The Agent's Secret Past

by Debby Giusti

  Her head pounded in protest, and she closed her eyes to the kaleidoscope of light exploding through her brain. Her stomach rumbled, and a wave of nausea forced her to drop her head and take deep breaths.

  Something sharp jabbed the back of her leg.

  She shifted to see more clearly. A raw edge extended from the bedframe.

  She shimmied closer and twisted her hands until they touched the exposed metal. Would the edge be sharp enough?

  Slowly, deliberately, she rubbed the rope against the roughness. Concentrating, she added force to each thrust. A portion of the thick hemp frayed loose. She groaned and tugged at the restraints, unable to break free.

  She expected to hear Jacob’s voice or the barking dogs.

  Silence.

  Returning to the task, she continued to saw the rope. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  The metal nicked her hand. She grimaced but refused to stop. Every second was precious. She had to keep working to free herself.

  Over and over again, she sliced at the remaining portion of cord. With one last thrust, the rope gave way.

  Gasping with relief, she rubbed her wrists. Her shoulders ached. Leaning forward, she untied her legs and wobbled as she tried to stand. The room shifted. She hesitated and then stumbled to the door.

  Opening it ever so slowly, she peered into the living area of the small cabin. Couch, card table and folding chair. Frayed, braided rug lay in front of the fireplace. Small kitchen area to the left.

  Two doors. One beside the front window, the other next to the kitchen stove.

  Gathering her courage, she lifted up a silent prayer. Please, Lord, keep me safe.

  She hurried across the room and cracked the back door, seeing low hills and the end of a gravel driveway.

  Stepping onto the small stoop, she breathed in the cool, fresh air. Her gaze flicked right, left.

  A thick wooded area sat forty feet behind the cabin. She ran. Her legs ached and her head pounded. She tripped over a mound of dirt and nearly toppled forward.

  Still sluggish from the chloroform, she stumbled again but pushed on. She had to keep moving. Eventually she would come to a road or a house or someone who could help her.

  Ten feet farther and she’d disappear into the thick underbrush. Jacob would never find her there.

  The sound came with the wind and sent terror through her veins.

  “No, please.”

  Her blood chilled.

  She glanced over her shoulder, knowing what was behind her.

  Gaining...

  Closing in...

  She heard them...

  The dogs.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Colby joined Wilson in the CID Headquarters conference room where special agents and staff personnel were studying maps, plugging coordinates into laptops and relaying information to other law enforcement agencies around the state.

  Wilson looked as worried as Colby felt.

  “Don Palmer from the Freemont PD is compiling information on any abandoned cabins, caves, anyplace Yoder might be hiding,” the chief said. “We’ve been doing a similar search with maps and satellite images of the surrounding areas. The Highway Patrol in Georgia and all neighboring states have photos of Yoder and Becca and are on the lookout for a blue Crown Vic. All county sheriff offices and police departments have also been notified.”

  Which still wasn’t enough.

  Colby checked his watch. Time was passing too quickly, and they were no closer to finding Becca.

  Glancing at the maps strewn over the conference table, Colby tried to concentrate on what he knew about Jacob and his past. Amish communities. Rural locales. Isolated farms.

  Something niggled in the back of his mind. What was it? If only he could remember.

  Frustrated, Colby stepped into the hallway and headed to his cubicle. He glanced at the list of Amish communities and police departments still on his desk. A list Becca had compiled.

  Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he groaned. Please, Lord. Lead me to her.

  What had he heard or seen recently about a remote hunting cabin?

  Rifling through the papers on his desk, he stumbled on the photo of Jacob Yoder attached to the printout of the Kentucky widow’s property. Scanning the items from her estate, he felt a surge of euphoria and tapped in the number for the sheriff’s office.

  “I need Stan Oaks,” he said after hastily stating his name and affiliation.

  “He’s not here, sir.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In the hospital. Possible appendectomy.”

  Colby’s stomach tightened and not with sympathy. “He mentioned a widow who died some months ago. Lucy Reynolds. She owned a cabin in Alabama.”

  “I can check on that, sir.”

  Colby shoved the phone closer to his ear.

  He needed to get in his car and drive. He didn’t know where. Staying in the office made him want to scream.

  “Sir,” the deputy came back on the line.

  “Did you find the cabin’s location?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. There’s mention of a place over the state line from Georgia. I checked the map. It’s north of Dothan and west of Eufaula.”

  Colby raced back to the conference room. Wilson looked up when he reached for the Alabama map and spread it over the table.

  “Where’s the cabin in relation to Harmony, Alabama?” Colby asked the deputy, the phone still at his ear.

  “It on a rural route, sir. Looks to be southeast of Harmony by about thirty or forty miles.” He provided the address. Colby wrote it on a scrap of paper and handed it to Wilson.

  The chief plugged the address into the satellite search. A shabby cabin came into view.

  Colby went with his gut and his gut screamed Becca.

  “I need a chopper.”

  “You’ve got it.” Wilson picked up his own phone and contacted the aviation unit on post.

  “They’ll be ready to lift off as soon as you arrive at the airfield.”

  “Call Alabama Highway Patrol,” Colby ordered. “I’ll contact Lewis Stone in Harmony. We’ll rendezvous at the cabin. Whoever gets there first needs to call me.”

  He left without uttering another word. Time was running out. He had to find Becca.

  * * *

  Becca woke and blinked her eyes. Her head throbbed. She moaned, remembering the dogs that had surrounded her and Jacob’s hand crashing against her ear.

  He’d dragged her screaming and kicking to the cabin for another dose of chloroform that sent her into a chilling darkness where she’d confronted killer canines that attacked without mercy.

  Hallucinations from the drug, no doubt, yet the attacks had seemed so real. She shivered at the memory and opened her eyes, needing to ground herself in reality. Four bare walls. Two Dobermans by the door. The chloroform cloth, near the bed, as if Jacob had dropped it on his way out the door.

  “Give yourself up, Yoder.”

  The blare of a bullhorn sounded through the stillness. A similar voice had bellowed in her dreams. The warnings hadn’t been her imagination.

  She wanted to rejoice, but everything could go south fast, especially with a volatile psychopath like Jacob calling the shots.

  Becca moved her legs and arms. She wasn’t bound. Had law enforcement arrived before Jacob could tie her up again?

  Overhead the whomp, whomp, whomp of the rotor blades of a helicopter cut through the air. The roar of the craft grew more intense. Wind blew the trees. Somewhere close by, the chopper touched down.

  The dogs clawed at the door and whined.

  In one swift move, she reached for the dropped rag and jammed it in her pocket. Having to search for a new cloth would cause Jacob aggravation and buy her
time.

  Another volley of pain. She clamped down on her jaw, unwilling to distract the dogs and draw attention to herself.

  The door creaked open. She shut her eyes and inwardly groaned, expecting Jacob to approach the bed. She’d fight him to the death this time. Although weak as she was and still reeling from the effects of the chloroform, the odds would be overwhelmingly in his favor. Even without adding the Dobermans to the mix.

  The door closed.

  She raised her head.

  No dogs.

  She dropped her feet to the ground and stood. The room went black. Lowering her head, she grimaced until the vertigo passed.

  Twilight was falling outside, and long shadows filled the narrow room.

  Hurry, an inner voice warned.

  She stumbled to the window. Small though it was, she unlatched the lock and pushed on the glass that refused to budge. Drawing on her reserves, she tried again with the same result. Breaking the window would alert Jacob. Still, it was an option, and she didn’t have many at this point.

  She glanced around the barren room and reached for the chloroform bottle on the shelf, unsure if it be heavy enough to break the glass.

  “We know you’re holding Special Agent Miller.” The bullhorn again. “Let her go, Yoder.”

  The shuffle of feet.

  The dogs barked just outside the door. Jacob was coming.

  Think. Think.

  She dumped chloroform on the rag and backed against the wall. If only he wouldn’t see her there.

  The door opened. Jacob stepped into the room.

  Becca jumped him from behind and jammed the rag against his nose.

  His elbow jabbed her gut. Air wheezed from her lungs. He grabbed her wrist and turned until he had her in a rear choke hold with her right arm angled up against her spine. Pain radiated across her shoulder.

  The dogs growled.

  She kicked her foot back, hoping to make contact with Jacob’s shin. He sidestepped. His hold around on her neck tightened.

  He forced her forward. “You’re coming with me.”

  She shook her head. “Let me go, Jacob. You can’t escape now.”

  Half pushing, half dragging, he shoved her into the main room.

  She kicked again, then locked her knees.

  Enraged, he increased the tension on her wrist. Tears stung her eye. Sure that he’d rip her arm from its socket, she arched her back and moved forward.

  He pushed her toward the window by the front door and smashed her face against the cool glass. Patrol cars from every agency—local police, county sheriff’s office, state highway patrol—were parked along the dirt road.

  Crushing her with his weight, he raised a gun to her head, cracked the front door and screamed through the opening. “You shoot and Rebecca dies.”

  She tried to fight him, but he was too big and too powerful. She needed help.

  Glancing into the falling darkness, she searched for a face she knew. Someone she had pushed away forty-eight hours earlier because of her own fear. She hadn’t wanted to expose the past, but it had found her just as Jacob had.

  She saw him in the sea of uniforms.

  Colby.

  * * *

  Colby’s heart lurched. He couldn’t take his eyes off Becca’s twisted face shoved against the windowpane. Jacob was a killer and a maniac. At least she was alive, although Colby could only imagine what she’d endured.

  He fisted his hands and swallowed the angry bile that filled his throat. From the beginning, Becca had insisted Jacob was seeking revenge. She’d been right. Now she was paying for law enforcement’s inability to accept what she had told them all along.

  A county deputy had been first on the scene. He’d called Lewis Stone who had driven here from Harmony. Thankfully, the sheriff had contacted Colby, although getting confirmation Jacob had captured Becca felt like a sucker punch to his gut. He’d wanted to double over in pain. Instead he formed a plan, seeing the layout of the cabin in his mind from the satellite imaging.

  Jacob wanted freedom and a safe passage out of the country. Lewis had been negotiating with him over the phone. They’d switched to the bullhorn to let Becca know she wasn’t alone.

  As soon as the military chopper had touched down, Colby assessed the situation and looked for a way to get inside the cabin. The side window was too small, leaving the back door as the best option.

  “I’m going in,” Colby told the Harmony sheriff.

  “Wait until dark.”

  “There’s no time. Jacob’s irrational and escalating.”

  “We’ll go in together,” Lewis insisted.

  Colby held up his hand. “Stay on the bullhorn. He knows your voice. Keep him calm and agree to anything he wants.”

  “He wants a new car and a new life in Canada.”

  “Convince him everything will be forgiven if he doesn’t harm Becca.”

  “That’s what I keep promising him.”

  Would it be enough?

  The sound of an approaching car caused both men to glance over their shoulders. Frank McDougal, the former county sheriff, sat behind the wheel.

  Riding shotgun was a man Colby had met last night—and instantly disliked—when he and Lewis had tried unsuccessfully to convince the judge to sign the exhumation order.

  Tucker Reynolds. Harmony’s mayor was as pompous as he was large and flaunted his wealth along with his ego.

  Colby’s stomach soured. “What’s Tucker doing here?” Lewis shook his head. “Probably another attempt to shove his weight around. Don’t let him throw you. I’ll handle the mayor and McDougal.”

  Colby nodded. “Give me three minutes to get in place.” They both glanced at their watches.

  “Where’s that new car you promised me?” Jacob shouted from inside the house.

  Lewis grabbed Colby’s arm. “You need a vest.”

  Even at this distance, he saw the fear in Becca’s eyes. “There’s no time. Remember three minutes. Keep Jacob occupied.”

  Colby disappeared into the nearby stand of trees and made his way to the side of the cabin. He peered through the small window and saw the empty room. Continuing around the house, he approached the back door.

  “Lord, let it be unlocked.”

  “The car’s on the way.” Lewis’s voice over the bullhorn. “How much cash will you need, Yoder?”

  Colby hesitated. Would Jacob take the bait or realize he was being set up?

  “Five thousand,” he called back.

  Colby nodded. A small, but significant step in the right direction.

  Lewis had been confident he could negotiate Becca’s freedom. Colby wanted a more hands-on approach. He didn’t trust Jacob, and waiting until nightfall would provide an opportunity for him to slip away under the cover of darkness.

  “What denomination of bills?” Lewis again.

  Colby glanced at his watch and counted down the remaining seconds. Three. Two. One.

  Pulling in a deep breath, he turned the doorknob ever so slowly.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Becca had felt a surge of relief when she first saw Colby outside the cabin. Now she couldn’t find him in the crowd of uniformed personnel.

  Hopefully he wasn’t doing something foolish like trying to be a hero. Please, Lord, keep him safe.

  She saw Frank McDougal raise the trunk of his car. Strange for him to be on-site.

  An overweight guy in a coat and tie slouched against the hood of the same car, looking somewhat bored.

  Another blast from the bullhorn. “We’ll stock the car with food and water, Yoder.”

  “You’ll be free, Jacob.” She tried to sound confident and keep the fear from her voice.

  “I do not trust them,” he grumbled.
“They will kill me if I let you go.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I told you before, Rebecca. You will never run from me again.”

  Lewis raised the bullhorn. “Is there anything else you need, Yoder?”

  Jacob lowered his mouth to her ear. His stale breath fanned her cheek. “I need you.”

  She had to let Jacob think he was in control.

  “I’ll go with you willingly.” She softened her voice and relaxed against him. “I was wrong before. Now I see more clearly. You had to endure so much. I ran away. No wonder you were angry with me.”

  He eased his hold on her ever so slightly. “I cannot forgive you, Rebecca.”

  “Of course not. I hurt you just as Katie did, but I can make it up to you.”

  “You are lying. My mother told me I was bad when I ran away, like my father had done. She said no one would love me or want to be with me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Becca glanced behind her, searching for the dogs. Jacob had let down his guard. She needed to act.

  Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, Becca peered into the shadows, knowing instinctively she had seen something.

  She had seen Colby.

  * * *

  Standing in the open doorway, Colby quickly assessed his options. None of them was good with Becca in the line of fire.

  Jacob stood behind her, a .38 special jammed against her head. The only hope was to provide a distraction.

  As if sensing his presence, Becca nodded almost imperceptibly then jammed her heel onto Jacob’s instep.

  He cursed and lifted his injured foot.

  She dropped like a dead weight, forcing him off balance. Twisting out of his grasp, she fell to the floor and rolled.

  Colby raised his gun. Before he could fire, a dog lunged from out of nowhere. Razor-sharp teeth sank into his arm.

  “Aah!” He fought to free himself.

  Another dog grabbed his leg.

  Becca screamed.

  The gun slipped from Colby’s hand.

  Two tear-gas canisters sailed through the front door, landing on the frayed rug.