Written in Blood (Otter Creek Book 3)

by Rebecca Deel

  Rod weaved through an s-curve before replying. “I feel like there’s something I’m missing, something I ought to know but can’t remember.” The speedometer inched closer to one hundred. “Read the names of roads branching off Route 37.”

  “Hold on a minute. The shift supervisor’s on the line now.”

  Moonlight speared the darkness, shooting rays of light on the black ribbon of road laid out in front of his vehicle. He didn’t dare push his speed any faster. The trees already passed in a blur outside the windows. His brow wrinkled. Something hovered just at the far reaches of his memory.

  “Rod, the service provider is initiating a trace. Ready for the road names?”

  “Shoot.” He tapped the brakes enough to negotiate the turn onto Kermit Road, which would dead end into Route 37. Rod listened to Ethan’s litany of road names, testing each one against the ghost of memory lurking at the back of his conscious thought.

  “Edge Lane, King’s Ridge, Canterfield Place, Horse Branch Road.”

  “Hold it.” Rod’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Canterfield Place. That’s it. The Drakes have a cabin near there.” He dug deep, searching for the thin wisp of memory. He’d been a kid then, maybe eight or nine, spending a long weekend with Ty and Kyle while his mother and father had gone away for a few days.

  He grimaced. After they returned, nothing had been the same. His father moved out and the stable home life he’d always known ended in divorce. “Sarasota Ridge. It’s a three-story structure, well-lit area, hard to sneak up on. That has to be where they’re headed. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “You willing to stake Meg’s life on it?”

  The question sent the knife edge of fear racing down his spine. What if he was wrong? He had to be right, couldn’t even think about the alternative. The thugs could have knocked Meg out and stolen her laptop and flash drives without taking her hostage. That meant those bozos were given orders to snatch her, too. He didn’t doubt they would kill her after they had destroyed the incriminating information.

  The speedometer needle crowded 110. Time was running out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Meg stumbled into the cabin’s living room, blinking, squinting at the light blinding her after the extended ride in the trunk. Rustic leather and log furniture greeted her gaze, along with wood floors, throw rugs and glistening windows which reflected the lamplight.

  A hand on her back shoved her toward the stairs. She caught herself on the stair rail and glared at the offender over her shoulder. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to ask politely when you want something?”

  Beard man bared his teeth. “Shut up and get moving.

  “All right, all right.” Meg held onto the railing, not wanting to show the lingering weakness in her legs after the dark ride. “Hey, Beard man, aren’t you a long way from home? Surely you have a wife and some kids who miss you.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  Words were her life. Maybe she could talk her way out of this. “So, how about letting me go and I’ll forget I ever saw you.”

  A bark of laughter sounded behind her. “Forget it, blondie. Even a pretty little thing like you ain’t worth a bullet in my kid’s head. You just should have stayed out of something that wasn’t your business.”

  Meg reached the second floor and paused. Another shove.

  “Keep going. Next floor.”

  She licked her lips, a cold sweat beading on her back. “Did I ever tell you I don’t like heights? That’s why God made me so low to the ground, you know.”

  “Quit yakking and climb.” A beefy hand on her arm propelled her toward the stairs. “And if you even think about doing anything funny, just remember those sisters of yours won’t be so pretty after I get through with them.”

  Fury swept through Meg. She yanked her arm away from Beard man. “You mess with my sisters and you’re a dead man.” Ethan and Nick would scour the earth until they had hunted him down.

  An ugly grin bared his yellow teeth at her. “Why should you care? You aren’t going to be around.”

  Meg hoped Beard man was just mouthing off to scare her. Doing a good job of it, too, she admitted to herself as she climbed the last few steps. “Where are you taking me?”

  He propelled her toward an open doorway at the top of the stairs. “Boss told me to keep you on ice for a while.”

  “Who’s the boss?”

  He shoved her toward the bed. “Face down.”

  Nausea boiled in her stomach. She stiffened and lurched away from the plaid-covered mattress. “What? Why?”

  “Boss man wants you contained and quiet.” Beard man grabbed a length of rope and duct tape from the nightstand. “Figured this had to be better than staying in the trunk until he’s ready to talk.”

  She agreed with that. A soft bed trumped a pitch black trunk any day. “Until who’s ready to talk? Who is your boss?”

  He spun her around to face the bed, yanked her arms behind her back and proceeded to tie them. “You ask too many questions, blondie.”

  Meg gritted her teeth against the pain from already bruised shoulders being forced into an uncomfortable position. “Take it easy. Since you bozos didn’t put any padding in the trunk, I already feel like a punching bag after a day at the gym.”

  Beard man turned her to face him, an unpleasant grin on his face. “Shut up.” He ripped off a small strip of duct tape and slapped it on her mouth, then tossed her on the bed. After tearing a longer length of tape, he wrapped it around her ankles. “If I hear a peep out of you, you’ll go back in the trunk. Understand?”

  A shudder wracked Meg’s body. If she spent too much more time in that trunk, she would lose her sanity. She also had a better chance of getting free from ropes than the trunk. She nodded.

  Beard man turned and walked out the door. A key scraped in the lock. Then there was silence.

  Meg glared at the closed door. Great. Trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and locked in a bedroom on the third floor of the Boss man’s cabin. She wiggled her wrists. Good, there was a little play in the ropes. Provided she got free, how would she get off the third floor without those two goons seeing her?

  One thing at a time. First, get free of these blasted ropes. Then, she would check her cell phone and try once more to reach Rod. The last time she checked, her cell didn’t have a signal.

  Meg twisted her wrists harder, trying to create more play in the knot. So, what if she didn’t have a signal? What about a land line? Could she use that? She glanced at the nightstand. No phone. Maybe on the other nightstand. Meg swung her legs around and rolled her body onto her right side. Nothing on this table either.

  She growled, disappointment slamming through her. Okay. No phone, so calling for help on the cabin phone was out. That left getting off the third floor without being seen and run like a rabbit for the road.

  Good plan except for one thing. Knots of frustration gathered in her stomach. She didn’t know where this cabin was located and had no idea in which direction to run to the road. It was dark in the woods surrounding the cabin. If she wandered too far off track, she could be lost for days. Keeping wild animals company didn’t hold much appeal.

  On the other hand, staying too close to the cabin meant the bozos would find her and drag her back to the Boss, whoever that was. Where was a superhero when you needed one?

  The ropes slipped a little lower on her hands. Meg smiled behind the duct tape despite the painful skin scraped raw by the ropes. Beard man might be in for a surprise when he came back into her prison loft.

  Rod steered his SUV behind some dense bushes off Sarasota Ridge and picked up his radio. “Ethan, I’m about a half mile from the Drake cabin. I’ll scout around and let you know if I find Meg.”

  “Roger that. No hot-dogging, Rod. If you find her, call for back up.”

  Only if he had that option. “Out.” He slipped an extra clip for his weapon into his pocket, grabbed his flashlight and set off on foot for the Drake cabin. He didn’t bot
her turning on the flashlight. No need in announcing his approach if someone happened to glance out the window. Besides, he spent hours every summer for years in these woods playing hide and seek with Ty. He could almost navigate these woods blindfolded.

  He climbed to the top of the rise and pressed his back against a cedar tree. Light shone from nearly every room in the cabin and spilled onto the surrounding landscape. Rod scanned the area around the three-story structure. Same security lights. No foot patrol.

  Keeping to the shadows, Rod moved forward, watching for movement in the rooms or outside activity to indicate he’d been spotted. He reached the edge of the clearing and a light in the third floor bedroom winked out. Rod paused. That was the bedroom he’d used when he stayed with Ty.

  A noise reached his ears, one he recognized. The window rose on the third floor bedroom. A jean-clad leg slid over the sill and a sneaker-clad foot searched for a place to brace. Rod’s heart skipped a beat when Megan climbed out on the roof and shut the window.

  Megan breathed deep, leaning her head for a moment against the glass pane. Her palms sweated despite the frigid night air. The plan sounded good when she rehearsed it in her head. Reality was a different beast. Third floors were high and she hadn’t been lying when she told Beard man she hated heights.

  Her hands clung to the sill in a death grip. She had to get off this roof and that meant looking for a lower level. Meg glanced around. Did Boss man have a garage around back? A garage would have a lower roofline.

  Meg forced herself to let go of the sill and hugged the roof as her feet found secure footing. Lungs aching from the cold air, she crawled across the shingles, looking toward the drop-off to her right. Ten feet. Five feet. Two feet. By the time she reached the edge, her muscles trembled as though she had just finished a race. She braced herself and peeked over the side.

  A lower level of shingles shimmered in the security lights. Maybe five feet lower, but the closest rise of the roof lay in shadow and skewed her depth perception. She rolled onto her back a moment and stared up at the cloudy night sky.

  She thought about the drop a moment and sighed, her breath rising in a white mist. Meg considered the odds of the drop being more than five feet and knew she didn’t have much time. Beard man was bound to check the room before long. If she stayed out here on the roof, they would eventually see her in the bright lights. She shivered. If the temperature kept dropping and the predicted rain and sleet mix hit, she would slide off the roof anyway provided she didn’t freeze to death first.

  Meg gathered her ragged courage, peered over the edge and studied the slope again. She would have to lower herself over the side, drop into the shadows and, if she was lucky, find a foothold before sliding off to another level or the ground. All without making too much racket. No problem.

  She grabbed to the edge, scrambled over the side and extended to her full length. Her feet dangled in the air. Praying for safety, she let go.

  She dropped about a foot and slid close to the edge of the new level before gaining another foothold. Meg remained motionless except for her heaving chest. One level down, but how many more to go? A shudder rolled through her body. She didn’t know how many more of those blind drops she could take.

  She wiped the sweat beading across her forehead and forced herself to sit up. She could almost hear the clock ticking minutes of her life away. Time to get off the roof. Meg crawled toward the nearest ledge and peeked over the side. A smile curved her mouth. The next level looked about two or three feet down and it was an oblong shape, like a garage.

  Meg eased over the edge, forestalling a slide by jamming her foot against a heat vent. She glanced back at her third floor prison. Still no sign of discovery yet, but that wouldn’t last long. On all fours, she crawled to the end of the roof. She gritted her teeth. A ten foot drop between Beard man and freedom.

  Not allowing herself to dwell on the possibility of broken ankles and arms, Meg hugged the shingles and slithered to the lowest point on the garage roof. She peered over and drew a deep breath. An eight foot drop was better than ten feet and if she hung over the side again, only a three foot drop. If her estimate was correct.

  A shout coming from her prison made the decision for her. If Beard man looked out the window and saw her on the roof, she was toast. One of the men would catch her before she could make it to the woods.

  Meg grasped the edge and slid her weight over until her hands were the only things visible. At least the ground was covered with grass, not concrete. She released her hold on the roof. She rolled with the landing, ending up on her side.

  More shouts and curses emanated from the house. Meg stood on shaky legs and began to run toward the tree line nearest the house.

  Beard man shouted, “She’s outside.”

  Adrenaline poured through her system. She gave an extra burst of speed and plunged into the darkness of the trees. Running from the lighted yard into the forest gloom didn’t give her vision enough time to adjust to the change and forced her to slow down. She needed a path or a place to hide. She paused beside some thick bushes and rejected them as a possible hiding place. Too close and not dense enough. She would have to risk injury and push on into the forest.

  She turned to run again, but for the second time that night, one hand clamped over her mouth and another clamped around her waist.

  Rod hauled Meg back against his chest, controlling her frantic attempts to get away. “It’s Rod, Meg.”

  As soon as she heard his voice, Meg sagged against him. Rod released his hand on her mouth, turned her into his arms and pulled her deeper into the shadows. “We’ve got to get you out of here. My car is close. Can you run?”

  She lifted her face sporting a grim smile and nodded.

  He grabbed her hand and took off, retracing his steps, listening for sounds of distress from Meg or noise from their pursuers. Rod helped her down the steep ravine and urged her back into a full-out run on the other side. They had only gone a few hundred feet when he spotted something moving off to the right. Had to be one of the goons who kidnapped Meg.

  Rod veered to his left, dragging Meg with him. He slowed their pace and drew his weapon. He figured they were about one quarter of a mile from his SUV with at least one hunter between them and safety.

  He signaled Meg to go deeper into the trees. When he spotted a large fallen log, he motioned her to the ground and rolled her into the shadow between the log and the ground. Rod pressed his lips against her ear. “Don’t move. No matter what happens.”

  She grabbed his head with both hands and kissed him. Rod drew back after a moment and grinned. He had to hand it to her. She was one spunky woman. He positioned himself behind a large tree nearby and listened to the sounds in the forest, waiting for a direction to start hunting.

  Heavy gray clouds boiled overhead, the breeze kicking up a notch to a bone-chilling wind, whispering of the storm to come. Rod’s gaze scoured the surroundings, lingering on the deeper shadows. What he wouldn’t give for a pair of night vision goggles right now.

  A faint noise off to his right drew his attention. He frowned. Didn’t seem to make any attempt to hide his presence. A moment later, a dog trotted into his line of vision.

  Rod’s jaw dropped. Ty’s dog? The Irish setter spotted Megan and raced toward her. Meg’s eyes widened, a grin curving her mouth.

  He waited another minute, watching for further movement from the forest before approaching the dog. Could it be Savannah? Grasping the dog’s collar, he turned the tag over. Dallas. His old friend still named pets after cities. A finger of uneasiness raked down his spine. Did Ty still train search dogs?

  A shrill whistle sounded a short distance away. Dallas immediately started barking. Guess that answered his question. Rod jerked Meg to her feet. “Run!”

  They darted through the gloom, batting aside low-hanging branches, sliding on muddy patches of bare earth, Dallas all the while keeping pace with them and baying out their position.

  He pulled Meg faster. If
he could get enough distance between them and the goons, get Meg close enough to the SUV, he would send her ahead and try to hold them off. But he didn’t hold out much hope of that while Dallas did what he was trained to do.

  The noises of their trackers drew nearer. The dog howled louder. He contemplated killing the dog, saw no other option and stopped running. He aimed his weapon at the dog.

  “No.” Meg yanked on his other hand. “You can’t. Please.”

  “He’s leading them right to us.”

  “Please.”

  Rod hesitated a couple seconds, stared at her white, pleading face, then, against his better judgment, threw the dog a disgusted look and urged Meg into a run. He just hoped his concession to her didn’t get them killed.

  Meg’s feet slipped on wet leaves as she scrambled up yet another rise. How much further was his SUV? Her breath came in wheezing gasps now, the cold air biting deep into her lungs. She fell face forward only to be hauled upright by Rod and practically carried up the ridge. Muffled curses sounded behind them.

  Rod shoved her ahead of him. “Faster, Meg. Don’t look back.”

  If she weren’t so exhausted, she would have laughed at the irony. This whole mess started with the nighttime forest run and it looked like it would end that way as well. She poured on another spurt of energy and crested the rise at a dead run. Rod’s SUV sat five hundred yards ahead.

  A shot rang out in the night, followed by a thud. Meg gasped and skidded to a halt, expecting to feel a bullet tearing through her body. Nothing. How close were they? She whirled to ask Rod, but he still had not appeared over the rise. Fear stabbed her heart. Where was he? He’d been right behind her all the way up the hill.

  She ran back to the crest and peered over. No Rod. Where could he be?