by LENA DIAZ,
A swishing noise had him jerking his head up to see a large brown owl overhead, flapping its wings and gliding into the clearing. It landed on a cypress stump about ten feet away, blinking its dark, round eyes and watching him with lazy curiosity. The tension drained out of him and he let out a shaky laugh. An owl. He’d nearly drawn his gun on a bird. He shook his head and dropped his hand from the butt of his pistol. If his brothers back in Murray, Kentucky, could see him now, they’d laugh their fool heads off.
Having grown up painfully poor in the eastern part of the state, there’d been no video games or cable TV to keep him and his three brothers out of trouble. So they’d chased away boredom by playing cops and robbers in the thick woods and hills, or hide-and-seek in the twelve-foot-high rows of cornstalks on their daddy’s farm.
As they’d grown older, they’d learned to track and hunt, doing their part to thin out the herds of deer that would otherwise suffer and die of starvation or disease—or destroy the crops Zack’s family depended on to keep their bellies full and a roof over their heads. So he was quite familiar with the kinds of wild animals that roamed that part of the country, from the tracks they left to the sounds they made. But two months in southern Florida was hardly enough for him to get used to the wildlife around here. He’d just have to assume that the screech he’d heard had been made by the owl that was still blinking at him, as if wondering if he’d make a good next meal.
Maybe he’d Google owls later and figure out what kind this one was. But he’d have to wait until tomorrow morning’s planned trip into Naples. He certainly couldn’t search the internet here. Mystic Glades was notorious for interfering with the signals of electronic equipment, and he’d long ago given up trying to surf the net on his laptop. Even the GPS in his pickup truck rarely worked out here. Which was another reason that prospective deputies weren’t keen on moving to the Glades.
Living life without internet was inconceivable to many, downright prehistoric to others. He was still in withdrawal himself. Snapping a picture of some crazy thing he’d come across in the swamp and texting it to his buddies back home or his family was so second nature that he still found himself pulling out his phone several times a week to do just that.
Until he remembered he was living in the land that time forgot.
He started down the path again, but he kept a close eye on his surroundings. While residents of this backwater town, including the children, understood the dangers and took them in stride, this was all new to him. He was still learning how to acclimate himself to the hostile environment so he didn’t become a gator snack or experience the painful, possibly poisonous bite of a snake. Cottonmouths and rattlers weren’t uncommon out here.
But it wasn’t reptiles or the slithering inhabitants of the Everglades that had him studying everything with a keener eye than usual.
Buddy’s outlandish stories about monsters and people disappearing in the swamp had obviously gotten to him just as it had the children. Because even though he knew that mournful, terrified-sounding screech had to have come from the owl, he couldn’t help a niggling doubt that kept running through his mind.
What if I’m wrong?
Chapter Two
Tears streamed from her burning eyes. Blinking furiously, she stumbled to a halt and braced herself against a tree, her stiff fingers curling against the rough bark. Her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps as she raised a hand to block out the bright morning sunlight streaking down through the canopy of tree branches overhead.
How many times had she prayed for sunlight, to feel its warmth on her skin? To breathe in air that was fresh and clean, not musty and heavy with her own stink? She’d whispered that prayer hundreds of times. But not today. Today the light was a curse, a harsh, blinding torch to eyes used to utter darkness; an enemy in her desperate bid for freedom.
Swiping at the tears, she took off again, leaping over a branch in her path. Then she put on a fresh burst of speed, grimacing each time her bare feet hit a rock or sharp twig. A knobby cypress root seemed to jump up from out of nowhere, tripping her. She landed hard on all fours.
A burst of fiery pain shot through her knees and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and she pounded her fist on the ground in frustration. Pain lanced through her body, from the stinging cuts on her feet to the throbbing in her head that never seemed to go away.
You’re wasting time. Hurry! You have to be miles away before he realizes you’re gone.
She staggered to her feet, risking a quick look over her shoulder.
What if he’d already discovered that she’d escaped? What if he was tracking her, right now?
He won’t find me. I’ll be okay. He’ll give up the search.
A bitter laugh welled up inside her. No. He would never give up. He would keep looking, searching, hunting. He was fast. And cunning. And more terrifying than any nightmare she’d ever had.
A thud sounded behind her.
No! It can’t be him.
But what if it is?
She surged forward on wobbly legs, pouring what little strength she had left into trying to run. Tired. She was so tired. And hungry. And thirsty. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and surrender to exhaustion.
Don’t give up! He nearly killed you when you ran the first time. If he catches you again, he will kill you, but only after he punishes you.
A sob rose in her throat at the thought of enduring another one of his “punishments.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Footsteps! Oh, God. No. Please. She stumbled, caught herself against a tree. Fell. Pushed herself up. Started running again.
She couldn’t deny the truth any longer. He was following her. She knew it even without seeing him, by the way her joints tightened with fear, the way her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought they’d crack. The very air around her seemed charged with menace, a black, choking fog of evil.
More thumps. Faster. He was running. He must have found her tracks. He was so close. A whimper escaped between her clenched teeth.
I don’t want to die. Twenty-three years isn’t enough. I want a family, babies. How can I die when I haven’t even lived?
Another sound interrupted the quiet of the Glades. A low rumble. Wait. Was that a car? Leaves crackled and twigs snapped somewhere up ahead, as if they were being crunched beneath tires. Yes! Someone was driving a car through the woods. Had she finally found civilization? Was there a road through this horrible, cursed, endless swamp? Hurry, hurry. She couldn’t let them pass her by. This might be her only chance.
She ran full out. She didn’t even try to be quiet anymore.
Neither did he.
A roar of rage erupted behind her. She whimpered again and hated herself for it.
Don’t look. Don’t turn around.
The car was coming up fast. Would she make it? This time she couldn’t stop herself from looking over her shoulder, to see how close he was. A choked sob escaped her. She saw the leather mask he wore through a break in the trees, the gaping hole over his mouth.
He smiled.
She choked on a sob of terror. A horn blared. She whirled around. The grill of a dark vehicle filled her line of vision. She screamed as it slammed into her, tossing her through the air. The boggy ground rushed up to meet her. Excruciating pain slammed through the side of her head, her hip, as she flopped end over end to land on her stomach in a tangle of arms and legs. She lay unmoving, her cheek pressed against the ground, her gaze fastened on the bushes and trees fifteen feet away.
A door slammed. Running footsteps came toward her from the direction of the vehicle. And at the edge of the tree line, directly across from her, he stopped. Watching her. His feral smile vicious and deadly, promising retribution.
She let out a small cry.
�
��Miss. Can you hear me?” A man’s deep voice, thick with concern as he knelt beside her, his back turned to evil incarnate.
The devil slowly drew a large, serrated knife from the holder strapped to his thigh.
She sucked in a breath and tried to warn the stranger. But she couldn’t make her lips form any words. Blood bubbled up in her throat, choking her. Can’t breathe. Can’t. Breathe.
The stranger kneeling beside her, ever so carefully, tilted her head. Her airway cleared. She coughed and tried again to warn him.
Run! She tried to tell him. He’ll kill you! She tried to raise her hand, to wave toward the devil. But she didn’t seem to have control over her body anymore. Everything was going numb. And cold, so cold.
Satan took a step toward the stranger, knife raised.
“My name is Zack Scott.” Her would-be rescuer leaned down into her field of vision, his handsome face lined with worry. He scooted a bunched-up cloth of some kind beneath her head. “I’m the chief of police of Mystic Glades. Just hold on. I’ve got you.”
The devil paused.
“Turn around.” She forced the words past her bruised lips, but they came out a gurgle.
“Don’t try to talk. Lie as still as you can. Don’t move.”
A rumbling noise echoed through the trees. Another car? Brakes squealed. A door slammed. Footsteps pounded.
The devil jerked back beside a tree, a shadow amongst shadows.
“What the...?” Another man’s voice. Dirt sliding as he dropped to his knees beside Zack. “What happened? Who is she?”
“She ran out in front of my truck. Try your phone, Cole. We might be far enough from Mystic Glades to have cell service.”
Turn around, Zack. Look behind you, Cole. Her fingers curled helplessly into the dirt as she stared at Satan. Why couldn’t she make herself form the words to warn them? Her throat was so tight. Everything hurt.
Zack’s warm fingers pressed against her neck. “Her pulse is weak.” He glanced toward Cole then nodded and looked at her again. “The call went through. Help is on the way. You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Just, please, hold on.”
The devil’s eyes flashed.
She whimpered and surrendered to the darkness.
Chapter Three
Zack paced the hospital waiting room.
“Will you stop already?” Cole shifted in his chair. “You’re making everyone around us dizzy. And you’re making me want to slug you. Sit down.”
Zack was surprised to realize that most of the dozen or so people scattered around the large waiting room were indeed watching him. He rubbed the back of his neck and made himself sit beside Cole. But keeping still proved impossible. Nervous energy had his foot tapping up and down as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the tops of his thighs.
After a few minutes of sitting, he jumped to his feet again.
Cole let out a low curse.
“The ambulance brought our Jane Doe here over two hours ago,” Zack complained. “Someone should have told us something by now. What if she’s...what if she’s dead? What if she’s alive but paralyzed? I tilted her head when she was lying on the road, shoved one of my socks under her neck to keep her face angled up. What if she had a spinal cord injury and I made it worse?”
“Is that why you’re acting like a caged tiger? You blame yourself?”
“Well, of course I blame myself. I ran her over with my truck. Who else should I blame?”
“Her. She ran out in front of you. And you didn’t run her over. You tapped her with the bumper.”
“Tapped?” Zack gave his friend an incredulous look. “She went somersaulting through the air like a rag doll and...” He fisted his hands, trying to block out the memory of her body flipping end over end, landing in a crumpled heap. That she’d still been breathing when he’d reached her was a miracle. But then, when blood had bubbled from her mouth, he’d... “I shouldn’t have moved her head.”
“She was choking on her own blood according to what you told the EMTs when they arrived. The reason you propped her head up was so she could breathe. Or am I wrong about that?”
“No. But I—”
“But nothing. You did what you had to do to save her life. So jump off the guilt-trip train already. Instead, ask yourself what she was even doing there in the first place. You saw her clothes—dirty, torn, not just from the accident either, is my guess. And she wasn’t even wearing shoes.”
“Yeah, I know. Her hair was matted, really matted. And her skin was grimy, as if she’d been out there a long time. There’s something really wrong here. But I can’t even begin to focus on starting an investigation until I know whether she’s going to be okay.”
And, God, please, with no life-altering deficits caused by him.
“Since you’re still setting up the police department in Mystic Glades, my boss has already sent men out to the swamp to start checking things out. And he’s fine with me staying here as long as needed, until we get some answers. And an update on our Jane Doe.”
Zack nodded his thanks.
On the other side of the waiting room there was a short hallway that led into the bowels of the emergency room. Doctors and nurses kept going in and out of the door at the end, but so far none of them had spoken to either him or Cole.
“Why hasn’t anyone come out to talk to us?”
Instead of answering, Cole crossed his arms, obviously giving up on trying to talk Zack out of worrying.
The door to the ER opened again. And just like dozens of times before, a nurse stepped out. But this one didn’t hurry away. Instead, she stopped at the information desk and spoke to the volunteer sitting there. Zack watched them intently. The volunteer checked her clipboard then pointed toward Zack and Cole. Finally.
As the nurse hurried toward them, Cole rose to stand shoulder to shoulder with Zack.
“Just remember—” Cole kept his voice low “—no matter what she tells us, none of this is your fault.”
Maybe. Maybe not. But nothing could change the fact that it was his truck that had slammed into the young woman who was fighting for her life right now, assuming that she was even still alive. If he’d killed her...no, he wouldn’t go there, couldn’t go there. Having something like that on his conscience was a burden he didn’t think he could bear. She had to make it.
“Chief Scott, Detective Larson?” She looked from one to the other, her brows arched in question.
“I’m Chief Scott,” Zack clarified. “And this is Detective Larson.”
“Ma’am.” Cole nodded.
“I’m Miss Murphy, one of the ER nurses. Doctor Varley is attending to your Jane Doe and wanted me to give you an update.”
“Then she’s...she isn’t...” Zack stopped, not wanting to voice his fears out loud, afraid he’d jinx the outcome.
She gave him a sympathetic smile. “She’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking. And she’s doing very well, all things considered.”
He let out a ragged breath. Then her words sank in. “All things considered? What does that mean? Is she paralyzed? Is she—”
“No, no, goodness, no. She’s not paralyzed. Her prognosis is very good, actually. I take it from your response that you’re the one who hit her?”
He winced. “Yes, ma’am.”
She patted his forearm. “Rest assured. A slight concussion, bruises and a minor tear in the soft tissues of her throat are all that you can take credit for. Most everything else is inconsistent with being hit by a car.”
Zack exchanged a confused look with Cole. “Everything else?”
It was her turn to look confused. “Well, yes. The burns, the dehydration, cuts, abrasions.”
“Burns?” they asked at the same time.
“Dehydration?” Zack added.
>
Her brows drew down. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?” Zack asked. “Did she burn herself in a campfire then go looking for help and got lost? Is that why she was dehydrated?”
She looked around then stepped closer as if to make sure that no one else could hear her. “Your Jane Doe has extensive bruising all over her body. Judging by their coloration, many of the bruises are days, or even weeks, old. She’s malnourished, and chunks of her hair look as if they’ve been pulled out by the roots. The burns that I mentioned? No campfire would cause the circular patterns on her abdomen and back. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re cigarette burns.”
From the expression on his friend’s face, Cole was just as shocked as Zack was. And just as angry.
“Like I said, the concussion and esophageal tear,” she continued, without giving either of them a chance to ask her any questions, “can be attributed to being hit by a vehicle. But the other injuries don’t appear to be from an accident.” She cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable.
Other injuries. Did she mean more than what she’d already mentioned?
“Miss Murphy,” Zack said, “you called her Jane Doe. Didn’t she tell you her name?”
She shook her head. “No. She hasn’t spoken. She was unconscious when she arrived and woke up inside the CT scanner, confused and combative. We had to sedate her for her own safety. The doctor should be finished stitching her up soon. Then we’ll admit her, take her upstairs to a private room, where she can sleep off the effects of the sedative. I’d say that you can ask her questions then, but as exhausted and frail as she is, she’ll probably sleep for hours. Maybe even until late tomorrow.”
The idea of waiting that long to question the woman certainly wasn’t welcome. But right now Zack was more concerned with discovering the details that the nurse seemed to be holding back.
