Stolen

by James Hunt

  Mark rubbed his hands together slowly, staring at the carpet. “They said they’ll have to wait and see what the forensics tell them about the validity of my story. But I told the truth, so…” He shrugged and clapped his hands together.

  Jake nodded and then looked over to Lena. He examined the cuts and bruises along his sister’s face. The last time he’d seen her look so haggard was when she found out that she was pregnant with Gwen. She came to him the night she found out, and she was so frightened. Of course it would be another five years before she was clean, but in that moment she had said she wanted to make a change, make a difference. “Have you made your decision on the announcement?”

  “I don’t know, Jake. After what I saw Carla Knox do...” Lena kept her voice low, soft, as if her statement were more of a question. “There isn’t any guarantee that it’ll work.”

  “I still have my guy in Bismarck,” Jake said, his attention on Longwood, who was now speaking with two other deputies, all three of them eying Jake’s office. “We get the warrant from the judge—”

  “And when is that going to happen?” Lena dropped her arms to her sides and ran her hands through her hair, pushing it out of her face. “We’re running out of time.”

  Jake nodded, and he dug his fingers harder into the armrests of his chair as Longwood and the two deputies marched toward the door of his office. Just before they reached it Jackie burst inside, stepping in Longwood’s path.

  “Sheriff, something happened with Nick’s transportation unit back to Bismarck.” Jackie clutched her hand over a note and Jake reached for it, but it was Lena who grabbed it first.

  “He never made it to Bismarck.” Lena handed the note to Jake, and then collapsed back into her chair. “Neither did the police officer.”

  Longwood moved Jackie aside, and the two deputies he brought with him flanked him at the door. “Sheriff, I need you to step out of the office and come with us.” Longwood remained rigid, the tone no longer from that of a subordinate, but of an officer arresting a criminal. “Now.”

  “Jackie,” Jake said, “issue an APB for Nick Donoghue.”

  “Sheriff, please step out of the office,” Longwood said.

  “Jake, what’s going on?” Lena took a step forward, but Jake held up his hand.

  “You need to ask me something, Deputy?” Jake eyed all three of them, the men he’d appointed, the men he’d trained, the men who just an hour ago had followed his orders without question. Jake felt his muscles tense as the deputy reached into his jacket and pulled out an evidence bag.

  “Forensics finally analyzed the fibers they found on Reese Coleman’s body. They were fabric from a sheriff’s uniform. Same brand we use.”

  Lena grabbed Jake’s arm and stepped between them. “Circumstantial. There could be dozens of—”

  “And your rifle matches the same caliber that was used in the murder of Reese Coleman.”

  “No,” Lena said. “That doesn’t prove that he killed him.”

  “We also have video footage of your truck stopped on the outskirts of where Reese Coleman’s body was dragged onto New Energy property.”

  “It’s all right, Lena.” Jake stood up and removed his firearm and badge. “After they book me I’ll talk to you. I’m going to need a good lawyer.”

  Longwood pulled Jake’s arms behind his back and clamped the cuffs around his wrists, tightening the steel into his flesh. “Jake Cooley, you are under arrest for the murder of Reese Coleman.”

  Scott Ambers kept one hand on the wheel and the other out the window of the truck. His head swayed left and right on his shoulders as he navigated the off-road terrain. The headlights only allowed him to see a few hundred feet in front of him at a time. The rest was darkness.

  Barrels clanked together in the truck bed in time with Scott’s swaying, and when he passed the first marker, which was nothing more than an orange reflector sticking less than six inches out of the ground, he eased up on the gas.

  The truck squealed to a stop a few feet from the ledge of the pit, and Scott turned the truck around, backing the tailgate to the pit’s edge. He cut the engine, leaving the lights on. He reached over the passenger seat, where his elbow scraped the tops of two lunch-size paper bags, and removed his gloves from the compartment. He wiggled his fingers until the fit was snug and then swung his legs out of the truck.

  Scott lowered the tailgate and rolled the first barrel toward the edge. Liquid sloshed inside, but the thick plastic barrels concealed their contents from view. Scott gripped the barrel from each end and heaved it off the truck bed, into the abyss below. A series of thuds echoed back from the darkness as the barrel settled amongst its peers at the bottom. He repeated the process until the truck bed was empty.

  Sweaty and out of breath, he removed one glove and sat in the driver’s seat once more. He reached for one of the brown bags and removed a sandwich. Lettuce, tomato, and turkey protruded from between the slices of bread, and four large bites later it was gone. Scott started the truck’s engine and turned a slow, hard left away from the pit. He traveled north for a little while longer, still nothing on the horizon but the vastness of the wilderness and night sky. Twenty minutes later, and the headlights of the truck found a small shack, isolated and weathered.

  The wood that made up the structure was decrepit, most of the planks old and rotting. He pulled within a few yards of the shack’s front door, which was shut, and reached for the phone in the cup holder. He scrolled through the contacts with his ungloved hand and landed on a local area code number. He clicked it and waited for the ringing to stop. “Drop’s done.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Tying up the loose ends now.” Scott looked to the second brown bag in the passenger seat.

  “This isn’t something we need getting out. It can never be traced back to us.”

  “It won’t.” Scott ended the call and placed the phone back in the cup holder. He reached for the brown bag and peeked inside. Another sandwich and a bottle of water protruded from the opening. He closed it back up and shut off the truck, again keeping the lights on.

  He slammed the truck door shut hard and set the bagged lunch on the truck’s roof while he put his other glove back on. He reached into the truck bed, and the sound of metal clanged together. When he removed his arm he gripped a hammer. He cracked his neck hard right, then left, his muscles popping like bubble wrap.

  Scott snatched the brown lunch bag off the truck’s roof, and he walked toward the shack’s closed door. The closer he walked, the louder the moans grew. They sounded scared. They sounded tired. And Scott knew his captive’s time was running out.

  23

  23 Hours Left

  The blindfold darkened whatever hell waited for her on the other side, though it sharpened the rest of her senses. She tensed against the restraints around her wrists and ankles with every brush of wind or creak from the old wood of the shed. The immobility had caused her joints to grow stiff, but still she wiggled in defiance, though the few inches of space she gained were nothing more than a taunt of hope. She was stuck, and she would remain there until her captor said otherwise.

  The first few hours had been nothing but screaming, and she’d only stopped when her voice had grown hoarse and wispy. Now she could do little more than moan through the gag stuffed in her mouth then sealed over with duct tape. The cloth fabric had dried and sucked up what little moisture her mouth produced. Every swallow felt like sandpaper running down her throat.

  All sense of time had been lost. It was sunny and hot when she’d been taken, but the air had grown cooler, chilling the sweat that had soaked her shirt throughout the day. She rested her head back against the wall and felt her hair catch on tiny bits of wood, some of the splinters poking her scalp. She would have lain down, but the restraints were positioned to keep her upright, which only worsened the desire for sleep.

  A car engine rumbled. Her heart rate spiked. She tilted her ears toward the noise then winced at the high-pitched squeal
of the brakes. A car door slammed shut. She shuddered. Adrenaline flooded back into her system. Her breaths quickened. Frantically, she squirmed against the ropes, doing everything she could to shimmy out of the restraints, but no matter how hard she pulled they wouldn’t budge.

  The steady cough of the engine was suddenly silenced, and she heard the scrape of metal against metal, followed by heavy thuds. She lowered her head to her knees, which were tucked tightly into her chest. Door hinges creaked. Someone was inside now. She felt him.

  A hand grabbed the back of her head, and she tried to squirm away from his grip, but the fingers along her neck were thick and strong. One quick yank, and the darkness of the blindfold was replaced with blinding light.

  Kelly Coleman squinted and turned her face away from the brightness, the sudden flash of light just as paralyzing as the restraints. A hand gripped her chin and forced her face forward. Slowly, she opened her left eye. A silhouette of a man appeared. In his right hand she saw the outline of a hammer.

  “I’m going to ask you some questions,” Scott Ambers said. “And you’re going to tell me the truth.” He gently placed the face of the hammer under Kelly’s chin and lifted her head. “If you don’t, I’m going to hurt you.”

  Kelly nodded. Scott knelt into the dirt, and his body blocked the headlights of the car. He reached his hand to her cheek and removed the gag. The cloth peeled off her tongue, leaving behind bits of fabric.

  “What did Reese tell you about what we were doing here?” Scott asked.

  “N-Nothing.” Kelly rotated her jaw. It popped along the joint. “I s-swear.”

  Scott placed the face of the hammer on Kelly’s right kneecap. The metal felt cold against her skin. He applied the slightest pressure, and a twinge ran up her thigh. “Did he speak to anyone about what he was doing for the company?”

  “I-I don’t know.” Kelly sniffled. “He never mentioned anything to me about it.” She stared at the heavy tool on her knee. She scrunched her face up. “Please, just let me go.”

  Scott removed the hammer. He pinched the end of the wooden handle with his fingertips, and it drifted back and forth like a pendulum, where it swung lazily in front of her legs. He studied her face then stepped aside, allowing the headlights to blind her once more. “You know we paid your husband a lot of money to keep quiet.” He arched an eyebrow. “Though I’m sure you already knew about that.” He reached out and rubbed a lock of her hair. “Pretty thing like you, I bet you never wanted to stay in this dump of a town. You wanted out, and Reese told you he was your golden ticket.”

  Kelly remained silent, her eyes focused on the swinging hammer inching dangerously close to her knees. She tried to pull them back farther but couldn’t. “He told me he was saving up money.” She wanted out of the wretched state more than anything else.

  The pendulum stopped, and Scott choked up on the hammer. He thumped the heavy end into his palm a few times and cocked his head to the side. “Your husband loved you. He loved you more than his own goddamn life.” He smiled. “And you loved the sheriff.”

  Scott walked two fingers from the top of her knee down the side of her thigh. His touch was like the tingle of spiders crawling on her, and she felt the goose pimples form underneath her jeans. Another shiver ran up Kelly’s spine, and she burst out in tears. She shook her head and flexed her muscles against the restraints. “I didn’t tell him anything!”

  “No pillow talk?” The words left Scott’s mouth softly, and he leaned closer, his lips nearly touching her forehead, where she felt his breath tickle her skin.

  Kelly turned her head away from his mouth. “I never said anything to Jake. Ever.”

  Scott turned her face back to his and she got her first good look at him: The steely gaze. The stubble sprouting from his bald head. Acne scars dotted his cheeks, and a few lines zigzagged along his chin and jaw where it looked like he’d been cut. Overall, he had a lumpy look, as if he’d been punched in the face too many times. But she guessed that whoever had hit him had regretted it.

  Scott took a step back. The tension in her muscles relaxed. He paced back and forth across the glow of the headlights. Shadows shifted with each step. He patted the hammer into his palm, then turned away. “It’s unfortunate for you.”

  “You don’t have to do this!” The words dripped with desperation. The heavy burden of reality pressed harder into Kelly’s chest. She leaned forward, the restraints choking her hands and feet that were now numb, blue, and swollen.

  Scott slowly turned. His face was darkened by the harsh contrast of light behind him. Kelly squinted, her vision blurred with tears, but she could have sworn that she could see him smiling. “Out of all of the men you could have cheated on your husband with, you chose the one man that could get you killed. But I suppose women always like danger, don’t they?”

  When Scott knelt the second time, he shoved his nose into the side of her hair and took a deep breath. Kelly twisted her face away, feeling the oil of his skin on hers.

  “Is that what you’ve always liked? Danger?” Scott asked.

  “Please,” Kelly said, defeated. “Let me go.”

  Scott stood and paced around the shed, his shadow crawling over the floor, the walls, and her body. “Like I said before, your husband was paid substantially, but his employers needed insurance in case your man got greedy. Which he did.” He stopped and then turned to her. “I’m that insurance.” He shuffled forward one step. “Did you know that I’m the one that killed your husband?” He raised an eyebrow. “We were on the job, performing some of our less desirable work, and once we were done I told him to run.” He laughed. “He didn’t understand until I pulled out the rifle.” He shook his head, letting out a low whistle. “I’d never seen anyone run so fast.”

  “I didn’t know what Reese was doing, and I didn’t tell the sheriff anything. I’m not a threat.” Her lips quivered between words. “Let me go, and I will leave. I won’t cause any trouble. You can even tell your bosses they can have their money back!”

  Scott shook his head and wagged his finger. “See? That was the same mistake your husband made. He thought the money protected him. He thought that it meant he was in their little circle of trust. But you know what?” The playful face dropped, and the leather of his gloves groaned as he tightened his grip on the hammer. “They don’t care about the money. They care about power. They care about influence. They care about staying out of jail. And you’re a threat to their freedom.”

  A single tear finally formed in the corner of her left eye and rolled down her cheek. Knowledge only got her in trouble, and she didn’t want any part of it. Not about her husband, what he did, about Jake, or whatever this man thought she knew.

  “I’ve killed a lot of people.” Scott nodded his head slowly. “And I can tell you that most everyone begs for their life. They’ll say whatever they need to in order to take a few more breaths. I’d like to say that your husband didn’t slobber all over himself, but he did. However”—he raised a finger in the air—“do you know what he told me? What his last words were?”

  “Please, stop.” More tears squeezed from her eyes. She wasn’t sure if they were from fear or guilt. Probably both.

  Scott had knelt once again, forcing his face into her line of sight. “He wanted to make sure that no one hurt you.” Scott’s words fell to the ground the moment they left his lips. They were dead. Just like her. “Even after everything he knew about your affair, his last wish was that you would live.” He stroked a lock of her hair then stood and shrugged. “But that was something I never agreed to.”

  Scott raised the hammer, and Kelly screamed, finding her voice in her final seconds. Bone cracked against metal, and the scream muffled to a whimper. After that, the only noise was metal smacking against meat.

  24

  14 Hours Left

  The coffee in the Styrofoam cup was cold. The plastic seats in the waiting room of the sheriff’s station were stiff and uncomfortable. Lena rubbed the dark circles under her e
yes as a few deputies walked past. They cast quick glances at her, but once they saw her staring back they looked away. It’d been like that all night. Despite the whispers and glares it was still better than tossing, turning, and waiting at home.

  Every few minutes she’d look down at her hand to see it tremble. She wanted to blame the coffee or the lack of sleep, but she knew it wasn’t that. It was the rumble of a freight train speeding toward her. And it was gaining speed.

  With each blare of the train’s horn Lena saw flashes of Carla Knox. Her deranged and hysterical face laughing as she pressed the end of her pistol to the side of Emily Foreman’s head, any reason impotent to break through the wall of insanity that she’d built around herself. The woman was willing to do the unthinkable, and caught up in the middle was that little girl. Except now, Emily Foreman was home. But Kaley wasn’t.

  “Lena?” Deputy Longwood stepped around the corner. His head nearly touched the ceiling. “You can come back now.”

  Lena’s knees popped when she stood. She lifted her legs and stretched, tossing the old coffee in the trash. It wasn’t waking her up anyway. On her walk she saw Jake in the cell, his head sunk low between his knees. He was alone.

  The cell across from Jake, however, was still teeming with the oil workers who had been arrested on the charges of attacking her house. It was Longwood’s decision to keep them separate. More for their safety than Jake’s, probably.

  “Have a seat,” Longwood said, shutting the door behind him.

  “I’ve been sitting all night.” Lena feigned the enthusiasm of energy, but she wasn’t sure she pulled it off. “So?” She’d crossed all of the t’s and dotted all of the I’s. But in the end, her brother’s release wasn’t up to her.

  Longwood folded his long, slender hands on top of one another and leaned forward on her brother’s desk. “The judge granted Jake’s bail request.”