Hidden Fire, Kobo

by Terry Odell

  As a matter of fact, he looked worse than she did right now. Between his hours and his stubbornness, he wasn't eating properly and it was going to catch up with him. She caught herself planning mental menus. Apparently her subconscious had accepted the idea of taking the relationship forward.

  Trying to wrap her conscious mind around that one, she exited and looked for a directory. Randy would be going to the campus police when he finished his calls, so she might as well meet him there.

  She found the office, but Randy hadn't arrived. She retraced her steps to the foyer. A stack of magazines lay on an end table. She picked up a dog-eared copy of Good Housekeeping and flipped to the decorating section. An article about merging households caught her eye. She settled onto a bench as questions flooded her.

  Would she move to Randy's house? It would be a longer commute to work, but doable. Her apartment was so much smaller. And no equity. Plus, she always got the feeling David's ghost haunted him at her place, even though he denied it. Randy's house was his, free and clear. He loved living where he'd grown up. Would he let her change things? Bring in a few of her favorite pieces?

  Maybe she should read the article instead of daydreaming. Absorbed in ways to blend two existing lives, she jerked with a start when something poked her in the back of the neck. Hot breath fanned her ear.

  "Not a sound, woman, or bad things will happen to a certain tall friend of yours. Stand up, nice and easy, smile, and we're going to walk to the door like old friends. Got it?" An arm gripped her elbow and the object at her neck moved to the side of her rib cage. She couldn't see it, but it didn't take much to figure out it had to be a gun.

  All her self-defense lessons played through her head. But even if she could remember what to do and if she could actually do it in real life, Randy was in trouble. She couldn't risk someone harming him because she wanted to play hero. If she'd learned anything from her experiences with Chris, it was to wait for the right moment.

  She turned her head to see her captor.

  "Don't turn around," he growled.

  She caught a glimpse of a black nylon windbreaker and a baseball cap, but nothing more. He opened the door and shoved her outside ahead of him. They crossed the street and were in the parking lot. She scanned the lot but couldn't see Randy's black pickup anywhere. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Her pulse roared in her ears. Struggling to control her breathing, she looked for an escape route.

  A silver-haired woman approached from between two cars. She seemed preoccupied with finding something in her oversized purse. Would she go for help if Sarah called to her? Or was someone watching, listening? Someone who had Randy? Before she could debate the finer points of flight, fight or following directions, the woman looked up and smiled.

  "Nice day, isn't it?" she said. "So wonderful to see the sun for a change. I was going to see if I could get a jump. My car won't start and I think it's the battery. The campus police are so nice about things like that."

  Sarah fixed her eyes on the woman, trying to communicate her plight.

  Help me, she mouthed. Gun.

  The woman didn't seem to notice. If she'd shown up five minutes ago, there would be cops in the parking lot. To Sarah's surprise, instead of ignoring the woman, or giving her a cursory response, the man holding her stopped. Sarah's hopes soared. She watched for a chance to make a move.

  "I've got jumper cables," he said. "I can help."

  His voice. The one in the kiln room. Her customer, the man who wasn't Walter Young. New panic filled her.

  The woman stepped in closer. "Oh, that would be so kind. People nowadays don't like to get involved, do they?" She adjusted her glasses. "It's the green Focus. Right over there." She lifted her hand to point. Sarah felt a sting in her arm above where the man held her.

  "Let's go," he said, pushing her forward. Everything got bright, then fuzzy, then dark.

  * * * * *

  Sarah's head pounded. Her stomach churned. Something pressed against her back. Then her front. She was moving. Bumping? Falling? Rolling? She tried to brace herself, but her hands wouldn't move. She heard voices. Far away voices. Fading in and out, like a tape recording played at the wrong speed while someone messed with the volume. Then everything got dark again.

  The next time the world came back, the fog thinned. She tried to move. Everything throbbed. Sleep was better. Easier. She settled back into oblivion until the fog lifted again.

  Someone was tugging at her shoes. She tried to struggle, but her muscles weren't listening to the messages her brain was sending.

  "Leave her," a voice said. Male.

  "Why not make it look like the other one?" someone else said.

  "Idiot. That's all we need. Your stupid idea to make it look like that serial killer was bad enough, but we don't need half the cops in the country looking for us."

  "Shut up, dammit. She might be awake."

  "Gloria said the stuff was good for a couple hours." A new voice?

  "They're out. We'll be long gone before they come around."

  Car sounds. Doors slamming. Engine noises, loud at first, then quieter. Loud noises, rumbling, crashing. Then more silence.

  When the world came back, she opened her eyes, then immediately closed them against the sharp, stabbing pain as light penetrated from above. She squinted through slitted lids. The pain wasn't as bad this time and she opened them a little wider. She stared up into the branches of a tree. A gigantic tree. A redwood. Something about hiking through the redwoods teased her memory. With Randy? She whipped her head around, looking for him and regretted it as blackness descended once more.

  This time, she awoke with a clearer head. The pain had dwindled to a dull throb and her stomach had settled. Fury built inside her. She'd been abducted once before and that was one time too many.

  She held her breath, listening. Her heart drummed against her chest. Branches rustling, birdsong, but nothing else. Tentatively, she opened her eyes. She was alone. Voices. She remembered voices. Had she dreamt it?

  No, too vivid for a dream. She'd been able to hear, but not respond. Careful to move slowly, she tested her muscles. Flexed her fingers, wiggled her feet. Everything seemed to work. She propped herself up on her elbows. A wave of dizziness came, then subsided. She moved to a sitting position, scooting backward to lean against a tree trunk, riding out the disorientation.

  Carefully, she turned her head, trying to get her bearings. To her left, a denim-clad leg protruded from a clump of foliage. Her eyes moved upward along the body, stopping when she recognized the shirt Randy had been wearing this morning. Her heart raced. Forgetting her own aches, she rushed to his side. He lay on his stomach, his head covered with blood, motionless.

  "Randy?" She touched his leg. He didn't stir. She watched his torso. It moved with his breathing. Slowly, but he was alive. "Randy. Wake up. It's me. Sarah. Please. Wake up."

  Nothing. Wait. Did his eyelids flutter? "Randy. Can you hear me?"

  A barely audible moan answered her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Someone called his name, demanding he wake up. Not yet. Too tired. Later. Randy tried to slip back into the comforting cocoon of oblivion, but the voice got louder. More insistent.

  "Mmright. Up." The words caught behind his thick tongue.

  "Randy, please. Wake up."

  A gentle touch on his shoulder. Rougher. Harder. He lifted weighted eyelids. A blurred face hovered above him, half obscured by leaves and branches. An angel? "Sarah?"

  "Thank God, Randy. Can you move? Wait, don't try. Something might be broken."

  "Sarah?" He blinked. "Sarah?" No wait, he'd said that. Then again, there were two of her.

  "Don't talk. Let me try to get you free."

  A gasp escaped as pain shot through his head. "Stop. Wait." He took a few shaky breaths. Slowly, memories returned. "Lem. Mon. Ade."

  "You're thirsty? I don't have anything to drink," Sarah said. Her fingers caressed his face. "We'll get you something later."


  "No. Drugged. Kovak."

  "Kovak drugged you? Randy you're not making sense. You've got a nasty bump on your head. I think you hit a tree trunk. There's blood on it and on you. All over you. You've probably got a concussion."

  From the pain in his head, he agreed.

  "Can you move your arms and legs?" Sarah asked. "Do you think anything's broken?"

  He did a check. Fingers wiggled. Wrists moved. Shoulders shrugged. He tightened his abs. No severe pain. He worked his way up from his toes. "Think it's okay," he said.

  "Can you scoot backward?" Her hands wrapped around his thigh and tugged.

  "Shit. Take it easy," he gasped.

  "I'm sorry. You're all tangled up. Your leg is trapped. Let me try to move some of these branches."

  She pulled and twisted. Pain shot through him. "Sarah?"

  "I'm here." Worry lines creased her brow.

  "I'm going to pass out now, okay?"

  "No! Stay with me. Just a little more. You're almost free."

  He clenched his teeth. Concentrated on where his body parts should be. Suddenly, the pressure on his leg eased. Sarah tugged some more and he used his elbows to move away from the vegetation that had imprisoned him. He flopped onto his back, hissing with pain.

  "Lie still. I want to see if you're bleeding anywhere else." Sarah's hands lifted his shirt. He closed his eyes. He could sleep until she finished. If she'd be quiet.

  "I think most of the blood came from your head," she said. "Those kinds of wounds bleed a lot."

  "Blood makes you faint," he said, surprised the thought registered.

  "Don't remind me," she muttered. "But we don't have time for both of us to pass out and you seem to have dibs on that one."

  "I love you, Sarah."

  "And I love you, too. But let's figure out how we're going to get out of here. Are you feeling any better?"

  He had to think about that one. "Yeah." He struggled to sit.

  "Hold it, mister." She pushed him down. "Let me check your legs." She ran her hands along his thighs, over his knees, down his calves. "Does this hurt?"

  Damn, everything hurt. But bearable. Mostly. He shivered. He patted his pockets. Nothing. No wallet, no keys, no phone. His gun? "Ankle," he whispered.

  "What? Does it hurt? Do you think it's broken?"

  "No. Holster. Backup gun. Is it there?"

  "I didn't feel anything." Her hands returned, clenching each of his ankles in turn. "Nothing there."

  He had vague recollections of someone else groping him. Not nearly as gentle as Sarah. His head would clear, he knew. Meanwhile, nothing was being accomplished by him lying on his back. "Help me up," he said, holding out his hand.

  "Are you sure?" That worried look was back. "Can you walk?"

  "One way to find out," he muttered. He gripped Sarah's hand in his and pulled himself to a sitting position. The world spun. He squeezed his eyes shut. Sarah's hand pushed his head to his knees. He counted to ten, then opened his eyes. The merry-go-round had slowed. He sucked in air. "Let's blow this joint."

  Sarah leaned in and wrapped her arms around his chest. "Take it slowly," she said.

  "No problem with that one." He fought his way to his feet, using Sarah for balance, but trying not to let her take his weight. Outweighing her by a hundred pounds, he'd send her straight to the ground if he did.

  "You know where we are?" she asked.

  He shook his head. Whoa. There went the merry-go-round again. Dumb, dumb, dumb. "No. I kind of hoped you did, seeing how you found me."

  "I didn't wake up until a few minutes ago. I remember I was waiting for you. That man—the one who isn't Walter Young—came up and stuck a gun in my neck."

  Randy staggered and not from dizziness. "What? My God, Sarah, did he hurt you?"

  "No, but this lady came up and talked to him then everything went black. That's all I remember until I woke up."

  His own memories came back. He'd been talking to Kovak.

  "I was drugged, too," he said. "The lemonade. Gloria Osgood, the landlady gave me three glasses of the stuff. Slow-acting, I guess. I remember feeling like crap and—" He stumbled as a wave of dizziness and nausea crashed over him.

  "What," she said. "Do you need to sit down? There's a log over there."

  He staggered over and lowered himself to the fallen tree and took in the surroundings in more detail. "Where's my truck?" he said. "How did we get here?"

  "I don't know. I think we were in a car. Maybe the trunk. It seemed like I rolled around a lot." She touched his knee. "You don't look so hot."

  "Good, because I feel like hell." He rubbed his temples. His hands came away sticky with blood. "Let me think. They drove us here." He glanced at his watch, grateful they'd left him that much. "So where's the road?"

  "Wait here," Sarah said. "I'll scout around a little." She darted off.

  He rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his aching head into his palms. Nausea roiled in his gut. Bile rose to his throat. He fought it, knowing how much his head would hurt if he threw up. Seconds later, he had no choice.

  He was aware of Sarah behind him, holding his head. When he finally stopped heaving, he pulled her hand away. He got to his feet and walked a few paces, feeling stronger. Must have had remnants of that vile brew in his stomach and he was the better for having rid himself of it. Even his head didn't throb as badly. He regrouped, then faced Sarah.

  "I think the road must be up there," she said, pointing behind him. "It looks like someone—or two someones—fell from there to here." She gripped his hand. "I can't believe we didn't both end up with broken necks. It's way up there." Rather than move his head, he took her word for it.

  "Fire road," he muttered.

  "How do you know?"

  "When I talked with Rachel the first time, I picked up a bunch of maps of the hiking trails around campus. There are at least half a dozen of them. There was a fire road on the map. I don't think there's any other way a vehicle could get here."

  Her face brightened. "So we should get to a trail and maybe some hikers will find us?"

  She sounded so hopeful he didn't have the heart to tell her he thought the odds were slim. "We should get moving instead of waiting." He stood and looked up the hill. The path of their downward tumble was clear. He shuddered. Sarah had been right about their luck. Much in the way drunks seemed to walk away from accidents, being unconscious had quite likely saved them from serious injury. That was the good news. The bad news was it was going to be next to impossible to climb up.

  "We'll never make it up to the road," she said, echoing his thoughts. "But if we slide down a little farther, there's what looks like a real trail. Probably one of the ones from your map."

  "Let's do it," he said.

  Slide had been the right word choice. The hillside was steep and footing was precarious, so he swallowed his macho pride and traversed much of the distance on his ass. Thankfully, it was less than thirty yards to the trail.

  Sarah brushed her hands off on her jeans. "Which way?"

  "The hiking trails are all above the University, so down is the way we should go." He listened. "You hear that?"

  "What?"

  "Sounds like water. Over there." He pointed in the direction of the sound.

  "That's good, right?"

  He smiled. "Yes. Water flows downstream and according to the maps, there's a stream that runs close to campus."

  "Then what are we waiting for?" She slid her arm around his waist as if to offer support.

  A shot rang out. Fire burned his leg. He dropped, pulling Sarah to the ground beneath him.

  * * * * *

  Sarah squirmed under Randy's weight, trying to get her breath back. "Was that a gunshot?" she whispered.

  "Yes. Stay down," he whispered. "Crawl. Use the vegetation for cover. Get to the stream, follow it to campus."

  "Alone? What are you going to be doing?"

  "I'll slow you down. You can move faster. Bring help." His weight lifted and she crawle
d out from under him.

  She looked down at his hand pressed against his thigh. Blood oozed between his fingers. "They shot you. Oh, God, let me see."

  "It's just a graze," he said. "No big deal." The pain in his face said otherwise.

  "I'm not leaving you."

  "Sarah—"

  "Shut up, Randy. We're in this together." She twisted her head around, searching for someplace to hide. Three large trees stood close together, looking like a fortress wall. "Over there," she said. "Those trees. Will we be safe behind them?"

  He lifted himself onto one elbow. "For a while." A hand patted her bottom. "Go. I'm right behind you."

  "I want to feel your hand on me, mister. No staying behind to play hero."

  The undergrowth made it impossible to crawl on her belly. Crouched as low as she could, zigzagging, she plowed through bushes and around tree trunks, her eyes on the rugged trees she'd set as her goal. Randy's labored breathing and hisses of pain confirmed his presence.

  Panting, she reached her mark and sank down, leaning against one of the rough trunks. Randy followed, dragging his injured leg. He lowered himself to the ground.

  She heard another shot, then three more. She had no idea how close they were, but they were loud.

  "Don't move," Randy said. "They probably … can't … see us."

  "Let me see your leg," she whispered.

  "It's all right," he said. "The bleeding's slowed down. Better to leave it alone."

  She noticed his hand was still bloody, but there didn't seem to be much fresh blood. She'd trust him for now. They waited in silence for several eternal minutes.

  "You think they're going to come down after us?" she asked.

  Randy leaned against the tree next to her, his eyes closed. "Don't know. So far, they've been nothing but stupid, like most crooks." His lips twitched upward. "That's how we catch 'em in the first place."

  His words were labored, but she was relieved to see he was thinking clearly. "And we're catching these guys how?" she asked. "They're up there with guns and we're hiding behind the trees."