Many women went missing outside Mystic Glades. She escaped.

When he took the job, Zack Scott heard about the horrors waiting in the swamp. So when Kaylee Brighton dashed into the road like the devil was on her tail, the new police chief gave her a safe place to recover. Imprisoned for months, Kaylee could lead Zack to her captor. Though Zack swore to protect her, only Kaylee knew the darkness that awaited them if she returned. She couldn’t begin to understand what drove Zack, but she knew the importance of having him by her side. Because it wasn’t enough for Kaylee to have escaped. Now it was time to take back her life.

Kaylee’s frightened sobs had awakened him.

He’d grabbed his gun from beneath his pillow and bolted upright in one smooth motion, sweeping his gun back and forth, seeking out whatever had scared her. Then she’d thrashed and moaned again, and he’d realized there weren’t any bad guys hiding in the shadows of their hotel room. The bad guys were hiding in the shadowed recesses of her mind.

His heart had clenched in his chest at how terrified and pale she looked as the nightmare gripped her. So he’d put his gun away and leaned over, ready to shake her awake. But the moment he’d whispered her name and then placed his hand on her shoulder, she’d stilled, then rolled over to face him with a smile on her face, fast asleep.

He’d pulled his hand back and studied her beautiful face, watching her expression to make sure the nightmare was really gone.

Hostage Negotiation

Lena Diaz

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A former Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award finalist, she has won a prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in mystery and suspense. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com.

Cast of Characters

Zack Scott—The new chief of police in Mystic Glades, Florida. When a killer sets his sights on a beautiful stranger, Zack’s first Mystic Glades case may become his last.

Kaylee Brighton—All this young woman wanted was a relaxing vacation. Instead, she was abducted and had to fight for her life. Now she’s back, forcing past her fears to help Chief Scott find another missing woman. But the killer has other plans—for Kaylee.

Cole Larson—Collier County Sheriff’s Office deputy, Cole is assisting Zack in setting up the new Mystic Glades Police Department.

Mary Watkins—She disappeared in the Everglades and has never been seen again. Was she the victim of the Ghost of Mystic Glades? Or have the Glades become home to a very real killer?

Sandy Gonzalez—Runs Aventuras Travel Agency based out of Miami. She planned and arranged the vacation package for Kaylee. But then Kaylee was abducted. Does Sandy blame Kaylee for the negative impact to her agency?

Rick Carlson—A rookie deputy with the Collier County Sheriff’s Office. This is Rick’s second career, and he’s one of the first to volunteer to help with the search. Is that because he truly wants to help? Or is there another, more sinister, reason for him wanting to be involved?

Jasper Carraway—This Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission officer is abducted by the same man who abducted Kaylee. Will he escape? Or will he become the killer’s next victim?

Thank you Allison Lyons and Nalini Akolekar.

This book is dedicated to some awesome family members who cheer me on and keep me going—Denise, Estelle, George, Jaime, Jennifer, Isabelle, Laura, Letha, Lisa, Mavis Marie, Michelle and Sean. I love you all.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Cast of Characters

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The campfire crackled and cast eerie light and shadows on its young audience, their faces rapt with attention, eyes big and round as the storyteller wove his tale. Sitting on the opposite side of the fire a few feet away from the children, Mystic Glades Chief of Police Zack Scott and his friend, Collier County Detective Cole Larson, waited for the story to be over so they could escort their young charges back into town.

Just fifty yards away, beneath an alligator-shaped sign on an archway, was the entrance to the eccentric, quirky town of Mystic Glades. Hidden deep in the Florida Everglades, several miles from the section of I-75 known as Alligator Alley, the town was home to a couple hundred residents. Downtown consisted of one long dirt and gravel street with wooden clapboard one- and two-story businesses lining both sides. And in front of the buildings was a wide, wooden boardwalk.

The whole setup screamed “Spaghetti Western,” an image that was enhanced by the fact that many residents wore firearms either holstered in plain sight or hidden in their pockets—a dangerous tradition that Zack was determined to change. But so far he wasn’t getting much traction, the argument being that the residents needed their guns because the snakes and alligators outnumbered them a hundred to one.

They had a point.

Everything that made Mystic Glades a difficult town, both to live in and police, made it “charming” and “interesting” to tourists. A recently created airboat tour company brought them up through the canals every morning and back home again at night, except for the few who stayed at the equally new bed-and-breakfast.

The town wasn’t on any map and was difficult to reach by car. The only reason that Zack knew about it was because his friend Cole had recruited him to become Mystic Glades’s first-ever official law-enforcement officer.

But as Zack sat on the rotten log, watching a mosquito buzz in front of his face—the same mosquito he’d been trying to swat away for the past two minutes—he was trying to remember why he’d thought that leaving his job a few months ago as a police officer in Murray, Kentucky, to come here had seemed like a good idea.

Smack! Got the bloodthirsty little sucker. He flicked the squashed mosquito off his arm then realized the clearing had gone silent. He jerked his head up. A dozen young faces stared at him, the storyteller’s spell broken. And on the other side of the campfire, gray-haired self-appointed town elder, Buddy Johnson, the man in charge of tonight’s entertainment and the owner of the airboat company, narrowed his eyes with disapproval.

Cole gave Zack a shove. “You’re in trouble now,” he whispered. “Gandalf the Grey is not amused.”

Zack shoved him back. “I think I can handle the wrath of a man old enough to be my grandfather.”

“Don’t underestimate him. It might be the last mistake you ever make.” Cole waggled his eyebrows then laughed.

Zack shoved him so hard that Cole fell off the log they were sitting on. Zack smirked at his friend’s aggravated look. Cole was probably dying to let loose with a string of curses but couldn’t with the kids within hearing distance.

“Sorry, Buddy,” Zack called out as he offered a hand to help Cole up. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your story.”

Buddy shook his head as if he thought Zack was daft. “It’s not some made-up story. It’s the truth.” He waved his hands at the trees and soggy marsh of the Everglades surrounding them. “People disappear in these woods and are never heard from again. Mark my words. The Ghost of Mystic Glades is real.” He dramatically looked at each of the children until they were all focused on him once again. “And if you don’t mind your parents, and do your homework and your chores, he’ll come after you one day.”

Cole let out a deep sigh. Zack groaned. They both rose to their feet.

Zack could already see the kind of day he’d have tomorrow—an endless parade of concerned parents berating him for giving their kids nightmares. “I think we’ve had enough for one night. Thank you, Buddy, for...entertaining my future deputies.”

Cole snickered beside him. Zack would make him pay for that later.

“Let’s put out this fire and get back to town,” Zack said.

A collective grumble went up from the children.

“But I want to hear more about the Ghost of Mystic Glades,” one of the older girls in the group complained.

“Me, too,” the boy beside her called out, even though the wide-eyed look on his face said he’d rather go without dessert for a week than hear one more scary thing from Buddy Johnson. Zack figured the kid must have a major crush on the girl who’d spoken or he’d never have pretended his agreement.

Buddy waved his hands again, like a wizard casting spells—or an old man who should have known better than to terrify middle schoolers. “About five months ago, the Ghost of Mystic Glades kidnapped a woman named Sue Ellen Fullerton. She was never heard from again. Three months ago another young woman disappeared after going for a walk down a nature trail in the Everglades just a hop-skip down Alligator Alley from here. Her name was Kaylee Brighton. She just...vanished, without a trace. No one has ever heard from her again either.” He waved his arms with a flourish and the kids made “ooooh” noises.

Cole started laughing.

“Enough,” Zack called out to Buddy then frowned at his friend. “Help me get them back to town before Buddy tells them the Loch Ness monster is lurking in the swamp. If we don’t nip this disaster right now, I just may set the world record for shortest career ever as chief of police.”

“Nah.” Cole motioned for the children to come over to them for the short trek back into town. “Your job is safe. No one else wants it.”

Zack sighed. Cole was teasing, but the words he’d said were true. It had taken several disasters, and a brand-new influx of tourists over the past few years to finally convince the hermit-like but growing town to admit they needed their own police force, instead of relying on Collier County or Broward County Police to step in when things went south. With Mystic Glades set so far back from the interstate, response times from both counties could range from twenty minutes to an hour depending on how far away any available deputies might be.

Even though they’d hired Zack to do the job, he met with opposition and resentment every day from the majority of the residents. Many preferred their previous lawless existence. The rest of them seemed to consider him a necessary evil and a hindrance. And they went out of their way to remind him that even though his presence was a necessity, that didn’t mean they were happy that he was there. They’d expressed their discontent by supergluing the front door shut on the brand-new police station.

And by switching the hot and cold water taps in the station’s only bathroom.

And, the prank that had garnered the most laughter and amusement, at his expense—sneaking a black panther into his bedroom while he slept—after taking his weapons out of the room to protect the panther. Never mind protecting him. He’d later found out that the panther—affectionately named Sampson—had no teeth and was the semitame pet of the woman who owned The Moon and Star just down the street from the station. But no one had bothered to tell him that the panther was harmless. He still flushed with embarrassment when he remembered how fast he’d broken out the bedroom window and hauled butt down the street to escape—key word being butt, as in butt naked.

“Who plays caboose this time?” Cole asked.

Buddy was already leading their little troop in a single file line back to town, with the girl who’d been interested in hearing more of his stories at the head of the line beside him. From the animated look on the girl’s face, Zack could only imagine what kinds of tales Buddy was sharing with her now.

“I’ll get the fire. You can be the caboose,” Zack said.

“Having you do all the work is fine by me.”

Cole waved and hurriedly took his place at the end of the line to make sure that no one ventured off the path. Zack imagined the real reason Cole was so happy to shepherd the kids back to town was because it meant he could go home to his new bride that much sooner. He and Silver owned and lived in Mystic Glades’s only B and B.

Zack grabbed the bucket and shovel that he kept stored near the clearing for dousing the weekly campfires. He scooped up some swamp water and poured it on the fire then stirred the embers with the shovel, repeating the process until everything was cool to the touch. By the time he was satisfied that the fire was dead and out, with no potential to flare up later and endanger anyone, the line of children had long ago passed beneath the archway into town.

He stowed the bucket and shovel by an old oak tree for the next story time, optimistically assuming that there would be a next time after tonight’s scary-story fiasco. Winning over the children was part of his plan to win over their parents and was one of the reasons that he’d started story times and hiking and camping activities with the kids. The sooner he could get the residents to support his role as chief, the sooner he could sleep without one eye open, dreading their next prank.

Of course, if he didn’t fill the two open deputy positions, there was no chance of running a viable police force and gaining the respect of the citizens. Hopefully, at least one of the candidates that Cole had helped him line up to interview tomorrow in Naples could be convinced to move to Mystic Glades to take up a position. All of the previous candidates had bolted after reaching the part of the interview where Zack gave them the lowdown on life in his town. He was starting to think he should just lie and trick someone into moving here. After all, that was basically what Cole had done to him.

Cole’s wife’s inn had only recently been rebuilt after a drug runner, using Mystic Glades as his personal home base, had burned it to the ground. The drug runner had been dealt with—thanks largely to Cole—and the town was a safe place to live once again.

But since Cole worked quite a distance away in Naples, he wanted to make sure the town, and the woman he loved, always had someone nearby to maintain order. So he’d ruthlessly used the town’s gratitude toward him to pressure them into putting up the funds to create the Mystic Glades Police Station and everything that entailed. In return, they’d made him promise to bring in someone worthy of the job as chief who could then bring in the staff that he needed to get the job done. That’s why Cole had contacted Zack.

They’d met three years ago at a law-enforcement seminar in Nashville and had become fast friends. Cole knew that Zack was a career officer, hungry for advancement. So he’d dangled the carrot of becoming chief of police, of starting his own department from the ground up, betting that Zack would bite. Which he did, resigning his position and moving to Mystic Glades without even having visited the area first.

He should have been furious with Cole for tricking him, for painting the town to be a tropical paradise with a supportive township that would welcome his presence. Nothing could be further from the truth. But he knew how deeply Cole cared for Silver. His love for her had been clear over the phone, and painfully obvious once Zack had seen the two of them together. That was when Zack’s anger at his friend’s trickery had dissipated. Because Zack knew what it was like to love a woman that way. He’d found his soul mate right out of college. But before they could begin to plan their life together, she’d discovered she had breast cancer.

Four months later she was gone.

Zack closed his eyes, his body going rigid as pain washed through him. It had been five years since he’d lost Jo Lynne, and still the memories hit him when he least expected, making it hard to breathe. Coming here, leaving behind all of the places that constantly reminded him of her, had been even more of an incentive than becoming chief of police. But he was finding that age-old saying to be true—you can’t run from your past.

Especially if you carry the scars around inside you.

A high-pitched shriek shattered the night. Zack’s eyes flew open, his hand going to the pistol holstered on his hip as he studied the trees and bushes, turning a full three-sixty, trying to figure out where the sound had originated. Everything was quiet and still. Even the crickets. But not for long. They started up again, their rhythmic chirps punctuated by the occasional deep-throated croak of a bullfrog. But that shriek, the sound that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, didn’t repeat. And the acoustics in this swampy, tree-filled part of the Glades made it impossible to pinpoint the direction where the sound had come from.

What had he heard? Could it have been a scream? As far as he knew, no one else was out here. The town was isolated, nothing around it for miles. And the residents knew better than to roam the swamp at night. There were far too many four-legged critters scavenging for food to make that safe. So what could have made that screech?

A swishing noise had him jerking his head up to see a large brown owl overhead, flapping its wings and gliding into the clearing. It landed on a cypress stump about ten feet away, blinking its dark, round eyes and watching him with lazy curiosity. The tension drained out of him and he let out a shaky laugh. An owl. He’d nearly drawn his gun on a bird. He shook his head and dropped his hand from the butt of his pistol. If his brothers back in Murray, Kentucky, could see him now, they’d laugh their fool heads off.

Having grown up painfully poor in the eastern part of the state, there’d been no video games or cable TV to keep him and his three brothers out of trouble. So they’d chased away boredom by playing cops and robbers in the thick woods and hills, or hide-and-seek in the twelve-foot-high rows of cornstalks on their daddy’s farm.

As they’d grown older, they’d learned to track and hunt, doing their part to thin out the herds of deer that would otherwise suffer and die of starvation or disease—or destroy the crops Zack’s family depended on to keep their bellies full and a roof over their heads. So he was quite familiar with the kinds of wild animals that roamed that part of the country, from the tracks they left to the sounds they made. But two months in southern Florida was hardly enough for him to get used to the wildlife around here. He’d just have to assume that the screech he’d heard had been made by the owl that was still blinking at him, as if wondering if he’d make a good next meal.

Maybe he’d Google owls later and figure out what kind this one was. But he’d have to wait until tomorrow morning’s planned trip into Naples. He certainly couldn’t search the internet here. Mystic Glades was notorious for interfering with the signals of electronic equipment, and he’d long ago given up trying to surf the net on his laptop. Even the GPS in his pickup truck rarely worked out here. Which was another reason that prospective deputies weren’t keen on moving to the Glades.

Living life without internet was inconceivable to many, downright prehistoric to others. He was still in withdrawal himself. Snapping a picture of some crazy thing he’d come across in the swamp and texting it to his buddies back home or his family was so second nature that he still found himself pulling out his phone several times a week to do just that.

Until he remembered he was living in the land that time forgot.

He started down the path again, but he kept a close eye on his surroundings. While residents of this backwater town, including the children, understood the dangers and took them in stride, this was all new to him. He was still learning how to acclimate himself to the hostile environment so he didn’t become a gator snack or experience the painful, possibly poisonous bite of a snake. Cottonmouths and rattlers weren’t uncommon out here.

But it wasn’t reptiles or the slithering inhabitants of the Everglades that had him studying everything with a keener eye than usual.

Buddy’s outlandish stories about monsters and people disappearing in the swamp had obviously gotten to him just as it had the children. Because even though he knew that mournful, terrified-sounding screech had to have come from the owl, he couldn’t help a niggling doubt that kept running through his mind.

What if I’m wrong?

Chapter Two

Tears streamed from her burning eyes. Blinking furiously, she stumbled to a halt and braced herself against a tree, her stiff fingers curling against the rough bark. Her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps as she raised a hand to block out the bright morning sunlight streaking down through the canopy of tree branches overhead.

How many times had she prayed for sunlight, to feel its warmth on her skin? To breathe in air that was fresh and clean, not musty and heavy with her own stink? She’d whispered that prayer hundreds of times. But not today. Today the light was a curse, a harsh, blinding torch to eyes used to utter darkness; an enemy in her desperate bid for freedom.

Swiping at the tears, she took off again, leaping over a branch in her path. Then she put on a fresh burst of speed, grimacing each time her bare feet hit a rock or sharp twig. A knobby cypress root seemed to jump up from out of nowhere, tripping her. She landed hard on all fours.

A burst of fiery pain shot through her knees and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and she pounded her fist on the ground in frustration. Pain lanced through her body, from the stinging cuts on her feet to the throbbing in her head that never seemed to go away.

You’re wasting time. Hurry! You have to be miles away before he realizes you’re gone.

She staggered to her feet, risking a quick look over her shoulder.

What if he’d already discovered that she’d escaped? What if he was tracking her, right now?

He won’t find me. I’ll be okay. He’ll give up the search.

A bitter laugh welled up inside her. No. He would never give up. He would keep looking, searching, hunting. He was fast. And cunning. And more terrifying than any nightmare she’d ever had.

A thud sounded behind her.

No! It can’t be him.

But what if it is?

She surged forward on wobbly legs, pouring what little strength she had left into trying to run. Tired. She was so tired. And hungry. And thirsty. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and surrender to exhaustion.

Don’t give up! He nearly killed you when you ran the first time. If he catches you again, he will kill you, but only after he punishes you.

A sob rose in her throat at the thought of enduring another one of his “punishments.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Footsteps! Oh, God. No. Please. She stumbled, caught herself against a tree. Fell. Pushed herself up. Started running again.

She couldn’t deny the truth any longer. He was following her. She knew it even without seeing him, by the way her joints tightened with fear, the way her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought they’d crack. The very air around her seemed charged with menace, a black, choking fog of evil.

More thumps. Faster. He was running. He must have found her tracks. He was so close. A whimper escaped between her clenched teeth.

I don’t want to die. Twenty-three years isn’t enough. I want a family, babies. How can I die when I haven’t even lived?

Another sound interrupted the quiet of the Glades. A low rumble. Wait. Was that a car? Leaves crackled and twigs snapped somewhere up ahead, as if they were being crunched beneath tires. Yes! Someone was driving a car through the woods. Had she finally found civilization? Was there a road through this horrible, cursed, endless swamp? Hurry, hurry. She couldn’t let them pass her by. This might be her only chance.

She ran full out. She didn’t even try to be quiet anymore.

Neither did he.

A roar of rage erupted behind her. She whimpered again and hated herself for it.

Don’t look. Don’t turn around.

The car was coming up fast. Would she make it? This time she couldn’t stop herself from looking over her shoulder, to see how close he was. A choked sob escaped her. She saw the leather mask he wore through a break in the trees, the gaping hole over his mouth.

He smiled.

She choked on a sob of terror. A horn blared. She whirled around. The grill of a dark vehicle filled her line of vision. She screamed as it slammed into her, tossing her through the air. The boggy ground rushed up to meet her. Excruciating pain slammed through the side of her head, her hip, as she flopped end over end to land on her stomach in a tangle of arms and legs. She lay unmoving, her cheek pressed against the ground, her gaze fastened on the bushes and trees fifteen feet away.

A door slammed. Running footsteps came toward her from the direction of the vehicle. And at the edge of the tree line, directly across from her, he stopped. Watching her. His feral smile vicious and deadly, promising retribution.

She let out a small cry.

“Miss. Can you hear me?” A man’s deep voice, thick with concern as he knelt beside her, his back turned to evil incarnate.

The devil slowly drew a large, serrated knife from the holder strapped to his thigh.

She sucked in a breath and tried to warn the stranger. But she couldn’t make her lips form any words. Blood bubbled up in her throat, choking her. Can’t breathe. Can’t. Breathe.

The stranger kneeling beside her, ever so carefully, tilted her head. Her airway cleared. She coughed and tried again to warn him.

Run! She tried to tell him. He’ll kill you! She tried to raise her hand, to wave toward the devil. But she didn’t seem to have control over her body anymore. Everything was going numb. And cold, so cold.

Satan took a step toward the stranger, knife raised.

“My name is Zack Scott.” Her would-be rescuer leaned down into her field of vision, his handsome face lined with worry. He scooted a bunched-up cloth of some kind beneath her head. “I’m the chief of police of Mystic Glades. Just hold on. I’ve got you.”

The devil paused.

“Turn around.” She forced the words past her bruised lips, but they came out a gurgle.

“Don’t try to talk. Lie as still as you can. Don’t move.”

A rumbling noise echoed through the trees. Another car? Brakes squealed. A door slammed. Footsteps pounded.

The devil jerked back beside a tree, a shadow amongst shadows.

“What the...?” Another man’s voice. Dirt sliding as he dropped to his knees beside Zack. “What happened? Who is she?”

“She ran out in front of my truck. Try your phone, Cole. We might be far enough from Mystic Glades to have cell service.”

Turn around, Zack. Look behind you, Cole. Her fingers curled helplessly into the dirt as she stared at Satan. Why couldn’t she make herself form the words to warn them? Her throat was so tight. Everything hurt.

Zack’s warm fingers pressed against her neck. “Her pulse is weak.” He glanced toward Cole then nodded and looked at her again. “The call went through. Help is on the way. You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Just, please, hold on.”

The devil’s eyes flashed.

She whimpered and surrendered to the darkness.

Chapter Three

Zack paced the hospital waiting room.

“Will you stop already?” Cole shifted in his chair. “You’re making everyone around us dizzy. And you’re making me want to slug you. Sit down.”

Zack was surprised to realize that most of the dozen or so people scattered around the large waiting room were indeed watching him. He rubbed the back of his neck and made himself sit beside Cole. But keeping still proved impossible. Nervous energy had his foot tapping up and down as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the tops of his thighs.

After a few minutes of sitting, he jumped to his feet again.

Cole let out a low curse.

“The ambulance brought our Jane Doe here over two hours ago,” Zack complained. “Someone should have told us something by now. What if she’s...what if she’s dead? What if she’s alive but paralyzed? I tilted her head when she was lying on the road, shoved one of my socks under her neck to keep her face angled up. What if she had a spinal cord injury and I made it worse?”

“Is that why you’re acting like a caged tiger? You blame yourself?”

“Well, of course I blame myself. I ran her over with my truck. Who else should I blame?”

“Her. She ran out in front of you. And you didn’t run her over. You tapped her with the bumper.”

“Tapped?” Zack gave his friend an incredulous look. “She went somersaulting through the air like a rag doll and...” He fisted his hands, trying to block out the memory of her body flipping end over end, landing in a crumpled heap. That she’d still been breathing when he’d reached her was a miracle. But then, when blood had bubbled from her mouth, he’d... “I shouldn’t have moved her head.”

“She was choking on her own blood according to what you told the EMTs when they arrived. The reason you propped her head up was so she could breathe. Or am I wrong about that?”

“No. But I—”

“But nothing. You did what you had to do to save her life. So jump off the guilt-trip train already. Instead, ask yourself what she was even doing there in the first place. You saw her clothes—dirty, torn, not just from the accident either, is my guess. And she wasn’t even wearing shoes.”

“Yeah, I know. Her hair was matted, really matted. And her skin was grimy, as if she’d been out there a long time. There’s something really wrong here. But I can’t even begin to focus on starting an investigation until I know whether she’s going to be okay.”

And, God, please, with no life-altering deficits caused by him.

“Since you’re still setting up the police department in Mystic Glades, my boss has already sent men out to the swamp to start checking things out. And he’s fine with me staying here as long as needed, until we get some answers. And an update on our Jane Doe.”

Zack nodded his thanks.

On the other side of the waiting room there was a short hallway that led into the bowels of the emergency room. Doctors and nurses kept going in and out of the door at the end, but so far none of them had spoken to either him or Cole.

“Why hasn’t anyone come out to talk to us?”

Instead of answering, Cole crossed his arms, obviously giving up on trying to talk Zack out of worrying.

The door to the ER opened again. And just like dozens of times before, a nurse stepped out. But this one didn’t hurry away. Instead, she stopped at the information desk and spoke to the volunteer sitting there. Zack watched them intently. The volunteer checked her clipboard then pointed toward Zack and Cole. Finally.

As the nurse hurried toward them, Cole rose to stand shoulder to shoulder with Zack.

“Just remember—” Cole kept his voice low “—no matter what she tells us, none of this is your fault.”

Maybe. Maybe not. But nothing could change the fact that it was his truck that had slammed into the young woman who was fighting for her life right now, assuming that she was even still alive. If he’d killed her...no, he wouldn’t go there, couldn’t go there. Having something like that on his conscience was a burden he didn’t think he could bear. She had to make it.

“Chief Scott, Detective Larson?” She looked from one to the other, her brows arched in question.

“I’m Chief Scott,” Zack clarified. “And this is Detective Larson.”

“Ma’am.” Cole nodded.

“I’m Miss Murphy, one of the ER nurses. Doctor Varley is attending to your Jane Doe and wanted me to give you an update.”

“Then she’s...she isn’t...” Zack stopped, not wanting to voice his fears out loud, afraid he’d jinx the outcome.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “She’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking. And she’s doing very well, all things considered.”

He let out a ragged breath. Then her words sank in. “All things considered? What does that mean? Is she paralyzed? Is she—”

“No, no, goodness, no. She’s not paralyzed. Her prognosis is very good, actually. I take it from your response that you’re the one who hit her?”

He winced. “Yes, ma’am.”

She patted his forearm. “Rest assured. A slight concussion, bruises and a minor tear in the soft tissues of her throat are all that you can take credit for. Most everything else is inconsistent with being hit by a car.”

Zack exchanged a confused look with Cole. “Everything else?”

It was her turn to look confused. “Well, yes. The burns, the dehydration, cuts, abrasions.”

“Burns?” they asked at the same time.

“Dehydration?” Zack added.

Her brows drew down. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Zack asked. “Did she burn herself in a campfire then go looking for help and got lost? Is that why she was dehydrated?”

She looked around then stepped closer as if to make sure that no one else could hear her. “Your Jane Doe has extensive bruising all over her body. Judging by their coloration, many of the bruises are days, or even weeks, old. She’s malnourished, and chunks of her hair look as if they’ve been pulled out by the roots. The burns that I mentioned? No campfire would cause the circular patterns on her abdomen and back. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re cigarette burns.”

From the expression on his friend’s face, Cole was just as shocked as Zack was. And just as angry.

“Like I said, the concussion and esophageal tear,” she continued, without giving either of them a chance to ask her any questions, “can be attributed to being hit by a vehicle. But the other injuries don’t appear to be from an accident.” She cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable.

Other injuries. Did she mean more than what she’d already mentioned?

“Miss Murphy,” Zack said, “you called her Jane Doe. Didn’t she tell you her name?”

She shook her head. “No. She hasn’t spoken. She was unconscious when she arrived and woke up inside the CT scanner, confused and combative. We had to sedate her for her own safety. The doctor should be finished stitching her up soon. Then we’ll admit her, take her upstairs to a private room, where she can sleep off the effects of the sedative. I’d say that you can ask her questions then, but as exhausted and frail as she is, she’ll probably sleep for hours. Maybe even until late tomorrow.”

The idea of waiting that long to question the woman certainly wasn’t welcome. But right now Zack was more concerned with discovering the details that the nurse seemed to be holding back.

“The other injuries that you mentioned, can you be more specific?”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip in indecision.

“Ma’am,” Cole spoke up. “We’re both law-enforcement officers, and that young woman is currently our responsibility. If we’re going to find the person who hurt her, we need to know exactly what happened.”

She leaned in toward them. “The bruising I mentioned...there were dark, chafed circles on her wrists and ankles. Doctor Varley believes she was restrained, for an extended period of time.”

Zack grew very still. “Someone tied her up?”

“We think so, yes. And the X-rays showed some hairline fractures in her forearms, basically healed now, but still recent. I’m sure you’re aware that breaks like that are characteristic of someone raising their arms to—”

“Defend themselves,” Zack finished for her.

She nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my patient.” She took off across the room before either of them could stop her and disappeared through a swinging door marked Authorized Personnel Only.

“What’s going on?” Zack kept his voice low, aware that many eyes were watching them. “She was, what, someone’s prisoner? Long enough for fractures to heal?”

“Maybe the Ghost of Mystic Glades isn’t a myth, after all,” Cole said. At Zack’s aggravated look, he held up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know. But, inappropriate or not, you were thinking it, too.”

He was right. Zack had been thinking that, and remembering what else Buddy Johnson had said at last night’s ill-fated campfire story hour. Buddy had said that two women had gone missing in the swamp. What were their names? Sue Ellen something, and Kaylee Brighton? Was it possible that Jane Doe was one of those women?

Where before Zack had assumed that Buddy had made up his claims to add flavor to his story, now he wasn’t sure. He’d have to check the sheriff’s records in Naples to see if any missing persons reports had been filed.

Obviously, no ghost had done those terrible things to the woman they’d found. But Zack didn’t want to believe that someone was abducting women and using the Glades to hide their crimes.

Cole’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, frowning at the screen. “Give me a minute.” He stepped away to take the call, covering his other ear to drown out the sounds of the busy hospital around them.

Zack curled his fingers into fists at his sides. The young woman, their Jane Doe, whom he guessed to be in her mid-twenties, had possibly been abducted and held prisoner. She’d been hurt, abused and yet, she’d been running through the woods just a few miles from Mystic Glades. Why? Was her abductor playing games, letting his victim run while he hunted her like prey? Or had she managed to escape when she’d stumbled out onto the road?

It seemed hard to believe that she could have been out in the swamp for very long, at least not that close to the town where he lived, without being discovered. Yes, the area was sparsely populated. But residents and even the occasional Everglades tourist were known for hiking and canoeing through the beautiful woods and canals nearby, at least when the sun was out and they could keep a careful eye out for dangerous animals and reptiles. Surely, someone would have heard her cry for help if she’d been out there long enough to become malnourished and dehydrated. Or had her abductor kept her gagged the whole time so she couldn’t scream?

Scream. Oh, God, no. His mouth went dry. He’d heard a shriek last night when he’d been putting out the campfire. And he’d convinced himself it was the owl that had flown into the clearing. Had he actually heard Jane Doe, crying for help, and he’d turned his back on her, leaving her at the mercy of a brutal attacker? The possibility had bile rising in his throat.

Cole frowned as he ended the call and stepped back to him. “You okay? You look a bit green around the gills.”

No, he was not okay.

“What was the call about?” he forced past his tight throat. “Obviously not good because you look green, too.”

Cole nodded, not denying it. “Those pictures I took in the back of the ambulance did their job. My boss, Lieutenant Drew Shlafer, said the sheriff in Broward County recognized our girl. They’re on the way to show the pictures to her family for confirmation, in Miami.” His eyes flashed with anger. “Want to guess how long ago her family reported her missing?”

Zack swallowed the cold, hard knot in his throat, remembering what Buddy had said last night about the Ghost of Mystic Glades and the two women who’d gone missing. “Five months or three months?”

“Three.”

Zack swore and vowed to take anything that Buddy Johnson said in the future far more seriously. He probably should interview Buddy to see what else the old man knew.

“Kaylee Brighton?” Zack asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Bingo.”

Zack straightened his shoulders, as if he could brace himself against the terrible burden that now rested squarely in his jurisdiction. “All right. Let’s do this by the book and catch this sicko before he hurts anyone else. The Mystic Glades Police Department is officially requesting assistance from the Collier County Sheriff’s Office. There won’t be any turf wars over this. I’m a one-man operation right now and I need help.”

Cole pulled his phone out again. “You got it. I’ll talk to Lieutenant Shlafer. I’m sure he’ll authorize whatever you need. Maybe we can get some canine trackers out there, too. Figure out where Kaylee was being held and find the lowlife who took her.”

“Thanks. I’ll touch base with some of my FBI contacts, see if they’ve got any other missing-persons reports or homicides where the women were abducted and tortured in remote outdoor areas for an extended period of time. But first, I have to talk to Doctor Varley.”

“Why?” Cole asked, holding one of his hands over his phone.

As the nurse had done earlier, Zack glanced around the waiting room to make sure that no one was close enough to hear him before he answered. “This has changed from an accident to a felony kidnapping and possible sexual-assault investigation. I want to see whether the doctor can wake up Kaylee and obtain consent to perform a forensic exam. We need to collect any DNA from under her nails, swab and bag her clothes.” His jaw tightened. “We need a rape kit.”

Chapter Four

Mumbling voices. Whispered conversations. Antiseptic smell. Above her, a muffled, static-filled announcement over an intercom—code blue to room three twenty-eight. Hospital. She was in a hospital. She curled her hands in the sheets and opened her eyes then blinked against the bright, fluorescent lights. Footsteps sounded to her right and the harsh lights switched off, leaving the room dimly lit. Relieved, she blinked and took her first good look around.

And immediately wished she hadn’t.

Her room, though large by most hospital standards, was positively claustrophobic since there were five men and a woman crammed inside, all wearing business suits and standing by her bed. Dark pieces of memories swirled through her mind, of being caught, trapped. She recoiled against her pillow and pulled the sheet up to her neck, fighting the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her.

“Back up,” a deep voice ordered from her right. “You’re scaring her.”

Unhappy grumblings filled the room, but “the suits” dutifully stepped away from the bed. She turned her head on her pillow to see who’d spoken, a seventh person, a man whom she hadn’t noticed before. Which, now that she saw him, seemed ludicrous. He wasn’t the kind of man to fade into the background. There was a certain...intensity about him, an aura of confidence, authority, that commanded attention.

He wasn’t unusually tall, standing at about six feet. He had short, light brown hair and dark eyes—hard to tell the exact color from this distance. Trim-waisted, he wore a long-sleeved, button-down blue shirt tucked into khaki pants with a sharp crease that could have sliced butter. His arms were crossed, emphasizing his large biceps and muscular chest. He was obviously fit, powerful, strong—qualities that she should have admired. But for some reason, seeing him made her tense and flooded her with an overwhelming desire to run, escape.

She frowned. Escape? What an odd thought to pop into her head.

“Do you know where you are?”

His voice was gentle, soothing, oddly familiar. The panic that had started inside her at seeing how strong, how powerful he was, began to fade. She’d heard that voice before, somewhere. And it made her feel...safe. She frowned again. Why would she crave safety? Was she in danger? None of this made sense.

The man with the intense, dark eyes didn’t approach her bed. Instead, he stayed by the window, as if he sensed her hesitancy, her confusion, her...fear?

“Hospital,” she answered his question. “I’m in a hospital. Not sure which one.”

“Naples Community. I’m Chief Zack Scott from Mystic Glades. We...met...earlier. Do you remember?”

He’d winced when he said they’d met. Why? Wait. Naples? Why was she in Naples? That wasn’t right. She should have been...where? She tried to think, to remember...anything...but her thoughts were a jumble of blurred images that didn’t make sense.

This man, the one in khaki pants...he’d been kneeling over her. When? Why? His face had been lined with concern, his voice gentle as he smoothed her hair out of her eyes.

“Do you know your name?” he asked quietly, from his position by the window.

“Of course I know my name. It’s...it’s...” She blinked, her breaths coming faster, her pulse slamming in her veins. Why couldn’t she remember? Her head throbbed. Her body flushed hot and cold. She raised her hand to her forehead and saw the IV tubing twisted around her arm, tape on the top of her wrist. Ugly purple bruises and lighter yellow ones dotted both of her arms. White bandages were...everywhere. What was going on? She jerked her head up and met the kind eyes of...what did he say his name was? Zack? “I don’t... I can’t...” She pressed her lips together and shook her head in frustration. “I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “The doctor said that might happen, because of your concussion, and that any memory loss is most likely temporary. You were in an accident, but you’re going to be...fine.”

His jaw tightened briefly, as if his choice of words disturbed him. But then he smiled again. “No broken bones. Mostly cuts, scrapes, bruises.” He waved his hand toward the others. “Everyone in this room is law enforcement. We’re here to talk to you about what happened. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She let his soothing voice wrap around her like a warm blanket, forcing back the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. He’d said she’d been in an accident and that she had a concussion, which made sense since her head was throbbing. It would all come back to her. With this many law-enforcement officers in her room, whatever had happened must have been horrible.

She froze. Wait. Six, no, seven officials standing in her room. Would they do that for an accident victim? Or had the accident been her fault? Oh, God. Had she killed someone? Her gaze flew to Zack’s. “You said I was in an accident. What happened?” she asked. “Did I...did I hurt someone?”

“No, no, of course not. You didn’t hurt anyone.” He took a step toward her.

She tensed, pushing back against her pillow.

He immediately stopped and shot a glance at a dark-haired man in a gray suit standing on the left side of her bed. “Maybe we should get her doctor, Cole. We’re upsetting her. This is too much, too fast. She’s not ready.”

Another man, at the foot of her bed, braced his hands on the metal railing. “We can’t wait, Chief Scott. For all we know, the man who abducted her is after another woman right now. Or he could be holding the other missing woman. We need answers.”

“Abducted?” The word rasped past her dry lips. “I was abducted? You said there was an accident. I don’t understand.”

The kind man, Zack, narrowed his eyes at the one who’d just spoken before looking at her. “You don’t remember what happened? The woods? The marsh?”

She shook her head. Wait. No. No, no, no. She squeezed her eyes shut. The devil’s face swam in her vision, wide slits in the mask revealing dark, dead eyes. Except when he was hurting her. Then those eyes shined with an unholy light. She remembered something sharp, no, something hot, burning her back. Chains, ropes, her arms tied above her head. A box. Dark. Musty. The choking feel of him pressing her down, down. Oh, God. She covered her face with her hands.

“You’re safe,” that deep, soothing voice whispered again, closer now. Not the devil’s voice. Zack’s voice.

The man who’d saved her.

“No one can hurt you here. You’re safe. You’re safe,” he whispered, over and over, as if he knew what she needed to hear in order to fight off the panic threatening to choke her.

“Chief.” Even without looking, Kaylee recognized the impatience in the man’s voice as he spoke again from the foot of the bed. “I need to ask her questions. We don’t have time for—”

“Make time,” her protector snapped. She heard him step closer to the bed. And this time it didn’t scare her. “You’re in a hospital,” he told her again. “You’re going to be okay. There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll all leave and give you time to—”

“Chief Scott, that’s not—”

“We’ll leave,” he repeated, cutting off the suit’s complaint, his voice firm. “We’ll come back and talk when she’s ready, not a moment before.”

She shook her head and forced herself to pull her hands down from over her eyes. She didn’t want to be alone. Not again. When she was alone, he always found her—when she was awake, when she was asleep, in her nightmares. She looked at each of the people circling the bed. Strangers. All of them. She turned her head. But this man, the one on her right, the one with concern stamped in his expression, didn’t feel like a stranger—in spite of the power coiled inside those muscles, power that should have terrified her. Instead, he made her feel protected. Safe.

And she hadn’t felt safe in a very long time.

She clutched the bed railing. “Make them go. Make them go away... Zack...please.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise?

He gave her a tight nod. “We’ll go. I’ll get the doctor.” He motioned to the others. The room began to empty and he started to follow everyone out. But as he passed her bed, she reached for him, her fingers clutching at his shirtsleeve. “Wait.”

He exchanged a startled look with the one other man left in the room, the one who’d been standing on her left. He now stood in the doorway, holding the door open.

“Yes?” Zack asked, his voice gentle, as soothing as she remembered when he’d knelt beside her on the road.

Just hold on. I’ve got you.

She tightened her hold on his shirt, half lifting off her pillow. Shame over her cowardice and fear made her face heat with embarrassment, but she still didn’t let him go. Couldn’t let him go. Panic welled inside her, making her feel as if she was about to jump out of her skin.

“Please, stay. I’m...” Scared. More terrified of being shut in a room with a stranger than of being alone with my thoughts, my nightmares. “Please.” She searched his eyes, blue she realized. Kind eyes. Nothing at all like the cold, dark eyes of her captor. “Don’t leave me. Keep me safe.”

Understanding dawned in his expression. He gently peeled her fingers from his sleeve and took her hand in his. But instead of closing his fingers around hers, he kept his hand beneath hers, palm up, so that she was holding his hand, not the other way around. He’d obviously done that to keep her from feeling trapped, as if she was in control. It was a small gesture, but it warmed her all the way to her soul.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” he assured her.

Her breath shuddered out of her on a ragged sigh. “Thank you.”

He lightly squeezed her hand in answer then glanced at the man still holding the door open. “Get her doctor, Cole.”

Cole nodded and headed into the hallway.

“My name is Kaylee,” she said, when he looked at her again. “Kaylee Brighton. I live in Miami.”

“I know. We’ve contacted your parents. They arrived yesterday and sat with you all night. They only went back to their hotel a few hours ago to catch up on some sleep. Now that you’ve woken up, I’m sure they’ll be back here soon.”

Joy filled her at his words. There had been times, many times, when she’d despaired of ever seeing her mother and father again. But then she frowned, thinking about what he’d said.

“They sat with me all night?”

He nodded.

“How long...how long have I been here?”

His look turned guarded.

“I’m okay,” she assured him. “Don’t worry about upsetting me. How long?”

“Cole, Collier County Detective Cole Larson, rode with me in the back of the ambulance that brought you here. That was yesterday morning. Except for a few minutes during the CT scan, you’ve been unconscious since then. You were sedated, to keep you still while they treated you. The doctor evaluated you again a little while ago and told us he thought that you’d be waking up soon. That’s why we were all in your room, so we could talk to you.”

He checked the watch on his left wrist, a surprising thing to wear for someone his age—probably late twenties, early thirties. But maybe it was something that came in handy in his line of work—quicker to check a watch than to pull out a cell phone to see what time it was. Funny thing was, she liked to wear watches, too, even though she was younger than him. Go figure. But her own watch was gone. He’d taken it. The devil. She shuddered.

“It’s six in the evening now,” he told her.

“You said I was brought here in an ambulance. I don’t remember an ambulance.”

“You fainted. You were unconscious.”

“You called for help.”

“No. Cole did.”

“But you told him to. I heard you.” She tightened her fingers on his. “You saved me.” Her throat tightened with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

His hand jerked beneath hers and his eyes clouded. “Don’t thank me. I hit you with my truck. I very nearly killed you.”

She tugged his hand closer, forcing him to lean down. Then she lifted her other hand and gently cupped his face, watching his eyes widen with surprise.

“Zack, if you hadn’t hit me with that truck, I’d be dead. You saved me. Thank you.” Her teeth began to chatter as the dark memories swirled through her mind. “I just wish you could have done it sooner.”

The dam burst. Tears streamed unchecked down her face. Deep, gasping sobs racked her body and she turned her face into her pillow and closed her eyes again, anchoring his hand in both of hers, unable to let him go. He was her lifeline, and without him, she feared she would drown.

His other hand stroked her hair back from her face. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Kaylee. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you again. I promise.”

A door opened and closed. Footsteps echoed. Whispers floated around her. A beep sounded but it seemed so far away. Dark images bombarded her.

Sharp pain. Burning. Cutting. Her wrists throbbed. Her feet ached. He’d taken her shoes the day he’d taken her. To keep her from running.

Muffled voices filled the room. Zack’s voice. Cole’s. And...someone else.

She let Zack’s hand go and put both her hands over her ears to block out the noise so she could concentrate. There was something she needed to remember. Something niggling at the edge of her consciousness. Something important. What was it?

Another beep.

The door to her box was flung open. The stifling heat escaped and she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the welcome smell of outdoors. But instead of pulling her out, the devil shoved something inside the box with her and slammed the door. Something warm, and furry. It scrabbled past her, running over her bare feet.

She screamed, kicking at it. She beat her fists against the Plexiglas door, over and over, screaming until her throat was raw.

Voices again in the hospital room. His voice, the kind man, Zack. Her protector. He’d saved her.

She was in the box again, a few days later. Or was it weeks? Blindfolded, which made no sense since it was dark outside. He’d pulled her out and left her standing there, trembling, waiting to see what he would do. Then he’d put her back in the box, closed the doors. She tensed, wondering what creature, what horror to expect this time. And then she heard it, shuffling toward her—a whimper.

That was what she’d needed to remember!

Another beep. Lethargy flooded her veins, dragging her down. They were drugging her. No, she couldn’t sleep! She had to tell them what she’d remembered!

With a Herculean effort, she forced her heavy lids open. A man in a white coat was pulling a needle out of her IV tubing. He stood beside the man she now knew was Cole. She jerked to her right. Zack. He was still there, standing by the railing, watching her, his brows drawn down in a look of concern.

She flailed blindly, reaching for him.

His large, warm hand, open-palmed, lifted hers. “It’s okay, Kaylee. I promise I won’t leave. Rest—”

“Have to tell...” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “Have to...tell.” She shook her head, trying to clear the dark fog closing over her eyes. Desperately trying to hold on to the memory that she’d fought so hard to retrieve.

“It’s just a sedative, to help you rest. Don’t fight it,” he said. “Go to sleep. I promise I’ll watch over you. No one will hurt you. Sleep.”

Her eyes fluttered shut against her will. Tears leaked out from the corners. “You have to find her. You have to...save her. He has her, too. Find M...Mary.”

* * *

ZACK’S EYES WIDENED as he stared down at Kaylee, now lying unconscious on the hospital bed. He jerked his head up and saw the same shocked look on Cole’s face that he imagined was on his own.

“Doctor, can you reverse the drugs? Wake her up,” Zack demanded.

The doctor’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “I could. But I won’t. Did you see her pulse reading on the screen before I put her under? Way too fast. She’s going to suffer a breakdown, or stroke out, if she’s pushed too fast. She’s exhausted. Her body needs rest, Chief. And time for her potassium and electrolytes to get back into balance. Don’t plan on asking her any more questions for at least twelve hours, probably longer.”

Zack swore and carefully freed his hand from Kaylee’s before running past Cole and the startled doctor. He yanked the door open and Special Agent Willow, the FBI agent who’d stood at the foot of Kaylee’s bed earlier, turned around, stopping midsentence in his conversation with the other officers waiting in the hallway.

“What are the names of the women who are still missing?” Zack demanded, as Cole joined him in the doorway.

“What?” Willow’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“You told us earlier that two women besides Kaylee are missing. One of them disappeared five months ago, the other three weeks. You also mentioned that you think they could have been taken by the same man who took Kaylee. What are the women’s names?”

“Fullerton and Watkins.”

Zack waved his hand impatiently. “Their first names. What are their first names?”

“Sue Ellen Fullerton.”

“And?”

“Mary. Mary Watkins.”

Chapter Five

Zack leaned back against the brick wall of the hospital’s outdoor atrium, thankful the recent rains had cleared up, at least momentarily. This quiet enclosed garden, with the sun peeking through the clouds and shining down, might be just what Kaylee Brighton needed.

Over the past few days, she’d been grilled with questions inside her hospital room. But no one could call any of those interviews successful. Hopefully, today’s session would finally yield the answers everyone wanted and she could be left in peace.

A nurse sat at a table a few feet away from Kaylee’s wheelchair. The psychologist that had been assigned as her advocate crouched down, whispering to her patient. It was the psychologist who’d recommended the change in venue when Kaylee had become agitated and panicked answering questions in her room.

It didn’t take a genius to understand why.

The dark bruises and calluses around her wrists and ankles told the story of her being bound for most of the time that she’d been missing. That hospital room probably felt claustrophobic and brought back memories she was trying hard to forget.

Memories they kept asking her to relive.

He hated the necessity of it, of asking a victim to face the most horrible things that had ever happened to them, to dredge up the pain and victimize them all over again. But if he and the other officers were going to find the two missing women, they needed to get as much information as they could from Kaylee. So far, they were batting zero in their search to find the man who’d hurt her, or the woman she’d remembered seeing—Mary Watkins.

In spite of combing the swamp with bloodhounds and search-and-rescue teams, they hadn’t even been able to locate where Kaylee had been held. The heavy rains that had rolled in had obliterated footprints, scents, and flooded out much of the area near the road where Zack had found her, making it impassable. Aerial searches in that thickly treed area had proven just as useless. And now that four full days had passed since she’d managed to escape her captor, he wasn’t so sure that it was worth putting her through this turmoil anymore. The man who’d held her had to have moved on by now. He could even be in another state. There was no way of knowing.

As Zack watched Special Agent Willow begin questioning Kaylee again, he had to force himself to stay where he was. The therapist felt that Kaylee was too dependent on Zack. Every time he left her room she’d begin to panic and wouldn’t calm down until she could see his face. She apparently associated him with safety, because she thought of him as the one who’d saved her from her ordeal. But he couldn’t do his job if he had to stay with her the whole time. And she couldn’t grow stronger mentally if she kept using him as her security blanket.

Still, keeping his distance was killing him, especially because of how pale she looked, and the hesitant, hurt look in her eyes every time she glanced at him, obviously wondering why he was standing so far away.

If her parents were here twenty-four-seven to support her, maybe she’d be doing better. But while Kaylee was twenty-three, her parents had to both be in their mid-sixties, or maybe even seventies. They appeared to be quite frail, and Kaylee seemed more concerned about them than about herself. From what Zack had gleaned from overhearing the nurses talking, Kaylee would only allow her parents one short visit each day. After that, they grudgingly returned to their hotel room until time to visit again.

Her excuse to them was that she was exhausted and needed time to sleep and recover. While that might be only a slight exaggeration, the rest of what she’d told them was a deliberate lie—that the man who’d taken her had done nothing worse than tie her up and scare her.

She’d explained away the bandages on her arms and legs by saying that she’d cut herself running through the woods to get away. And since her hospital gown covered the rest of her body, she didn’t have to explain her other injuries. Even her doctors and nurses couldn’t contradict what she’d told her parents, because Kaylee was an adult. Doctor-patient confidentiality kept her secrets safe.

From Zack’s viewpoint, Kaylee’s parents should have fought harder to stay here with her. She was alone far too much. She needed a support system. Because, while he didn’t know what all had happened to her yet, he did know it was a heck of a lot more than just being tied up. He’d seen the pictures the police photographer took of her in the emergency room. He’d seen the bruises, the cuts, the burns.

Kaylee Brighton had endured unspeakable horrors.

Watching her blanch at one of Willow’s questions had Zack clamping his jaw so tight that his teeth ached. And when she shot him another one of her haunted looks, silently begging him to come over, this time he was helpless to say no.

Shoving away from the wall, he threaded his way through the patio tables and chairs, not stopping until he reached her side. Daring the detectives to say anything, he crossed his arms and prepared to stop this inquisition if it got out of hand. The relief on Kaylee’s face told him he was doing the right thing.

Cole, however, obviously disagreed. He gave Zack a disapproving frown from his seat beside his boss, Lieutenant Shlafer, who was sitting beside Special Agent Willow. Four other Collier County and Broward County detectives sat behind them in a semicircle.

Paying no attention to Zack, Special Agent Willow rested his forearms on his thighs and cupped his hands together. “You’re sure you never saw the man’s face?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It was usually dark when he was there. And he always wore a leather mask, like a hood, tied around the throat. There were wide slits cut out for his eyes, and a hole for his mouth. But everything else was concealed. I couldn’t even tell you the color of his hair.”

“Leather? That’s very specific. You sure about that?”

“The material was dark brown, thick, but soft and pliable. If it wasn’t leather, it was something similar.”

“Soft. You touched the mask?”

Her cheeks tinged a light pink. “No, Agent Willow. The mask touched me, when he touched me.” Her words were short, clipped, angry.

Zack winced at the words that she wasn’t saying. She’d avoided sharing intimate details about her treatment so far. But she was getting closer and closer to telling them exactly what the man had done to her. And it was taking every ounce of control that Zack had to keep from putting his arms around her to protect her from having to relive that horror again.

Willow had the grace to look uncomfortable and cleared his throat. “You said he kept you in a box most of the time. What kind of box? Cardboard? Wood?”

“Plexiglas. And before you ask, yes, I’m sure. If it was real glass, I’d have broken it. God knows I tried.” She wrung her hands, massaging them, perhaps remembering how they’d hurt as she’d slammed her palms against the top of the box, trying to get out of it.

Zack remembered this part from an earlier interview, and it still made his hands fist at his sides and nausea roll in his stomach. She’d basically been buried alive, kept in a box the size of a coffin, surrounded by dirt walls, able to see the sky above on the rare occasions when the man removed the heavy black cloth that covered the top of the box most of the time. Small holes drilled into the Plexiglas allowed just enough air flow to keep her alive.

The man who’d imprisoned her had sometimes left her in the box for days at a time, without food or water. It was a wonder she hadn’t baked to death. There must have been branches overhead, helping to block the heat of the sun. When he did take her out, it was usually at night, or at times when the sun was just beginning to rise or set. She rarely got to see sunlight.

He mainly took her out to give her food and water, just enough to keep her hydrated and fed to the point where she wouldn’t die. He forced her to clean the box. And when he wanted to...play...to do whatever sick and twisted things he did to her...he would make her clean herself. While he watched. Anything more than that, including how she’d managed to escape her captor, was anyone’s guess. Because every time they got to that part of the interview, she’d shut down.

Willow pulled out the little pocket notebook where he’d made notes earlier when they’d covered this same ground. “You said the box was in the ground, that you could see dirt surrounding you on all sides. But the top was left open?”

Her hands began to shake and she gripped them together in her lap. “Not open. Closed, locked, but covered with a heavy black cloth most of the time. He almost never took the cover off when the sun was up. When he did remove it, his face was concealed behind a mask. That’s what gave me hope, that he didn’t want me to see his face. I thought... I thought he’d eventually let me go.” She swallowed hard and looked down at her lap. “But I found out otherwise, after he brought Mary and shoved her into the box with me. I knew he was going to kill me soon.” She shivered. “Mary was my replacement.”

“Why did you think she was your replacement?” Willow asked. “Was it because she didn’t have her own box?”

She shook her head. “No. I’d tr-tried to escape once before, and he was furious about that. After he...punished me for...defying him, things only got worse. Once M...Mary showed up, he promised he was going to k...kill me.”

And this was where the interview had stopped the last time, and the time before that. She started to shake. Her mouth worked but no more words would come. No matter how Willow phrased his questions about Mary, about what happened after that, about how she escaped, she shut down. Her eyes took on a horrified, faraway look as if she were retreating into herself, going somewhere they couldn’t reach her.

The therapist motioned to the nurse, who hurried over and checked Kaylee’s pulse. Zack knew what was next. They’d call a halt to the questions. And another day would end without them having any more clues that might help them narrow their search, or give them a new lead to follow. He tried not to be aggravated, or let his disappointment show. Because the pale, young woman a few feet away from him was just as much of a victim as Mary.

With one exception.

Kaylee had managed to escape. She’d survived. And Mary deserved that same opportunity. If they could just get Kaylee to answer all of their questions, maybe they could save Mary, too.

Just when it looked as if the nurse was going to wheel Kaylee back to her room, Willow held his hand out to stop her and leaned forward. “You know, Miss Brighton. For the life of me I can’t understand why an attractive and intelligent woman such as you would decide to tour the Everglades by herself. Everyone knows the woods are dangerous. Yet you chose to go on that path alone, without a weapon. Why would a pretty girl like you do that?”

His tone was so condescending, so accusatory that Zack’s mouth fell open. Everyone stared at the FBI agent in shock, including Kaylee. Willow might be impatient most of the time, but Zack never would have pegged him as one of those people who would blame the victim. As if by virtue of being beautiful, and a woman, she shouldn’t have the audacity to walk somewhere by herself without expecting that someone might attack her. Zack was about to tell the agent exactly where he could shove his questions when Kaylee leaned forward with her fists on her knees, glaring at Willow.

“I was in a public area, taking the same path any number of tourists take every single day,” Kaylee gritted out. “It’s my right as a human being—regardless of how pretty I am, Special Agent Willow—to walk anywhere that I want with the expectation of being safe. I shouldn’t have to always travel in a group like a pack animal to avoid being attacked.”

The nurse leaned down but Kaylee waved her back, never taking her gaze off Willow. “I’m staying right here. I want to hear what Special Agent Willow has to say.”

The agent shrugged. “I’m just trying to understand why you decided to go to that particular part of the Glades. Alone. It’s a simple question.”

“Then I’ll give you a simple answer, and hope you can grasp it.” Anger hardened her voice. “I always take a week’s vacation from my job at the bank around this time every year. My travel agent suggested some of the recreation areas off Alligator Alley might be a fun diversion before I went to the condo she’d rented for me in Naples.”

He poised his pen over a page in his notebook. “What’s your travel agent’s name?”

She blinked. “I don’t see where that matters.” Her voice still shook with anger, but she was engaged once again, no longer ready to end the questioning.

Had that been the agent’s intent all along when he’d asked that outrageous question? Was it part of his strategy? To make her angry so her fears would fade? Zack glanced at Cole, whose brows were raised as he, too, studied the agent.

“It’s just a question,” Willow said, his voice neutral, with none of the accusatory tone he’d used before.

Kaylee blew out an impatient breath. “Her name is Sandy Gonzalez. She works for Aventuras Travel Agency based out of Miami. She’s handled my family’s travel plans for years, decades.”

“And the reason you decided to vacation alone?”

“How are these questions going to help you find those missing women?” She sounded more perplexed than angry this time.

“Could you answer the question, please?”

She jerked her robe tighter over her hospital gown. “No. I can’t. I just spent ninety-three days of my life being controlled by a monster. Everything I ate, drank, every move I made, was dictated by him. I’ve done nothing wrong, Agent Willow. And in spite of what you’re implying, I didn’t bring any of this on myself.” She waved her hand in the air. “Somewhere out there is a monster who’s holding Mary Watkins and doing unspeakable things to her. Instead of thinly veiled accusations posed as questions, blaming me for what that man did to me, why aren’t you out in the swamp right now searching for her? And that other woman you said was missing?”

He straightened in his chair. “Miss Brighton, my apologies if I sound accusatory. And I know that my questions might seem like a waste of time to you, but this is how we figure things out. We gather as much information as we can about a crime, no matter how trivial, because you never know what the one thing will be that points us in the direction we need to go. As for searching for the missing women, we have teams out in the swamp right now looking for them. They’ve been out there every day since Chief Scott found you. So I assure you, any time we spend with you isn’t taking away from the search. It’s my hope that if I ask enough questions, then something you know—that you don’t even realize you know—will help us figure out how the man who hurt you targeted you and the others, and where he may be right now. Again, my apologies if I offended you in any way.”

Son of a... Zack shook his head. He’d completely misjudged Special Agent Willow. The man’s bedside manner might suck, and he was treating Kaylee far more harshly than Zack was comfortable with, but he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. He’d shaken Kaylee out of her stupor and stopped her from retreating into herself and ending the interview like she had always done before. Which must have been his intention all along.

The decision to engage the feds had been Zack’s. And he’d been regretting that decision since the minute he’d met Special Agent Willow and took an instant, instinctual dislike to the man. But now, well, he had a renewed respect for him, even if he didn’t agree with his methods.

Relaxing his stance, Zack settled in a nearby chair to listen to Willow resume his questioning.

Chapter Six

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks—twenty-one long, tortuous days—since Kaylee had fled the never-ending questions of the task force in Naples and had gone home. Or, rather, she’d gone back to her parents’ home, in Miami Beach. And since she still couldn’t deal with the thought of being alone and vulnerable in her apartment in downtown Miami, she was here to stay, for the foreseeable future.

Thinking back to the barrage of questions, day after day, from Special Agent Willow and detectives from both Broward and Collier County, she shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. The only one not to pepper her with endless questions was the man who’d become something of a guardian angel the whole time she’d been in the hospital—Police Chief Zack Scott.

He’d made no secret of his disgust over what had amounted to daily interrogations, where she was treated more like a criminal than an innocent victim. Zack had taken up for her, pushing back against all the pressure and siding with the therapist who insisted that Kaylee needed time to heal. The more they questioned her, the more her mind had shut down, muddying her memories.

It wasn’t long before the only thing she could remember about her ordeal was being rescued by Zack. The therapist said it was her mind’s way of protecting itself from the trauma that she’d suffered, and that if the police didn’t stop their questions, they might permanently destroy the very memories they were trying to recover. Which meant that any potential Kaylee might have for helping them find Mary would be lost. That was the only reason she’d agreed to do what her parents, and her doctors, kept begging her to do—go home.

So here she was, starting day twenty-two standing in the kitchen watching her mother put a pork roast and seasonings into a slow cooker for tonight’s dinner. Later her mother would combine black beans, onions, garlic and green peppers in a pressure cooker. And once the roast and beans were ready, she would dish them over white rice with plantains and warm, crusty bread on the side. It was a traditional Cuban dish that Kaylee loved.

Her mother had made a point of cooking one of Kaylee’s favorite dishes every single night since Kaylee had come home. Which only served to remind her why her mother was treating her so extra special these days, and why her father kept his nose buried in his old-fashioned print newspapers in the family room, afraid to say more than a few words to her.

Because of what that monster had done to her in the Everglades.

She shivered in spite of the overheated kitchen. Her decision months ago to call Sandy, her family’s long-time travel agent, and book a vacation touring the Glades and Naples had been an ill-fated one. A week off from her job had turned into a nightmare on a path through the marsh when she’d been tackled from behind then gagged, blindfolded and thrown into the trunk of the devil’s car.

Her hands clenched into fists on top of the marble countertop. In the family room opposite the kitchen, her father peered at her over this morning’s copy of the Miami Herald, his gaze dropping to her fists. She forced her hands to relax and faked a smile for his benefit. Relief flickered in his eyes and he lifted the paper again, no doubt feeling that he’d done his duty. He’d checked on her. Never mind that he so easily accepted the front that she put on.

Resentment twisted inside her. This was nothing new—her father avoiding any kind of conflict or show of emotion, her mother busying herself with domestic chores, desperately trying to pretend that everything was okay. Because that was what her parents did, what they had always done. They avoided anything remotely painful, even if that meant pretending their only child had never been abducted and that nothing all that bad had happened to her.

But could Kaylee really blame them? They’d suffered so much loss in their lives, so much heartache in their decades-long attempts to have a child. After four miscarriages they’d finally managed one successful pregnancy. But during the delivery, the cord had wrapped around the baby’s throat. The emergency C-section had come too late.

Years passed before they decided to try again for a child, this time through adoption. They’d welcomed Kaylee into their family and loved her as their own, even though she wasn’t the infant they’d originally planned on and was instead a troubled girl of five with a habit of throwing tantrums. Under their patient, loving care, she’d blossomed into a confident, happy child, overcoming the abusive past that had landed her in foster care to begin with. And she owed them a tremendous debt for that. So even though her heart ached with the need to talk to them about her ordeal, she held it back, knowing it could very well destroy them.

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