He’d just clicked his home button to unlock the phone and bring up his texts when it buzzed in his hand. Another smile spread across his face. It was a text from Charlie. The smile didn’t last long as his eyes scanned the incoming message.
In accident. Car fucked. Bring
Bring what? If she could send the text, then she likely wasn’t too badly hurt. She hadn’t made a call to dispatch or even 911, so things couldn’t be too bad. Still, when was the world going to cut her a break? He closed the message and tapped into his contacts, bringing up her number. He’d give her a call and find out what state the car was in. If it wasn’t drivable, perhaps Mason would be up for a quick trip out to pick her up. Charlie might be a little apprehensive about seeing them right now, but even she wouldn’t turn down a free ride back in the engine over waiting up to an hour for the tow truck.
The phone rang, going to her voicemail. Virtual-Charlie giggling in his ear made him smile. She’d set the message a couple of weeks before. They’d been waiting in traffic to get back to the house after dropping a patient off at the hospital. She’d been happy, laughing, and making fun of him. They’d get there again. Things would be good again, except this time they’d be great because of what they’d found with each other. Despite everything they’d been through in the past few weeks, it had brought him and Charlie together.
But first, he had to find her, make sure she was okay, and then bring her back to the house, where he’d wrap her up in his arms and ply her with chocolate. And possibly kisses, depending on how much they could get away with back in the bunk room.
Voicemail. Again. Shane braced his good arm on the armrest of the couch and pushed up, walking down the hall to Mason’s office. “Captain? Have we got time for a run?”
Mason looked up from his paperwork. “What’s up, Shane?”
Shane pulled out his phone. Now, standing in front of his boss, he felt a little stupid. Charlie was fine. She had to be. But then something niggled at him, deep down in his gut. Seth had flown out of the house like a bat out of hell a couple of months prior when he was worried Maya had run into trouble, and Mason had covered for him. He tapped at the screen to bring up Charlie’s message and then held his phone out. “Got that about five minutes ago and now she won’t pick up.”
Mason read the message, his forehead wrinkling. “Shane, I can’t really leave without a call right now, not with Chief in the hospital.”
Shane’s gut twisted again, but Mason was right. He couldn’t drag everyone out on a hunch. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t just go. It would probably mean a reprimand, maybe even a sanction with pay docking, but he was going out there to find her.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” Huh? Mason was encouraging him to leave midshift? His face must have reflected his amazement, because Mason chuckled. “Grab Kyle and take the rig. You’ll hear over the radio if any calls come in.”
Shane didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed his phone and turned around, yelling out a thank you over his shoulder. Mason saluted him. “Let me know immediately once you find her.” That wasn’t even a question. Every single person at 81 would be there for him or Charlie in a heartbeat. They already had. Now she just had to figure that out. First step was finding her, and then bringing her back.
Shane spotted Kyle in the seat on the couch he’d vacated and threw the keys at him. He’d let him drive, while he kept dialing Charlie’s phone. “Let’s roll.”
27
Shane
The frustration Shane felt at every jump to Charlie’s voicemail was slowly turning into fear, churning in his gut. His jaw tensed and sweat dotted the back of his neck as Kyle steered the rig down the last turnoff before the police station. Charlie’s car had been a no-show the entire way. At the station, he jumped out before Kyle had barely pulled to the curb, forcing himself not to race up the steps outside. He still took them two at a time, pushing open the doors of the station. The building held more than just the squad room, and a few heads turned as Shane stepped quickly through the halls, still dressed in his uniform. He walked past the waiting area and then through the main room, ignoring yet more heads turning his way. This time, his uniform was probably the only reason he wasn’t being stopped as he strode across the room, making a beeline for Scott’s desk.
The man in question looked up in surprise at Shane’s approach. “Shane, what are you doing here? I thought I was meeting Charlie alone this morning. Did she change her mind?”
Shane’s feet stopped dead. “What do you mean, you thought you were meeting her? Haven’t you already?”
Scott shook his head. “No. I called her phone, but it was going to voicemail. I was about to call you, actually. Just got out of a meeting with my lieutenant about the case.”
Shane’s gut was no longer churning. Now it felt like it was filled with cement. “Charlie left home with me over an hour ago. She was supposed to drive straight here.”
Scott frowned, pulling out his chair and sitting at his desk. He wiggled the mouse and tapped a few keys, and his screen came to life. A few more and he was logged in and bringing up a program. He waved Shane around to his side, pointing at the screen. “This is the traffic cam footage from down the street for the last three hours.” Scott scrolled back three hours and then set the footage on high speed. Cars whizzed by on the screen. Shane leaned forward, bracing one arm on the desk so he could get a better view. “See anything that looks like Charlie’s car?”
He stared in silence as one hour’s footage scrolled by, followed by another, then the last. Nothing. Scott set it to run again, and Shane leaned closer, squinting. Still nothing. “Run it again.” The third time through, a flash of orange caught his eye. He jabbed a finger at the screen. “What was that?”
Scott pulled the feed back a few seconds and paused it. “Road work.”
“Road work that wasn’t there when we pulled up just now. Maybe she went another route?” Shane looked up to the ceiling, praying to whomever was listening that Charlie just had a flat tire, or her car had overheated.
Yeah, in the middle of winter.
That didn’t explain why she wasn’t answering her phone. She placed it on charge on her bedside table every night. It was such a muscle memory that she wouldn’t have forgotten, even in all the stress and chaos of the last couple of days. They didn’t use their phone usually while on a call, that was a given, but sometimes the only thing that could relieve the boredom when hours went by without a call was an Angry Birds or Candy Crush tournament challenge. There’d also been a call or two in the past where his cell had been invaluable after his radio had cut out. Most of the guys in his squad had gotten used to carrying it around, at least when they weren’t in their full turnout gear. As an EMT only, Charlie never entered an active fire and so always had her cell on her. So why the hell wasn’t she answering?
“Rick, it’s Scott down on Broad. The roadworks out front this morning, any idea where they were redirecting traffic?”
Shane waited, forcing his hand to relax when his fingers gripped the underside of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. Scott’s forehead creased and a frown appeared. Shane gave up, gripping the desk harder. Finally, Scott hung up the phone, looking over at Shane, his eyebrows still furrowed. “Shane. Sit.”
He didn’t. “Where is she?”
Scott huffed out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “We don’t know, but that traffic redirection wasn’t legit. There were no known works planned for anywhere on Broad Street today, period.”
Shane didn’t wait for Scott to catch up. He turned and ran from the room. The guy could keep up, or Shane was going to track her alone.
Scott caught up to him at the swinging door. “Where the hell are you going?”
Shane shot him a glare. “I’m taking the rig back out until I find her.”
Scott put a hand out, grabbing Shane by his elbow. “Just wait a second, okay.” Only the history he and the squad had with Scott made Shane not simply shake his a
rm from Scott’s grip and then punch him across the face. He could wait—for exactly five seconds before he was out of there, with or without Scott. He’d radio Mason on the way . . . no, call him; better to keep this off official channels. He’d call and tell Mason he’d have the rig out for a while longer. Better yet, he’d drop Kyle off at the house, grab his keys, and take his car. It was faster and he could drive the streets all night, if he had to. He’d . . .
Scott waved something in front of his face, and Shane nearly did punch him at the surprise. He snatched whatever it was out of Scott’s hand and held it where he could see it. A cell phone. Scott’s cell, if the wallpaper was anything to go by. Scott reached over and clicked on a small icon for an app Shane didn’t recognize. A map of Monroe popped up and there on the screen, a small red dot pinged on and off.
“There you are,” Scott said. “That’s Charlie’s phone.”
Shane didn’t slow down, collecting Kyle and making it back to the rig just as Scott was pulling his sedan out from the parking lot. Shane took the wheel this time and sat on Scott’s bumper the entire way, until they pulled up in a side road, right next to Charlie’s car. He barely tore the door open before jumping out and running toward it. “Charlie!” No reply. The car was empty. He checked the trunk, but there was nothing there, thank God. He didn’t think he would have survived opening it to discover Charlie’s lifeless eyes looking back up at him.
Shane bent over double at the thought, trying desperately not to lose his stomach contents. He’d be no use to Charlie if his first reaction was to puke all over the road.
“Found her cell,” Scott called out. “It was under the driver’s seat.”
But Shane wasn’t listening. Still bent over double, he got a great view of the road underneath the car. The road where a thin line of blood was drying on the asphalt.
Things moved fast after his discovery. Shane half stood, half leaned against the trunk of Scott’s unmarked car, watching his friend mobilize what looked like an entire army of police and search-and-rescue personnel. Scott stood, arguing with someone he didn’t recognize. The man wore a ballistics vest and jacket identifying him as from the sheriff’s office. Scott’s hands flew up and Shane stepped closer, trying to overhear.
“There’s no evidence anyone has crossed county lines!”
“Wilder, you’ve got a missing woman with a credible threat against her and absolutely no idea where anyone fucking is.”
Scott glared back. “I’m not stepping down, Thompson. This case is personal.” He looked over at Shane and nodded before turning back to the deputy. “I promised her I’d keep her safe and I’m damn well going to do that.”
“Understood,” the deputy said. He looked over at Shane, still in his paramedic uniform, and understanding filled his eyes. “We’ll work this one together.”
The man turned and walked over to a tent that was still being hastily set up. A folding table sat in the middle of a grassy field, covered by a popup white canvas on metal sticks. A map overhung the edges of the table as the county sheriff cordoned off search boundaries and formed teams.
He should really call the guys at the house. They’d want to get in on that. Shane scrubbed his face with a hand and then looked at his watch. It would be nearly nineteen hours before shift was over, but they probably already knew. Kyle had left him there on Shane’s insistence, driving the rig back to the house with instructions to tell Mason that Shane wouldn’t be returning. Personal emergency.
Fuck.
You couldn’t get more of an emergency than one of their own missing. With a fucking lunatic on the loose and hunting her. Suddenly, Shane wasn’t so sure they’d care much that shift wasn’t over. But with their chief still out of action, would anyone at HQ care enough to bring in another squad early? He couldn’t imagine them giving the order to replace an entire unit on the fly.
Radios crackled on the shoulders of uniformed cops as they walked past. More raised voices reached his ear. It was still broad daylight, but the sunlight seemed cold. Lights from a nearby squad car fell on the surroundings, adding to the strange mix. The world seemed to narrow in front of Shane’s eyes. He lost track of Scott, of the sheriff, even of the damn table sitting jaunty in a field.
All he could remember was the last time he’d seen Charlie. The last time he’d felt her touch. The last time he’d kissed her. Her lips were like ghosts on his skin, leaving traces that still lingered, hours after he’d last seen her. When he’d pulled out of the driveway, waved goodbye, and that was it. Her smile. It had been tentative, nervous, even; but it had been Charlie. If that was the last time he ever saw her . . . His world narrowed again.
No. Today couldn’t be the last one they had together. They’d lost so much time. God, he saw her nearly every day and yet it had taken him until now to open his mouth and tell her what he felt. How much he loved her. What if he never got to say it again?
He went back to staring at the table sitting in the field.
The sun was starting to drop in the sky when a hand clapped down on his shoulder. Shane turned. After he’d finally managed to get his shit together and get moving, he’d spent the afternoon alternating between joining Scott’s search team and taking rest breaks by her car. In case Charlie came back, he wanted her to see a familiar face. With every hour that passed, the rock in his gut grew larger. He couldn’t deny it any further. She hadn’t bumped her head and wandered off, confused or otherwise. There had been tracks, but they lost them in the rich undergrowth and fallen leaves when they led deep into the wooded surroundings. Search-and-rescue dogs had traced her scent—or at least what they thought was Charlie—but that too had given way to the forest. The tension surrounding their group had gathered tighter with every failure. They walked slowly over changing terrain, his eyes cataloging every swatch of color that jumped out, every bent twig, as if all he had to do was look long enough and the answer would jump out at him. He was fucking exhausted, and he wasn’t giving up.
Matt spoke after Shane didn’t acknowledge his touch. “You doing all right, Man?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Mason called us out. Shift B’s in place.”
Shane nodded. If his brain was able to process anything other than “Charlie was missing. Find Charlie,” then he was sure he’d be grateful. He’d worry about that tomorrow, when she was safe and sound. “I’m heading out again. Coming?”
The next time they returned to the makeshift headquarters, Jesse was pulling up in a large sedan, flanked by a man wearing a blue windbreaker over a suit. Large yellow letters spelled out FBI on the back. A sudden burst of energy rushed through Shane, and he made it to Jesse’s side almost before he’d cleared the car. “What’s going on?”
Jesse’s face was tight, but the look in his eyes gave Shane the first hope he’d had all day.
“I called in a favor. Shane, I think we found him.”
28
Charlie
Charlie came to sharply. It was weird. She’d always thought that when you came back from unconsciousness that the world would return slowly. Plenty of patients sure took their time coming around, blinking their eyes slowly as they took in their surroundings. Often they were already in the back of the rig, and her face leaning over them was the first thing they saw. Given that the last thing they remembered was climbing a ladder to hang Christmas lights, she could understand their confusion.
Like the confusion she felt now.
The last thing she remembered was being hauled through the forest, dragged by her arm and tripping on tree roots, one ankle already mostly giving up from bearing her weight after she’d twisted it, falling hard. Scranton had sworn then, hauling her upright so hard he’d wrenched her elbow. She’d tried to keep up after that, but everything seemed a few inches off, the world just to the left of where it should be, and her ears rang with a never-ending buzzing sound. If she’d had time to worry about anything more than the serial killer dragging her through the woods, Charlie would have b
een concerned that she’d done more damage to herself. Getting hit again so soon after a concussion was never good. Of course, she wouldn’t have to worry about that if she was dead.
Scranton stood over her, a large knife in his hand. A trickle of warmth slid down her cheek, splashing red on the concrete floor beneath her feet. She stared at the dots, their solid centers flattening out into splattered trails as they hit the ground. She followed one trail as it rolled back toward her foot. Her feet were bare, and for the first time she registered the coldness beneath her skin.
Huh. The trickle down her face must be blood.
Maybe she hadn’t woken up as swiftly as she’d thought.
“Stay with me this time, Charlotte. It wouldn’t do to have you sleep through the entire experience.”
The voice chilled Charlie to her soul. He wasn’t bothering to disguise it now. He wasn’t bothering to disguise anything. That would be a very bad sign, if only her brain was ready to acknowledge it. For now, she stared at him. Maybe if she looked him in the eyes for long enough, she’d stop being afraid.
Because if there was one thing that her mind remembered, it was that she was fucking terrified. It didn’t matter that she was older now, stronger—no longer the scared rookie who had confronted a man hurting a woman alone in a park. She was still alone, but now there was no victim. This was just her and Scranton. Whatever happened, it was going to end tonight. Charlie had no idea whether she would see the dawn again, but either way at least she could stop being afraid.
Line of Fire (Southern Heat Book 5) Page 16
