by D. K. Hood
“Yeah, and he killed Pete.” Rowley’s finger dropped onto the trigger of his pistol. “He needs to be put down.”
Kane laid a hand on Rowley’s arm. “I agree, but if we kill him, we’ll never know what happened here and there has to be more people involved.”
“I didn’t kill him.” Clough opened his hands wide. “Why am I always the one you blame? It wasn’t me. It was the aliens.”
“Right.” Kane holstered his weapon and moved toward Clough, turned him around, and patted him down then cuffed him. “You are standing here with the dead body of one of my deputies and you’re not to blame.”
“The aliens said I could feed him to the pigs, like the others.” Clough blinked at him like an owl in the sunlight. “I didn’t kill him. No, sir, that wasn’t me.”
Kane shoved him hard against the wall and glared down at him. “If it wasn’t you then who killed Pete Daniels?” The man stank of sweat and blood as if he had not washed in months. “Do the aliens have names?”
“No way.” Clough moved his sunken eyes to Kane’s face. “They’ll kill me. Send me back to prison if you want, but I’m not ratting on them.”
The delusional man believed aliens brought corpses to him to feed his pigs. “How many more people have they killed?”
“I don’t keep count.”
Anger flared and Kane grabbed Clough by the collar, lifting him to his toes. “Did you kill Sarah Woodward? A young, blonde woman?”
“I didn’t kill any of them.” Clough shook his head. “Why won’t anyone believe me?”
Kane glared down at him with the image of Sarah’s staring dead eyes at the front of his mind. Psychopaths were creatures of habit. “Do you have a root cellar?”
“Yeah, in the pantry. You really don’t want to go down there.” Clough let out a long pitiful whine. “They’ll will be angry with me. This—” he pointed a filthy finger at Pete’s body “—is nothing compared to what they can do to a man. I’m in danger, you need to protect me.”
“Shut the fuck up before I forget I’m a deputy and do something I might regret.” Kane dragged Clough to a metal hitching post and, using his spare cuffs, attached him securely; then using flex cuffs, he tied his ankles together. He lifted his gaze to Rowley. “This animal isn’t going anywhere and we’ll need to check the house, but first I’ll call it in and get the ME out here.” He grabbed the satellite phone from his belt and contacted Walters then turned to Rowley. “Okay, come with me.”
He took off at a run toward the back of the ranch house. The back door had a small porch and he moved up the stairs, opened the door, and aimed his Glock into the mudroom. “Sheriff’s department, is anyone there?”
No sound came from inside. He closed his palm around the butt of his Glock and moved up the stairs. The back door opened silently. “Sheriff’s department, I’m entering the premises.”
The silence within was deafening. He walked into the kitchen, waved Rowley inside, and checked the filthy house. “Clear.” He strolled back into the kitchen and indicated toward the pantry. “He said the root cellar is in there.”
“Yeah. I see a hatch in the floor at the back.” Rowley moved inside.
Kane followed. “Watch my back, I’m going in.”
“You’ll need a flashlight.” Rowley frowned. “I’ll open the hatch.” He holstered his weapon then bent and tugged on the metal loop in the floor.
The entrance swung open with silent ease and Kane pushed Rowley to one side. He peered into the darkness and listened. A soft humming came from below. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Can you hear that? A motor of some kind is running down there.”
“Sounds like a generator running in the cellar.” Rowley raised an eyebow.
Kane glanced around the pantry. Shelves littered with rat droppings ran along the walls. The odd can of beans and a loaf of bread were the only food in the disgusting place. Beside the door, he noticed two switches and flicked on one and then the other. Light flooded the cellar, illuminating a wooden staircase. No other sound came from below. He glanced at Rowley. “Stay here. Keep your back to the wall and your weapon aimed at the door.”
“Yes, sir.” Rowley pulled his weapon and complied.
Kane moved down the steps, waiting for the click of a gun or the sound of someone moving, but the room was empty apart from a few boxes of supplies piled in one corner and an ax leaning against the wall. The humming sound came from a chest freezer secured with a lock and chain. He stared at the freezer and unease clawed at his gut at the sight of a slick of blood on the white surface. He rubbed his chin. The idea of opening the lid and finding another corpse made his skin crawl. He holstered the Glock and pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket. If this turned out to be a crime scene, he could not risk contamination, not twice in one week.
He examined the substantial padlock. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to prevent someone opening the freezer. “Okay, let’s see what you have hidden inside.” He grabbed the ax and, in two blows, smashed open the lock.
Rowley’s worried voice came from the top of the stairs. “You okay down there?”
“Yeah. Stay there and keep watch. I don’t want any surprise visitors.” Kane dragged in a deep breath, lifted the lid, and reeled back. “Shit.”
A battered, frozen face of a woman stared at him. Blood had dripped from her nose and frozen in hideous red icicles. The victim’s bloody fingers had clawed at the walls. Kane swallowed his disgust at the cruelty inflicted on this person. The killers had beaten her to a pulp then frozen her alive. He went to shut the lid to preserve the evidence and stared in disbelief. Under the frost, he could make out words scrawled in blood. With infinite care, he brushed away the layer of ice crystals and gaped in horror. “Oh my God!”
The victim had named her murderers.
Dean and Dirk Daniels.
Fifty-Five
Jenna lifted her coffee and emptied the mug. A wave of euphoria washed over her and her skin heated. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Then a wave of nausea hit her and she lost balance, sagging over onto the table. The next moment, Dean had rounded the table and helped her out of her coat. “Thanks, I’m so hot.”
“Looks like the flu to me. It’s going around. Come and lie down.” Dean’s strong arms slid around her waist, lifting her. “Another cup of coffee will get you back on your feet.”
“Okay.” She did not recognize her slurred speech. Her heavy legs refused to respond and she fought to remain conscious. What if I’m having a stroke? She wanted to insist he call nine-one-one, but she could not form the words. Her head tipped back on his shoulder and she glanced at shelves piled with dinnerware, all the same with two blue lines on a white base. The room shifted, as if the edges had folded under. Blinking madly, she fixed her gaze on something pink and out of place sitting on the shelf. She squinted to clear the sudden rush of blurred vision and made out a pink scrunchie. Fear and disbelief slammed into her. Psychopaths took trophies. Oh my God. That’s Sarah’s missing hair tie.
Darkness swallowed her.
* * *
Jenna fought the fog surrounding her brain and opened heavy eyelids a crack to get her bearings. How long had she been unconscious? Something was terribly wrong and the instinct to remain motionless permeated her muddled brain. She had trained for capture and torture and endured the best her commander could inflict; as one of the highest-rated operatives on her team, she had experienced unbelievable hardship to make the grade. From her position face down, knees bent up behind her, she discovered she had been hog-tied. She tensed against the rough bindings on wrists and ankles. The movement tightened the rope pressing against her throat like a noose waiting for the hangman to secure before the short drop to death.
Pain thudded a military tattoo in her temples and she swallowed to quell the need to vomit. Deep, penetrating cold seeped into her naked flesh and a hard, rough surface scraped her cheek. The room came into focus in frustrating slowness, as if a breeze had blown away a
veil of smoke. No, not a bedroom but a dank, smelly survival shelter lit by a humming kerosene lamp. Something else overlaid the odor, the heavy scent of male musk and sex. Could she be in the same place the killers had taken Sarah to rape her before moving her to the Old Mitcham Ranch?
Fear curled in her belly and crawled up her chest, stealing her breath. Inside, she wanted to scream and fight to get free, but acting stupid would get her killed. She needed to harness the fear-driven adrenalin rush to fight these animals. Keeping her lashes lowered, she looked for a doorway, making and discarding plans of escape. Acting drugged for as long as possible would be her only hope.
She heard a deep sigh from her immediate right and moved her head a slow couple of inches. Her skin crawled at the sight of Dean Daniels lounging in a camp chair massaging his crotch with a dreamy expression on his face. She pushed her ear hard against the floor. Pressure on the earring would sound the alarm and bring Kane. The familiar heaviness of the gold stud was missing, and realization hit her like a sledgehammer. She had told her deputies about Kane’s ingenious plan to keep her safe and Pete Daniels had informed his brothers. A wave of despair threatened her resolve. She was alone. I am such a fool. Taking off like some lovesick fool and neglecting to inform the station of her whereabouts was a rookie mistake. Not a soul knows where I am.
Disbelief of betrayal slammed into her. She trusted the Daniels brothers. Dean had been one of the few people to welcome her into Black Rock Falls and Dirk, although the loner of the family, had treated her with kindness and respect. What a fool she had been to allow the handsome men to trick her, and worst of all, Kane’s instincts had been correct. She had overlooked a clue during her door-to-door enquiries.
The truth slammed into her in a tidal wave of memories. No wonder Dean had prevented her from seeing the suffering horse. She had interrupted him torturing someone to death, likely John Helms. She wanted to scream in frustration. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What an idiot to have dismissed Kane’s insight into the case, then added insult to injury by treating him like shit. I doubt I’ll live long enough to apologize.
A wave of panic rushed over her and her heart pounded hard enough to break her ribs, but she breathed slow and even. She needed to think, and any change in her posture would alert Dean to the fact she had regained consciousness. Pushing the throbbing numbness in her hands and feet to another place in her mind, she allowed the painful reality of her impossible situation to register. During training, she had survived the indecency of being naked, cold, and bound. Now she required a plan to outwit two psychopaths in a confined space, naked, and without a decent weapon. Yeah, right.
Raping her hog-tied would be difficult and they would likely untie her to place her in a more suitable position. If she played possum, once they untied her, she could strike like a rattlesnake. The Daniels brothers had underestimated her and made a fatal mistake.
The thought of falling into their trap angered her, and her heartbeat picked up as adrenalin surged through her. She allowed the anger to grow, building her resolve to inflict as much damage as possible before they took her down. In remarkable clarity, she remembered the previous visit to the Daniels’ ranch, including the uncharacteristic flash of annoyance in Dean’s eyes at being disturbed. She had dismissed his unusual manner as concern for the horse giving birth in the barn. It had been snowing and he strolled from the barn in his shirtsleeves with a slick of sweat on his brow and spots of red on his cowboy boots. He smelled of sweat and blood. All normal odors if what he claimed had been true.
Without warning, Sarah’s death stare flashed into her mind, the horror stamped in her expression for all time. An uncontrollable tremor hit her and she clenched her jaw. Too late. Dean’s gaze zoomed in on her, like an eagle sighting a rabbit. She relaxed and when he bent to slap her cheek, she did not flinch or make a sound.
“You’ll keep.” Dean sauntered out of view and she heard him climbing the steps.
Jenna listened intently for his footsteps to disappear then lifted her head, gagging as the rope tightened around her neck. Her captors made sure she would not wriggle free without choking to death. She dragged in a few deep breaths to keep the rising waves of panic at bay. The drug had lost its hold on her, and clear-headed, she could make a better assessment of her situation.
The room was little more than a storeroom with two sets of bunk beds at one end. She made out a small table and chair in front of an old, dusty, two-way radio. A flight of wooden steps led into shadows and a gun cabinet held an impressive array of rifles; the drawers below had labels attached from familiar ammunition boxes.
Uppermost in her mind was following her training and not panicking. Keeping positive and solving the problem was her only option. The brothers had not disabled her physically, which was a bonus. Not having discussed her past life with anyone, the brothers would have no idea of her capabilities. No position was hopeless no matter how difficult, and she had survived worse.
If they untied her with the intent to rape her, she would have a very slight advantage, but any move against two strong men would require split-second timing. With her legs and arms numb, not to mention muscles stiff from cold, she would need every ounce of strength. If her plan worked, her rigid routine of brutal early morning workouts would pay off in silver dollars.
She stiffened at the sound of footsteps walking on the wooden floor above her head. Dust leaked through the floorboards, glittering in the glow from the lamp. Hinges creaked then light streamed through a door at the top of the steps, illuminating jean-clad legs and grubby cowboy boots. She clenched her jaw, willing her muscles to stop twitching, and closed her eyes. A rapid pulse throbbed in her temple as two sets of footfalls clattered down the steps. As they moved closer, she could smell them. The heavy stink of male musk and stale sweat accosted her nose. Heavy breathing moved her hair and a warm hand ran up her leg from ankle to knee.
Dean’s voice seemed to echo in the small room. “She awake yet?”
Rough fingers pried her eyelid open and Dirk’s face came into view.
“You gave her enough to knock out a horse.” Dirk scowled down at her. “She’s cold. I told you to put her on a mattress. It will be like fucking a corpse. I’ll turn up the heat.”
“Fine. I’ll get the roll of plastic. I’m not planning to leave any DNA. That new deputy is on the ball. One mistake now and they’ll pin the others on us.” Dean dragged the plastic from a shelf and dropped it with a thump beside her.
“They’ll never find them. Apart from the old lady and Sarah, the pigs ate them, bones and all.” Dirk’s voice came close to her. “We’ll have to get her out the freezer but she won’t thaw out in this temperature. Maybe pigs like popsicles.”
“We’ll drop her in the pen with Jenna. Once they smell blood, they’ll soon tear them apart, frozen or not. I’ll put on the Halloween mask and tell Stan not to feed them for a few days.” Dean grabbed her hair in one large hand and glared at her. “Wake up, bitch. I’m going to make sure you feel pain every second. You’ll beg me to cut your throat.” He chuckled. “I hope you’re as fit as Pete reckoned because I plan to keep you for a time and have some fun.”
“She can’t hear you.” Dirk kneeled down beside her and slapped her cheeks. “It’s no fun when they’re unconscious. I like them to fight and scream.” He slapped her so hard, bright lights flashed behind her eyelids, and the metal taste of blood coated her tongue. “How much did you give her?”
“No more than usual.” Dean let out a long sigh. “She drank the coffee faster, is all. Give her time and you’ll have your fun.”
“I want to make this one last.” Dirk chuckled. “No one knows she’s here. Pete’s cruiser doesn’t have a GPS so they won’t be able to track her, and I’ve nuked her earrings. They’ll think Pete kidnapped her and we can say he bragged about grabbing her in the bushes.”
“Good idea, then we can take our time and enjoy her.” Dean moaned. “Hit her until she comes around. I don’t want to wait.”
&n
bsp; Pain shot like needles in her cheeks and fear came in uncontrollable rushes as her survival instinct came into play. With effort, Jenna rolled back her eyes and forced her muscles to go slack. They must not discover she had regained consciousness. Her only hope was to take them unawares. A rustling came close by then rough hands lifted her and dumped her onto a plastic sheet. A heavy weight landed on her back and air rushed out her lungs in a gasp. Face pressed against the plastic, she sucked in tiny breaths, enough to keep her going. Remaining relaxed when everything inside her was screaming, “Danger, run, you’re going to die,” took every ounce of willpower.
“Untie her. I want to see her face when she wakes up and feels me inside her.”
“Why do you get to go first all the time?” Dirk tugged at the ropes.
“Because I’m the eldest.”
Blood rushed into her hands in a painful surge and the rope around her neck slid away, burning her skin. Jenna clamped her lips shut to prevent crying out in agony. As the cords pulled away, she slid onto the mattress. She needed to remain lifeless and breathe steadily to keep up the charade. Dirk had moved away but she sensed someone close and opened her eyes a slit. As Dean moved into in her line of vision and started undressing, a deathly chill slithered down her spine.
Dean stood over her, big and menacing. He ripped open a condom packet with his teeth and grinned at Dirk. “Now roll her over and hold her down. I’m going to wake this bitch up, Dean style.”
Fifty-Six
Pulse racing fast, Kane shut the freezer lid and sprinted up the steps. He slammed the hatch shut then turned and grabbed Rowley by the shoulders. “What’s the quickest way to the Daniels’ ranch?”
“There is a gate along the fence line. It leads to a road across the back acres of their property.”
He sprinted for the SUV with Rowley at his side. “I want to know everything about the layout of the Daniels’ ranch, especially if they have any root cellars.”
