveying the entire town a third time, Sam pulled into a gas station, filled the tank, and parked in the lot. His stomach growled for the meals he skipped. Instead of eating, he chugged a bottle of water and checked his clipboard.
He noted marks beside addresses with garages without windows. Many people left their doors unlocked, so peering into them had ruled out all except four. He would have to knock on doors and find some excuse to get into the garages to look for her car, but how?
Sam concentrated on his brother, Justin.
What would you do? I need your help.
Clutching the steering wheel, he remembered the contents of his duffle bag. He unzipped and grabbed Justin’s badge. Clipped to the back side was his brother’s ID.
He stared at the picture. People often mentioned how much they looked alike. Even though Justin had darker hair, his brother’s facial features were very similar to his own.
“Perfect. I’ll use Justin’s badge and ID to get into the houses I missed.” Tossing the badge on the dash, he cranked the engine of his truck. Despite the heat, he shivered.
A persistent ring sounded inside his head.
His mind skipped in reverse. He had felt the same iciness, heard the same annoying tone right before the last laps of Tony’s race, and again within an hour of Justin’s death.
He had to find Gretta.
Sam threw the truck into reverse and hit the gas hard, not knowing where the road would take him. A sheriff’s truck traveling in the opposite direction passed him. Sam held his breath. He knew his speed surpassed the limit and prayed the cop wouldn’t turn around and pull him over. The cop continued on.
Think, damn it. Gretta was in some kind of danger. He looked at the clock. Six-fifteen. He hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. A sign for a diner appeared on the left. He would grab some food and figure out how he could find her before it was too late.
He pulled into the gravel parking lot. In the second row, behind a red SUV was a blue Volkswagen Jetta.
It’s her car.
Parking into a space three cars over, he ran to the vehicle.
“Unlocked?” Ripping open the door, her scent filled his head. Despite the pounding of his heart, the ringing in his ears grew louder. He ran inside the establishment and scanned the dining area.
Five tables contained customers, one needed to be cleared. Elderly folk sat at three. The other two each held single men. One man wore brown overalls and a dirty cap. He looked as if he had been behind the wheel of a tractor all day. The other sported a safety vest and talked on his cell phone.
He peered through the window of the kitchen door. No Gretta.
Where are you?
“I’ll be with you in a minute. Have a seat.” A waitress wearing tight jeans with brown hair braided at the back of her head waved.
Sam took a seat at the table next to the construction worker’s booth. He turned over his cup and drummed his fingers on the rim impatiently. The minute it took for the waitress to return seemed like hours.
She poured him a cup of coffee and handed him a menu. “Today’s special is chicken and biscuits.”
Sam smelled fresh baked biscuits and thought of Ruby.
“Sounds good. Can you ask Gretta to come out front?”
“Who?” the waitress asked with an icy tone.
Sam noted the name on her tag. Paula.
“Gretta. Gretta Dobbs. Her car is parked outside, so I figured she was working today.” Sam stirred a spoon in his coffee even though he didn’t add cream or sugar.
“Oh, you mean that Gretta. She don’t work here. Who are ya anyway?” Paula’s eyes narrowed upon him.
Sam figured she thought he was a creep, so he pulled out his wallet and displayed Justin’s badge. “Detective Daggett. I’m searching for a runaway teen. She has her family worried sick. Any information you can give me would be helpful.”
Paula looked at the ID, yet remained hesitant.
“Sorry. I’m a little edgy. Lack of sleep.” Sam touched his mug to his lips and sipped. “Good coffee.”
“What do you drive?” She scanned the parking lot through the window.
“Ford pick-up. The blue one.”
Paula’s shoulders relaxed as she gazed to the kitchen and around the diner. To his surprise, she slid into the booth across from him.
“I know her. She’s watching the Glenns’ cabin for the summer. Nice girl. Only been in here a few times. Didn’t know she was a runaway.” She pulled a pack of gum out of her apron and offered him a piece. Sam declined.
“Where is she?" Sam commanded himself to remain in control. Paula knows where Gretta lives. I can’t blow this. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”
She stood as a white van pulled into the parking lot. Sam’s gaze followed hers as she stared at the vehicle. They watched a man in blue work pants and matching shirt jump out and approach Gretta’s car. He opened the driver’s side door and tossed something on the seat. Without getting in, he closed the door and started walking to the diner.
“Stay. Right. Here,” Paula commanded. She walked to the register as the bell on the door jingled.
“Take any seat. I’ll be right with you. Coffee?” She flashed the man a smile and grabbed the coffee pot from behind the counter.
“I’ll take a cup to go,” he replied, standing by the register. He scanned the dining area.
From Sam's position, he was unable to see the man's face, so he studied him from behind. Six foot, two hundred pounds, dark hair clipped short. Blue auto mechanic's uniform, spotless. The red and white running shoes on his feet looked like they came out of the box this morning.
Sneakers on a mechanic?
“Gretta around?” the man asked Paula.
Sam jerked his focus to the back of the man’s head. Hot coffee sloshed over his wrist.
Paula’s eyes darted in Sam’s direction before she smiled at the man.
“Gretta? Oh, you just missed her. Left with her boyfriend a little bit ago. He’s a cop you know. They come in here a lot. He works nights, so I bet they’re taking a little nap right about now. Said they’d be back later for her car. I can tell her you were asking for her, Rick.” As Paula read his embroidered name tag, her voice quivered slightly. “Have a seat. I’ll get your coffee.” She flashed a smile and disappeared through the swinging kitchen door.
The man took out his cell phone. He appeared to tap in a text. A minute later, the phone beeped. “Just got a text from her,” he called through the open window to the kitchen. “Wants me to take her car. It’s making a rattling noise.”
“You have her keys?” Paula returned and handed him a Styrofoam cup.
He chuckled, jingling a key ring. “Yep. I’ve worked on her car before. Gave me a set of keys in case she ever locked herself out.” He laughed again, tossed two bucks on the counter, and walked out the door.
As the creep sat in Gretta’s car and drove away, Sam flew to the register. Paula pulled a cell phone out of her apron with quivering fingers.
“What the hell is going on?” Sam demanded.
“It’s him, the guy stalking her. She told Ryan a white van was following her. I can’t get a damn signal on my cell. He must have cut the land line because I tried the kitchen phone and it’s dead,” Paula cried.
Sam grabbed her by the shoulders. The phone dropped to the floor. “Calm down.” Ironic that he told her to calm down, when his blood boiled. “Who did she leave with? Who’s this boyfriend?”
Paula bit her fingernail. “I lied. The cop who took her home was Deputy Ryan Scott. He’s not her boyfriend. He’s engaged to my cousin, Rachel. I said it because I thought the Rick guy would be scared off if she dated a cop. The rest is true. She came in here a couple hours ago scared to death because someone was following her. Within minutes, Ryan showed up. They had coffee and left. Ryan told me they would be back for the car tonight. I need to call the police.”
Sam tried to comprehend everything she told him. “It sounds like the police are already involved. You know everyone around here?”
“Pretty much.”
“How about this Rick guy?” he repeated her words.
“No, I don’t know him. But I do know his name isn’t Rick.”
“What?” Sam asked in confusion.
“Because he’s wearing Rick Grayson's uniform. Rick died of a heart attack over a month ago. I helped his wife pack his clothes. We donated them to Goodwill.” Her voice shook with realization.
Sam scratched his number on a napkin and thrust it into her hands. “If Gretta or the deputy comes back for her car, call me.”
Paula nodded.
Sam ran out the door, jumped into his truck, and sped down the road in the direction ‘Rick’ had taken. He searched every road and driveway in the valley, all the way to Greenview.
Nothing.
Chapter 46
Shots in the Dark
Sam
The skies darkened with the setting sun by the time Sam spotted Gretta’s car parked next to a gas station just west of town. He hit the brakes and pulled in at the pumps. Tearing into the duffle bag, he found Justin’s gun and tucked it into his belt.
From the truck window, he spotted Rick inside the convenience store at the register, tossing down some money. He exited with a box of Ho Hos and a large bottle of Mountain Dew.
Jumping out of his truck, Sam stuck the gas nozzle into his tank but didn’t swipe his credit card. He watched Rick get into Gretta’s car and toss his purchases on the passenger seat. The man picked up a device with a glowing screen. A bluish light illuminated his face.
Sam wrapped his fingers around the gun and casually walked toward Rick, who appeared to be engrossed with whatever was on the display.
With less than ten feet to Gretta’s car door, Rick swore, tossed the device in the passenger seat, and backed out, nearly running Sam over. He raced back to his truck and followed at a distance.
Rick drove on the state route, twisting through the valley. The car pulled into a driveway with a small one-story house. Gretta’s car disappeared into a windowless detached garage.
Sam drove past the drive and around the bend before completing a U-turn. He slowed as he passed the house a second time.
He watched Rick walk out of the garage and head around the back.
Sam forced himself to drive a hundred yards past the driveway. He pulled to the side of the road and clicked on the truck's hazard lights. When he reached to pull the release on the hood, his hand brushed against something sticking out from under the seat.
Target practice.
Every time they shot at the range, Justin hit the center of nine out of ten targets at twenty-five yards. Sam missed the paper at fifteen.
‘Do it,’ Justin’s voice rang loudly in Sam’s ears.
He pulled the bag out from under the seat and followed his dead brother’s advice. A quick check of Justin’s gun confirmed it ready and loaded. Pocketing the gun, he took off on foot after Rick.
It wasn’t difficult finding the strange man. The device he held emitted a white glow visible for quite a distance. He seemed completely preoccupied, occasionally talking to himself as he walked deeper into the woods. Sam dared to get closer, tried his best to be as quiet as possible, and hoped Rick would lead him to Gretta.
A twig snapped beneath Sam’s foot. Rick stopped. Sam ducked behind the trunk of a tree. For a few long seconds, dead silence surrounded him. Crickets returned to their chirping and he thought he heard Rick’s footsteps continue. He forced himself to wait another minute before heading after him.
Sam reached a paved road. He paused, not sure what direction Rick had taken.
“Freeze.”
Sam halted as footsteps tapped the pavement behind him. He twisted and saw a dark figure with a gun. A flashlight beam blinded him.
“Hands over your head.” The scratchy voice sounded much older than Rick’s.
Sam raised his hands.
“Slowly turn around, keeping your hands above your head.”
Sam obeyed. His eyes adjusted to the light. In front of him stood a uniformed cop who appeared close to retirement. He knew he could overtake him if the revolver wasn’t pointed at his chest.
“Who are you and what are you doing out here?” the cop demanded.
“I’m a cop. Let me show you my
badge.” Sam lowered his hands.
“Not so fast. I wasn’t born yesterday, son.” He took a radio from his belt. “Scott, you there?” He paused.
“Go ahead, Al.” A voice sounded over the radio.
Scott was the name of the cop who was with Gretta.
Sam tensed, furious with jealousy. He contained his emotions and trained all focus on Al’s gun.
“I’ve got a kid here walking in the woods. Says he’s a cop.”
“Put him in the cruiser. I’m about fifteen minutes out,” Scott replied.
“Will do.” Al tucked his phone away. “Sorry, son. You’re coming with me.”
“Sir, you don’t understand. I’m following a man whom I believe is stalking a girl who lives around here.” Sam kept calm even though he was ready to explode.
“I have my orders. Hands up and turn around.” Al cautiously approached.
Sam kept his hands in the air as Al patted him down.
“What’s this?” Al removed the gun from Sam’s belt. When he checked to see if it was loaded, Sam elbowed him in the ribs, spun around, and slammed a fist into his face. Al crumpled to the ground.
“Sorry, sir.” He grabbed Justin’s gun and Al’s radio. Scanning the woods, he searched for the glow from Rick’s box. No sight of him.
Not knowing where to go, he noticed the radio in his hand. The cop named Scott knew where Gretta lived. His fingers automatically pushed the button on the side.
