She didn’t even think about what she might do if she did manage to pop the trunk. At the very least she could potentially sit up and maybe get somebody’s attention. Worst-case scenario was that they were traveling in an area where there were no other people around, and her actions would only enrage Jerrod Revannaugh.
Deciding anything was better than just lying there waiting for whatever he had planned, she wiggled and squirmed until her fingers had traced every place she thought a release would be and found nothing.
Unwilling to be defeated, she located one of the back taillights and began to use her bound feet to bang against it. Again and again she slammed her feet into the back of the taillight, until she had to stop to catch her breath, a difficult thing to do with her mouth taped closed.
Sweat ran down the sides of her face, and the T-shirt she’d put on that morning stuck to her. The temperature in the trunk had to be nearly a hundred degrees. If Jerrod kept her in here too long she’d die of the heat and dehydration.
She made several more kicks at the taillight and then gave up, unwilling to expend the energy for what appeared to be a futile attempt.
Where was he taking her? She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious and so had no idea how long she’d been in the trunk.
Was he behind Amberly and Cole’s disappearance? She frowned. No, that didn’t make sense. He couldn’t have done something to them to bring Jackson to Mystic Lake. There was no way he could have guaranteed that Jackson would be sent here from Baton Rouge. Unless he was a company man...unless he’d had a hand in appointing Jackson to his current assignment.
Her heart began to hammer once again as the car turned onto a gravel road, the rocks pinging beneath her. The car went over a short distance and then stopped. The engine went silent and Maggie could hear the sound of her own heartbeat filling the trunk. It was the sound of terror.
Every muscle in her body tensed as the trunk opened. She blinked against the sunshine that momentarily blinded her. Jerrod was nothing more than a tall, well-built silhouette as he leaned forward.
“We can make this easy, or you can make it hard,” he said. “I’ll pick you up and carry you, but if you fight me, I’ll fight back, and with you trussed up like you are, it wouldn’t really be a fair fight.”
She nodded to let him know she understood. She would be a fool to fight right now. She’d have to wait and see if an opportunity presented itself later...if she had a later.
He leaned down and picked her up as if she weighed no more than a child. As she got her first vision of where they were, her heart sank.
In the middle of nowhere, that was where they were. She didn’t even see any landmarks that she recognized. Ahead of them was a large shed with a tractor stored inside and a smaller shed to the side that was probably used for a variety of equipment.
He carried her to the smaller shed and as they drew closer she saw that it was solid and well built on a slab of concrete. He laid her on the ground and then unlocked the padlock on the door.
Once again sheer, unadulterated terror filled her. She tried to roll away, even knowing in her head that it was nothing but the pathetic move of a desperate woman.
He turned back to her and laughed. “Where you going, darlin’?”
She wanted to scream at him to stop calling her that. There was only one man in the world who had the right to call her darlin’, and at the moment she feared for his life as well as her own.
Once again Jerrod picked her up and carried her into the dark confines of the shed. It was completely empty and the concrete floor was hard against her body.
He left her there but returned only moments later, this time with a flashlight and a couple bottles of water. He set them on the floor just inside the door.
“You can scream your head off out here and nobody will ever hear you,” he said, and to her surprise he pulled out a knife and sawed through the tape on her feet.
He motioned toward her hands and she quickly held them out. She watched him cautiously as he removed the tape from her wrists and then ripped off the piece that had been across her mouth.
She thought about rushing him, but she was too weak and he had not only the knife in his hand, but she suspected he also had a gun somewhere on his person.
“Why?” The word croaked out of her dry throat as she managed to raise herself to sit on her butt. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why?” He laughed, although there was no warmth in his cold blue eyes or in the tone of his mirth. “I raised that boy and taught him everything I knew and he turned his back on me, became a damned FBI agent. Six years ago I got myself into a little legal problem and my son, my own flesh and blood, testified against me. I wound up being sentenced to six years in jail. He betrayed me, and the price for that is his death.”
“What did you do with Amberly and Cole?” she asked, her mind reeling with all the information she’d just learned.
“Who?” His handsome face twisted into a confused frown as he stared at her.
“The sheriff of Mystic Lake and his wife.”
“I don’t know anything about them. All of my energy, all of my resources have been used to keep tabs on my dear son. You two have had the luck of the Irish so far. The men I’ve hired have been unusually inept in completing a simple death or two. But I’m here now, and to be honest, this is the way it should be. I should be here when it’s time for Jackson to pay. I’ve had six years to stew and plot, to enjoy the vision of his death.”
For the first time as he spoke of killing his own son, his eyes lit with life, and Marjorie recognized that she was looking into the eyes of pure evil.
“I’m leaving you with a flashlight and some water. I’m not inclined right now to kill you, but I do take great joy in the fact that for the next couple of hours my son will have no idea where you’ve gone or if you’re dead or alive.”
“Jackson won’t care. He’s nothing more than my partner,” she protested.
“Oh, he cares, and once I contact him he’ll come for you. Your white knight riding to your rescue, but unfortunately, the white knight won’t survive to see another morning.”
“Wait!” she cried as he stepped out of the shed.
As a reply he slammed the door closed and she heard the sound of the padlock being clicked into place and once again she was plunged into utter darkness and despair.
* * *
JACKSON REACHED BETTY FIELDS’S house in record time, a new fear crashing through him as he saw that Bentz’s panel van wasn’t in the driveway.
Of course it wasn’t, he thought. Because Jackson was relatively certain that the panel van had carried Maggie away. He had no idea where his father might be holed up with Maggie, but he knew in order to get some answers he had to find Edward Bentz.
A knock on the door was answered by Betty. “Agent Revannaugh, how nice to see you again.” She smiled sweetly.
“Where’s Edward?” he asked, politeness gone beneath urgency.
“Well, I’m sure I don’t know. He left earlier but didn’t mention where he was going.” Betty’s forehead wrinkled. “Is there a problem?”
“Call the sheriff’s office if he shows up here,” Jackson said, his feet already moving him back to his car.
Panic simmered in his veins, a panic he refused to allow to blossom into its full potential. Panic didn’t allow rational thought, and he had to think.
With Edward gone, his next stop was at the sheriff’s office. He was led into the office where Roger Black sat behind the large desk. Roger must have sensed something, for he stood, his brow wrinkled. “What’s happened?”
“Maggie is gone.”
Roger’s frown deepened. “Gone? What do you mean she’s gone?”
“She’s been kidnapped by my father. I saw it on the security video at her house.”
“Why would your father want to kidnap your partner?” Roger asked as he sank back down in the leather chair behind the desk.
“Look, I don’t have time to give you all the reasons why. We don’t have the luxury of chatting about my father or my past with him. All you need to know is that he took Maggie and I believe Edward Bentz is involved.”
“Bentz?”
Jackson wanted to reach across the desk and slap Roger upside the head. “I need you to get off your ass and get your men out looking for Bentz’s van. I want him found sooner rather than later.”
“No need to get all riled up.” Roger stood once again and walked around the desk to stand before Jackson. “Just take a breath, man, and tell me what else you need from us.”
Jackson sucked in air, trying to calm the nerves that had his body on fire. “My father’s name is Jerrod Revannaugh. He was released this morning from a prison in Baton Rouge. I believe he’s now either in Kansas City or here in Mystic Lake.”
His chest tightened and he clenched and unclenched his hands into fists at his sides. “I’m guessing he’s here because I believe he hired Edward Bentz to keep track of me.”
“What does he want from you?” Roger asked.
“He wants to kill me, but at the moment I’m more afraid for Maggie’s life than mine.”
“Have you got a picture of your father?” Roger asked.
“No.” Jackson sighed impatiently. There was too much talk and not enough action going on. “You can get a photo of him off the internet, but right now you need your men to be looking for Bentz’s van. My gut says if we find Bentz, we’ll find my father and Maggie.”
“Excuse me a minute and I’ll get the process started.” He walked around Jackson and disappeared from the room. Jackson assumed he was going to talk to his dispatcher and get the word out to all units working the streets.
Something had to happen fast. He knew his father, he knew the black soul Jerrod possessed. With every minute that passed, Maggie’s life was in danger.
As he waited impatiently for Roger’s return, his gaze darted around the office, thinking idly that all the clues to everything that had happened in the town might be here.
Hopefully one of Roger’s men would see Edward’s van seconds after the call went out. If Jackson didn’t get to Maggie, if he couldn’t save her, then he’d be worth nothing.
Shame and humiliation had already made him keep the secret of who his father was, what kinds of crimes he’d committed. Now his shame and humiliation might be the very cause of Maggie’s death.
“No,” he whispered, his knees nearly buckling at the thought of losing her. Rage and fear forced his eyes closed for a moment as visions of Maggie filled his head.
Her childlike excitement in the hotel suite, the laughter that was a rare and beautiful gift and the unbridled passion of her lovemaking all combined to create his love for her, a love that was too deep to explain.
He opened his eyes and his gaze instantly fell on the top of the wooden file cabinets. He frowned as he saw something there he hadn’t noticed before.
A pair of black gloves.
A pair of black motorcycle gloves.
He took a step around the desk and saw a gray helmet half-hidden next to the wastebasket. His blood ran cold. Roger hadn’t been on the list he’d given them of motorcycle owners. Why would he leave himself off?
He moved back to where he’d been standing when Roger left the room. As the deputy returned, Jackson stopped him before he could get all the way into the room.
“You own a motorcycle, Deputy Black?”
Roger’s face paled. “Yeah.” He gave a forced laugh. “Guess I didn’t put myself on that list I gave to you. I didn’t even think about it. I keep it in storage most of the time.”
“What’s that?” Deputy Morsi joined the conversation.
“I just learned that Roger here owns a motorcycle,” Jackson said, his voice deceptively pleasant.
“Yeah, he rides it most days, but hasn’t ridden it for the last week or so,” Morsi replied.
Something snapped inside Jackson. The motorcycle chase...the near-death drama. Roger’s guilt-ridden expression. With a roar of rage unleashed, Jackson attacked Black, tackling him to the floor as his hands wrapped around the big man’s neck.
“Hey...hey,” Deputy Morsi exclaimed in panic as he drew his gun, obviously unsure who he should point it at, his fellow deputy or an FBI agent.
“You’re part of it,” Jackson growled out as his hands pressed tighter against Roger’s neck. “You were the one who tried to kill us.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Roger had to work to get the words out as his face reddened from a lack of oxygen.
“I’ll kill you right now if you don’t start talking,” Jackson said.
Roger’s face grew even more red as his fingers scrabbled to loosen Jackson’s hold on his throat. Realizing he couldn’t break the contact, he hissed out an okay.
Jackson released his hold and as he got up he pulled Roger’s gun from his holster and held it pointed to the lawman’s chest. “You’d better start talking or I’m going to start shooting.”
Jackson ignored Fred Morsi and several other deputies who had gathered behind him in the hallway. “Where’s Maggie?”
“I don’t know.” Roger remained on his butt on the floor, rubbing his raw throat.
Jackson took a step toward him and placed the barrel of the gun against his forehead. “Jeez, I swear I don’t know. I was hired by your father to get rid of you. I never wanted to be sheriff. All I wanted to do was retire, and he offered me enough money to make it worth my while. You’re right, I was the one who chased you on the motorcycle, and I was in contact with Bentz, who was hired to keep track of your movements, but I swear I don’t know where Jerrod has Agent Clinton. I swear to God I don’t know.”
Jackson took a step backward and handed Roger’s gun to Deputy Morsi. “Arrest this man for attempted murder. We’ll figure out more charges as we wind up this case.”
He left the office as Morsi was locking handcuffs on his coworker. He stomped back to his car, got inside and realized he had no idea where to go.
His head dropped to the steering wheel, and hot tears burned at his eyes. Maggie. His darlin’, Maggie. Where was she? Was she already dead? He hated his father, but he hated himself even more for not being man enough to tell Maggie the truth about the man who had raised him, a man capable of killing not just his own son, but the woman his son loved.
Chapter Fifteen
The dim shine of the flashlight did nothing to penetrate the dark corners of the shed. Maggie sat in the very center, having exhausted every means of escape she could think of.
She’d tried to break down the door, had checked every area of the walls and the flooring to see if there was a weakness she could exploit, but there was nothing.
Tonight she would die.
She’d come to a final resignation about it, although a million regrets came with her acceptance of her fate. She wished she would have laughed more and worried less. She wished she would have taken more chances, reached out for more happiness.
She should have told her mother that all their money was gone and it was time for Katherine to live within her means. Marjorie wished she’d enjoyed her time on earth a little bit more. Dammit, if nothing else she should have allowed herself to get cable television.
A giggle bubbled to her lips. She knew it was a hysterical reaction to her circumstances. She was laughing to keep from weeping. She wanted to weep for Jackson. Even though she knew they hadn’t been meant to be together, she could cry for what he’d given her. He’d opened her up to trusting. He’d made her realize she could love a man deeply.
She wished she’d had a chance to tell him she loved him one more time, bu
t if even given the chance she wouldn’t do it. She belonged in Kansas City, and he would go back to his home in Baton Rouge. She’d known there wasn’t a future with him, but surely as she waited to die she could pretend.
Having already drunk one bottle of water, she was reluctant to open the second bottle that Jerrod had left for her. She had no idea how long she’d been inside the shed or how much longer she might be captive here.
She knew instinctively that this shed would not be her coffin and the only tiny modicum of hope she had left was that somehow when Jerrod came to get her out of here, she could escape.
What hurt the most was the certainty that she would be used to give Jackson as much pain as possible. Jerrod would twist Jackson’s feelings for her, no matter what they were, into something ugly, something that would haunt Jackson if he lived or would be the last thing he’d know before his death.
She jumped to her feet as she heard the jingle of the padlock on the door. Maybe if she rushed him, she could bowl him over and run. She lowered her shoulder and prepared to attack.
The door opened, displaying two things—night had fallen outside, and Jerrod stood before her in the beam of her flashlight with a gun pointed at her chest.
“Don’t get any smart ideas, girly,” he said. “It doesn’t matter to me if I deliver you to Jackson dead or alive.”
For a moment she wanted to rush him anyway, let him shoot her now so that Jackson wouldn’t have to watch her die. But that tiny survival instinct kicked in, that single ray of hope that somehow, someway, she and Jackson could get out of this together and alive.
“Turn around,” he commanded. She hesitated only a moment and then did as he asked. He quickly tied her wrists together and then grabbed hold of her shoulder and spun her around. “Come on, we’ve got a date. I’ll let you sit in the passenger seat as long as you behave, but if you give me any trouble I’ll backhand you into unconsciousness. Got it?”
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