by Stone, Mary
Cold Highway
Ellie Kline Series: Book Four
Mary Stone
Donna Berdel
Copyright © 2020 by Mary Stone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Mary Stone
To my husband.
Thank you for taking care of our home and its many inhabitants while I follow this silly dream of mine.
Donna Berdel
First, a big thank you to Mary Stone for taking a chance on me by collaborating on this story. I’m honored and indebted!And, of course, to my husband. Thank you for being you. You’re my rock.
Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Ellie Kline Series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Description
Sometimes the prey eats the predator...
The only way to take his power from women is to kill. Lucky’s playground is America’s cold highways, and in twenty years he’s never been caught. Only perfected his skills, leaving countless victims in his dust.
Dr. Kingsley, the man who kidnapped Detective Ellie Kline when she was fifteen, is in the wind. But if he’s incapacitated and on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, has someone taken his place?
Partnered with Special Agent Clay Lockwood to crack open a case as horrifying as the human trafficking ring Ellie and the Charleston PD broke open, all signs point to a new master, or mistress, of a terror that went under with the master.
But Ellie is determined more than ever to bring this ring of terror down, and she’s now got Special Agent Clay Lockwood at her side. When someone very close to Ellie is taken, the hunt turns personal once again.
A hair-raising hunt for a predator turns deadly in Cold Highway. The fourth book of the Ellie Kline Series will make you reconsider traveling on an interstate ever again.
1
Twelve years ago…
Charity Parker’s fork scraped against the ceramic plate as she chased the last bite of her omelet, the metal making a screeching sound that was painful to her ears.
She didn’t care.
She didn’t have time or energy to care. She was weary to her very soul.
Even though her stomach was so full it was almost painful, she savored the last morsel as it hit her tongue, closing her eyes as she chewed. The omelet, which had taken up the entire plate, was the most she’d eaten in days.
She sent up a mental thank you to the owner of the diner, who’d allowed her to work a few hours for food in her belly and a bit of cash in her pocket. It wasn’t much, but she was grateful for however long it lasted.
Nothing ever lasted.
Raising her face to the cool breeze blowing from the vent in the ceiling directly above the table, she sighed at the brief reprieve from the California desert heat. The diner’s air-conditioning ran full blast day and night to chase off the sweltering air that flowed through the open doors with every trucker that visited the Ocotillo Truck Stop Diner. Compared to the oppressive heat that stuck around even long after the sun had gone down, the dining room was almost chilly.
Satisfied, and feeling more confident now that she wasn’t destitute, Charity slid the plate to the edge of the table a moment before her waitress rushed by. Without missing a beat, Margie picked up the empty plate, adding it to the stack she carried as she headed toward the kitchen. Charity gave her a shy smile, but Margie was focused on her next task. It was late, but there was always plenty to do in a twenty-four-hour diner.
Leaning back on the padded booth seat, she mentally commanded her muscles to relax, though the reddish-brown pleather of the seat wasn’t that comfortable. But Charity was used to making the most of a harsh environment.
She turned to gaze out the window at the silent stillness of the night. Despite two pairs of streetlamps in the parking lot, the world beyond was so dark that Charity couldn’t make out the highway, even though it was less than a football field away. Just east of California’s Coyote Mountains, this section of Interstate 8 featured hairpin turns, steep downgrades, and narrow lanes ripe with drivers who had no regard for the lives of those they shared the road with.
The runaway truck ramps every two miles were a sure sign of the danger of the stretch of interstate known as the Kumeyaay Highway. The diner’s sign, advertising its convenience store and showers, was a welcome sight, and it was no surprise that the lone business stayed busy.
In the parking lot, bats dipped and darted in the yellow glow, snapping up moths and any other insect that was drawn in. Outside the reach of the light, three semis idled with their parking lights on as drivers slept in their bunks. Her father used to jokingly call a semi bunk a “sissy rig,” but Charity knew better. Having a place to sleep for a long haul trucker was as important as having fuel. Exhaustion could take hold of a driver, and on some of these desolate highways, there wasn’t a hotel for miles.
Charity frowned at the memory of her father and the quirky little things he used to say out of the blue at dinner. What had they been talking about when he’d brought up the sleeping cabs? Why had he even mentioned it?
She didn’t realize she was scowling into her coffee until a hand landed on her shoulder. “Can I get you a refill?”
Charity blinked at the waitress standing by her table, steaming pot of coffee in hand and a smile on her face. Glancing down at the half full mug she held in her slender hands, she shook her head. “I’m done, Margie. Thanks.”
Margie nodded, setting the pot down before slipping into the booth across from Charity. “The boss said you can work a couple more days if you like, maybe earn enough to get a room for the night and take a rest?” She kept her voice low, having taken a liking to Charity and somehow sensing her circumstances. “The customers liked you, and you wash dishes better than anyone we’ve ever hired. If you’re sticking around for a while, he’ll keep it cash only.”
Biting her lip, Charity lowered her head, thinking about the dream she’d been having lately of herself in college, an apartment of her own. Making something of herself. A daughter for her parents to be proud of.
Like that would ever happen. But maybe…just maybe she could try.
Pushing the fantasy away, she gave her head a shake, tossing her black curls over bare shoulders. “I can’t stay.”
Margie’s face sagged with disappointment. “That’s what I told him, but Virgil insisted I ask. He’s always trying to help out a girl in need.”
“Thanks.” She doubted that, but Margie had been too kind to her for Charity to argue. She wrapped her fing
ers around the plain white coffee mug, relishing the warmth seeping into her skin before lifting the cup to her lips.
Margie frowned and popped out her bottom lip, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.
Charity waited for the woman to press the issue, but after a long silence, Margie simply nodded and stood. “Take care of yourself, honey.”
After Margie left Charity alone at the table, she closed her eyes as she often did, wanting to block out the view. She normally only used the technique when she was “working,” as the other girls called it. Her customers had a far more vulgar term for it. But that act was where she had learned to take herself away to any place she wanted to be.
This time when she closed her eyes, she wasn’t that reluctant to whip up some place else in her imagination. She liked the diner. The place was welcoming and offered travelers—and her—a quiet place to calm frayed nerves and enjoy a home-cooked meal. Then they were on their way, headed for Arizona and beyond, through empty deserts dotted with majestic Saguaro cacti and windswept dunes.
Unlike those who stopped in for a quick meal, she didn’t know where she was going next. Charity had enjoyed her freedom when she’d left home at sixteen, gloried in it at first, but now she was tired and missed home, of all things.
Her eyes wandered back to the window as she turned inward, remembering the way she’d shouted at her dad the last time she’d seen him. She’d wanted a car, was tired of riding the school bus, and all her friends had their licenses and freedom. Her dad had made her wait past the state-mandated time span to get her driver’s license, saying she would be a safer driver, and she’d been stuck with a permit and a parent in the car at all times.
Memories had been weighing her down recently. The teenage angst that had driven her to run away at sixteen was starting to fade now that she was nineteen. Almost nineteen, she amended, checking the large clock hanging above the door. Only one more hour until midnight. Then it would officially be her nineteenth birthday.
It’s already tomorrow in South Carolina.
The thought came out of nowhere, a punch to the gut when she was already struggling with so much guilt. Would her mother still bake her a cake, even though she’d been gone for three years?
Did they miss her as much as she missed them?
Vision blurry with sudden tears, she stood abruptly, bumping the coffee cup hard enough that what was left of the warm brew sloshed against the sides, dripping over the edge. Charity caught the brown liquid with a napkin before it could hit the table. She might be in a hurry, but she wasn’t going to leave an extra mess for Margie to clean up.
After lifting a goodbye hand to the waitress, she headed toward the door. Before she got there, she spotted a rack with a bunch of postcards along with some writing paper and envelopes.
Before she could stop herself, she grabbed what she needed and paid at the desk, asking for a single stamp from the clerk, who charged her fifty cents. A total rip off, but she had no room to argue at this time of night.
After scrawling out a message, she addressed the envelope and sealed it tight before adding the stamp. A wall of dry heat hit her in the face as the automatic doors slid apart to let her pass on her way to the parking lot. She kissed the envelope before sliding it into the mailbox, then turned around in a circle, trying to search out a place to sleep for the night. She tightened her jaw, her stomach tying up in knots as wave after wave of happy memories assaulted her.
Her mother, a freshly washed halo of dark hair surrounding her round face as she woke Charity, piling a stack of presents at the foot of the bed.
The homemade strawberry cake with whipped icing waiting on the kitchen table, the same kind every year, because strawberry was Charity’s favorite.
Her father’s deep, off-key voice singing “Happy Birthday” over her sister and mom. Tweaking her on the nose on her first try at blowing the candles out, claiming he was stealing her wish.
Her little sister, Hope, her four years younger twin, rushing forward at the last minute to help blow out the candles.
The sound of her own sob startled Charity. She hadn’t expected for her feelings to sneak up on her. It had been almost three years since she’d left home with big dreams and no regret. Why was she crying now? Hurrying down the sidewalk, she tried to force her breathing to slow as she swiped at the wave of hot tears flowing down her cheeks.
Her phone was heavy in her back pocket, but it was prepaid and out of minutes, and she didn’t have enough money to reload them. Her gaze flicked to the idling semis. She probably could before morning. But she wasn’t in the mood and just wanted to be alone.
Frowning, she stopped and closed her eyes, trying to push the images of her family out of her mind.
But they wouldn’t go. Now that the memory of her mother’s from-scratch strawberry cake was fresh on her mind, there was a sweetness on the wind that teased her nostrils and set her mouth to watering. Sugared strawberries, buttermilk fried chicken, and gravy made from the drippings poured over rice. A wistful smile spread over her lips. She hated potatoes, so her mother had always made her rice when they had fried chicken and gravy. One of the many things Faith Parker had done for Charity without a second thought.
Her mother had been the epitome of the virtues her father had made a habit to tease them about when he called out their names. She could hear him now. “Faith! Hope! Charity! All three, my greatest virtues.”
Except she wasn’t a virtue. She hadn’t had a charitable bone in her body at the age of sixteen. She’d been so selfish, only able to see what she wanted. What she didn’t have. And never what she’d been given.
Charity’s hands went to her mouth to silence the wail that rose from deep inside her chest. Why had she taken her family for granted? For this.
She looked down at her frayed jeans and black tank top, smudges of desert on her arms. Look at me. Dirty and desperate. How had she fallen this far? Hooking for rides and meals. Working under the table at truck stop diners until the wind blew her to another town.
Trembling despite the desert heat, her gaze darted over the parking lot, cataloguing each feature, each a sign of how far she’d fallen from an honor roll student sure to snag a free ride to college.
Her foot stuck to the sidewalk. She pulled up her worn tennis shoe, discarded gum stretching from the concrete. She sniffed as she scraped her foot on the edge of the curb, her nose filling with the rotten smell of the dumpster filled with food that baked under the sun each day.
For comfort, Charity sang low to herself, her own rendition of the birthday song. Starting over and humming it this time, another hum joined in. The constant, low buzz of diesel engines as tired truckers recharged in air-conditioned bunks just big enough for two.
Tears dripping from her face as she took it all in, she spun in a circle as she gave into hysterics. A harsh sob ripping out of her own throat sobered her, and a glint of light off metal caught her eye. A pay phone.
She blinked away the tears as she rushed forward. Grabbing the black receiver, her mouth dropped open when the dial tone sounded in her ear. A working pay phone? She couldn’t believe it.
Who would need a pay phone in the twenty-first century?
Certain it must be a fluke, she flicked the button that cut the connection, but when she lifted her finger, the sound buzzed on—a new hum. Constant. Steady. A sign that there was still hope.
It was the sign she’d been needing to do exactly what she wanted to do.
She hugged the receiver to her chest as she dug in her pocket and pulled out a handful of quarters. They’d been left as a tip by an older couple, and at the time, Charity had smiled to hide her annoyance as she scraped each coin across the table and into her cupped palm. But now, she had exactly what she needed, a pocket full of coins and a phone to call home.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the old folks she’d also taken for granted.
Her fingers shook as she dialed the familiar number that had remained the same since she’d memorized i
t at the tender age of three. Scratch that, she amended. The area code had changed when Charity was ten. But even as cell phones had become more prevalent, her parents still kept the cordless phone in the kitchen. “Just in case,” her mother always said.
Now, as she held her breath waiting for the first ring, she hoped they hadn’t gotten rid of the phone. It was so late for them. Maybe they were all asleep and wouldn’t hear it from the bedroom.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
Charity’s heart sunk lower with each ring. Maybe she’d been wrong to get her hopes up.
Fourth ri—
A rustling sound as someone lifted the phone from its cradle.
Every emotion in the world gripped her like a fist and every muscle went taut, words flying from her mouth before the person on the other end could say a word. “Please don’t hang up. It’s me.”
“Charity?” Her mother only spoke that one word, three syllables filled with so much hope and fear, but it was laced with every emotion in between.
“Mom.” Charity’s voice broke, a sob bursting past her lips. “Mom, is that you?”
“Oh my god, Charity, honey. Are you okay?” Faith Parker broke down for a moment, openly crying into the phone. “I can’t believe you finally called.”
“Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s picking your sister up from a slumber party that was getting a bit too rowdy. He just left the house. Oh, Charity, he’s going to be so happy to know you’re all right.” Her mother paused, her breath hitching with sobs. “You are all right, aren’t you?”
