# Taken

Lori L. Harris

Experience the thrill of life on the edge and set your adrenalin pumping! These gripping stories see heroic characters fight for survival and find love in the face of danger.One wrong turn in the middle of the nightWitness to her sister’s brutal kidnapping, Jillian Sorenson was consumed with guilt – and over her head. It seemed the only way to be reunited with her sister was to join forces with ex-cop Rick Brady, a man with an old score to settle.But tracking the treacherous kidnappers only intensified Jillian and Rick’s supercharged connection. And as their partnership became increasingly personal, coming face-to-face with the dangerous men who had abducted her sister seemed like less of a risk than putting her faith in an all-too-handsome stranger…

He was a stranger. And she didn’t care…

Jillian didn’t care what it took, she was going to get her sister back. She’d lie, steal – do anything she had to. Where was her sister right now? What was happening to her? And what would happen to her – to the other women, too – once the truck reached its destination? As much as Jillian wanted to block out the obvious, she couldn’t.

Halfway down the stairs, her vision blurred. Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Another few steps and she plopped down hard, tears starting to flow unchecked. She wiped at them with both hands. She couldn’t afford to break down now. Tears didn’t solve a thing.

When warm hands grasped her shoulders, she jerked as if to escape, and then she realised it was Rick. She turned and plunged blindly into his arms. He caught her, his arms closing tightly around her.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lori L Harris has always enjoyed competition. She grew up in southern Ohio, showing Arabian horses and Great Danes. Later she joined a shooting league where she competed head to head with police officers – and would be competing today if she hadn’t discovered how much fun and how challenging it was to write. Romantic suspense seemed a natural fit. What could be more exciting than writing about life-and-death struggles that include sexy, strong men?

When not in front of a computer, Lori enjoys remodelling her home, gardening and boating. Lori lives in Orlando, Florida, with her very own hero.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Jillian Sorensen – After fifteen years away, she’s coming home to Charleston, South Carolina, to confront her past. But one wrong turn on a remote road and Jillian must face something far more terrifying than past demons.

Rick Brady – He has his own agenda, and it’s to find his father’s killer. He’ll use whatever measures are necessary – even the beautiful and tenacious Jillian Sorensen. But in order to do so, he’ll have to get her to trust him first.

Megan Sorensen – Jillian’s adopted sister. Jillian has always fought Megan’s battles for her, so in her darkest hours, Megan trusts Jillian not to let her down.

Jim Brady – Eight years ago, he was the lead investigator for one of Charleston’s most horrific crimes – The Midnight Run Murders. It was the one case that this seasoned detective could never walk away from. Even in retirement.

Debra Wert – She’s the unknown face that will become the task force’s first break. And maybe the killer’s next victim.

Randy Gardner – Who hired him to kill Jillian? And when he died, why did he have Jim Brady’s notebook in his pocket?

Detective Nate Langley – This Charleston County detective has no problem closing cases. But is his most recent one connected to The Midnight Run Murders?

Special Agent Thomas Durwood – He’s one of the FBI’s best field agents. But is he good enough to save Megan Sorensen and the other victims?

Sheriff Ben Tanner – He’s New Carlyle County, Pennsylvania’s sheriff and a family man.

## Taken

LORI L HARRIS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

Monday, 10:56 p.m.

“So. Are we lost?” Taking her eyes off the dark road, Jillian Sorensen glanced over at her sister.

They’d left Cincinnati at eight that morning amid snow flurries, but as they’d traveled south through North Carolina the temperature had climbed into the lower seventies—balmy by Ohio standards—and they’d lowered the convertible top.

Megan studied the road map a bit too intently. “Well?” Jillian prompted.

“That depends.”

Jillian tried to capture the strand of hair that had worked loose from her ponytail. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. “Megan? What’s the map say?”

Without looking up, Megan rotated the map beneath the flashlight beam. “Say? Were you expecting it to talk?”

“I figure the chance of it speaking is roughly the same as your being able to read it.”

The beginnings of a frown formed on Megan’s face. “Keep it up…”

“Come on.” Jillian felt her already depleted patience hit rock bottom. “After thirteen hours behind the wheel, I want out of this car for more than the few minutes it takes to eat a meal or fill up the gas tank. Getting lost in a national forest isn’t on my agenda.”

“Then you’re not going to like hearing this.” Megan gave a slight shrug. A bad sign. “We’re on US 17A instead of US 17.”

“How—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Megan cut her off. “It’s no biggie. There should be a shortcut coming up here pretty quickly.” In an effort to read the small print, she held the map closer to her face. “It looks like County Road 45.”

“Looks like?” Jillian slowed. “Show me.”

Just as Megan thrust the map forward, the flashlight flickered and then died. Dropping the map and the light, Megan pointed at the road ahead instead. “There’s a sign. Highway 45. Do you see it on the left?”

Jillian made the turn, but then glanced over at her sister. “You’re absolutely sure about this?”

“Trust me.”

“You said that the last time you got us lost.”

To keep it from being blown away, Megan shoved the folded map down between her seat and the center console. “We weren’t lost.”

“That’s not what you told that military cop when we ended up in a restricted area.”

“That was different.” Megan grinned. “He was really cute. And big, tough military types like defenseless women. I got a date out of it, didn’t I?”

Jillian wordlessly adjusted her hands on the steering wheel as she tried to think of a good comeback. The guy really had been cute, though. And nice.

“Stop worrying.” Megan fumbled with the earbuds for her iPod. “This road takes us back to US 17.” She rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. “We’ll be in Charleston by midnight. You’ll get plenty of sleep before the big job interview.”

For the briefest of moments, as Jillian glanced over at her adoptive sister, she didn’t see the graceful twenty-one-year-old woman sitting beside her now. Instead she saw the eleven-year-old child Megan had been the year Jillian had gotten her driver’s license. She recalled how Megan’s blond pigtails had bounced in a summer breeze, the way her smile had spread wide, the way her eyes had looked at Jillian with trust and certainty.

Megan had been the first person to trust Jillian, to really trust her. And after nearly seven years in foster care, Jillian had been desperate for approval—even from a child.

The Sorensens, her adopted family, had given Jillian something she’d never expected to have. A sense of safety. Of love. Of being part of something bigger than herself. For the first time in her life, she had felt lucky.

“You’re doing it again.” Opening one eye, Megan looked at Jillian.

“I’m doing what again?”

“Watching me. As if you think I’m going to fall apart again.”

Five weeks ago, less than forty-eight hours after their father’s funeral, Megan had come home drunk for what she’d sworn was the first time in her life. Three nights later Jillian had found her passed out on the bathroom floor.

With both parents now dead and no other family, it had been up to Jillian to confront her sister about the drinking.

She’d said some really harsh things that had left their relationship somewhat strained.

“I was not watching you.”

Megan turned in her seat. “Yes. You were. And I’m fairly certain that’s why you’re interviewing with Burroughs, Alderson & Bailey. Because you think I need looking after.”

“That’s not true. It’s a great opportunity.”

“Maybe for someone who is interested in practicing corporate law.” Megan gave her a sharp look.

Jillian met her gaze briefly. “And your point is?”

“For the past year, all you’ve talked about is going into a family law practice. Helping women and children.” Megan straightened in her seat again. “You’ve been playing big sister for a lot of years, Jilly. Maybe it’s time to give it a rest.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Sure it is. The only reason you’re even considering this job is because it’s in Charleston. Where I’ll be going to medical school.”

“Yeah,” Jillian agreed dryly. “That’s my only incentive for taking a position with a really prestigious firm at a starting salary nearly double what the others are offering.” She held a hand up in the air. “And it also has nothing to do with how much I hate Ohio winters.”

“I just don’t want you taking it because you’re worried about me, okay? I know that I’ve been making some dumb decisions recently, but all that’s behind me. I’m perfectly capable of being on my own. I wish you’d believe me.”

The plaintive note in Megan’s voice deflated Jillian’s frustration. “I do believe you. Maybe I’m the one who’s not ready to be alone. There, I admitted it. Happy?”

“Yeah.” Megan’s smile returned, easing the remaining tension. She pointed ahead to where their headlights flashed on a sign in the distance. Both women focused on it as they drew closer.

“Next right, Hellhole Bay.” Megan read the sign aloud. “Sounds like a real tourist destination. Should we stop?”

“Maybe on the return trip.”

The road took a quick, sharp turn, seeming to narrow. Tall trees on either side pressed up from the pavement, forming a canyon. Jillian watched the moonlight chase after them, its light flooding down like a stage spot through the occasional wide openings in the canopy. Then suddenly the hammock of oaks and pines grew too dense. Too dark.

Because of the surrounding woods, the rhythmic rumble of the engine became louder and the air turned even cooler.

Megan pulled a jacket from behind Jillian’s seat. “What do you think about putting up the top?”

Jillian shook her head, then shivered. It wasn’t just because of the sudden drop in temperature, though. “To be honest, I’d rather not stop out here.” They hadn’t passed a single car in the past fifteen minutes.

Megan, who had already shoved one arm into a sleeve, looked up from where she was struggling to locate the second one. “Are you afraid some man is lurking in the woods?” Having found the sleeve opening, she tugged the coat in place. “Just waiting for a car to come along and break down so he can use a machete on the driver and female passenger?”

Her sister’s description of a scene from the slasher movie they’d rented two nights ago left Jillian feeling slightly ridiculous. “Actually—” she fought the urge to grin “—I was only worried about the driver.”

Folding her arms across her, Megan tried to pretend she was affronted, but Jillian knew better.

“So you’re suggesting that you’d just leave me on the side of the road with some crazed killer?”

“I wouldn’t even look in the rearview mirror.”

Megan zipped the jacket. “Okay. You win. Pull over. Given the fact that I haven’t stopped shivering since we made that turn back there, I’m willing to risk death.”

“It’s your neck.” Jillian had started to shift her foot off the accelerator and toward the brake when a person—a woman—suddenly exploded from the trees and into the convertible’s path.

The woman looked up, frozen in the headlights.

Bracing her hands against the dash, Megan screamed.

As Jillian stood on the brakes, everything seemed to slow—not just inside her head, but around her, too. It was as if the woman waited at the end of a well-lit tunnel. Pale hair. Pale skin.

But it was the look in her eyes—the calm acceptance of what was about to happen—that shocked Jillian. Did she want to die?

And then, at the last moment, the woman looked over her shoulder, as if searching for some way to escape the inevitable. Jillian jerked the wheel to the right to avoid hitting the woman.

Megan screamed again, the sound catapulting Jillian back into real time as the tires lost traction. The passenger-side tires dropped off the asphalt and immediately ran over something—a log or a rock.

The impact ripped the steering wheel from her hands. By the time she grabbed it again, the car was sliding sideways and she no longer looked out through the windshield where passing tree trunks whizzed by like an unending barcode, but was staring into her sister’s panicked eyes.

And then, just as suddenly, the convertible was rocking hard from side to side as it settled on its tires facing back the way they’d just come from. Throwing Jillian and Megan around one last time.

For several seconds both women just stared at each other like zombies. Jillian was the first to move, letting go of the steering wheel. Her shoulder muscles ached. Her left elbow throbbed. She didn’t remember being thrown into the door, but knew she must have been.

“Megan?” Jillian’s hands sank into her lap. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…I’m good.” Megan’s voice shook. “Did we…hit her?”

“No.” Turning, Jillian gazed out through the windshield. The headlights barely reached the woman. Jillian gasped. She had expected to see the woman standing in the middle of the road, but she wasn’t. She was sprawled on the pavement.

Jillian tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. She hadn’t hit the woman. She was sure of it. And yet she must have.

She needed to call 911. She needed to get out of the car. Needed to help the woman. Do whatever she could until an ambulance arrived.

Numbly, Jillian searched the center console. Finding her cell phone, she flipped it open.

“No service.” Shoving the phone into her pocket, she was shocked to find that she was alone in the car. Megan had already climbed out. By the time Jillian caught up to her sister, Megan was already searching for a pulse.

“I can’t feel anything!” Megan shifted her fingers to a new position on the woman’s neck.

The woman was somewhere in her twenties—maybe even close to Megan’s age. The blue business suit that the blond woman wore was ripped and filthy, and she was barefoot.

Whoever she was, she obviously wasn’t a hiker or camper. So what in the hell had she been doing out here at this time of night? In a remote area. All alone and—

Alone?

Jillian stared down at the woman again, her gaze locking on the woman’s wrists. The bruises circling them were dark and uniform. As was the discoloration around the ankles.

The dread and fear that had been pooling low in Jillian’s body suddenly poured through her, reaching her lungs, forcing her breathing to go quick and shallow.

Jillian suddenly recalled how the woman had looked over her shoulder at the last moment. Was it possible that she hadn’t been looking for a way to avoid being hit? That she’d been expecting to see something coming after her?

Or someone?

Jillian grabbed Megan by the upper arm. She tried to pull her sister to her feet. “Come on. We need to get out of here. Now!”

Megan jerked free, but almost fell across the woman in the process, catching herself at the last minute. She looked up at Jillian. “Are you crazy? We can’t leave her here like this!”

“I wasn’t going to.” Keeping an eye on the woods, Jillian grasped the woman’s ankles.

“What are you doing?” Megan tried to break Jillian’s hold. “You can’t—”

“Get her arms.” If she was still alive—and Jillian had her doubts—the woman’s best chance was for them to load her into the car and get the hell out of here.

Assuming the convertible was still drivable. She’d been so focused on the woman that she hadn’t given any thought to the condition of the car.

“But—”

Jillian straightened, hefting the weight of the woman’s lower body. The blue skirt slid up, exposing more dried blood and bruising. Anger flashed through Jillian’s veins. She’d seen photographs of injuries like this before, knew their cause.

“Get her damn arms, Megan!”

“Moving her might—”

“Look at those bruises… No car did that. She’s been raped.” Jillian glanced at the woods. “We need to get out of here now!”

Megan’s fingers immediately closed around the woman’s wrists, but it was still several seconds more before she actually got to her feet. They stood facing each other, the woman’s dead weight slung between them. “We’ll make it,” Jillian said. Not because she believed it, but because she wanted Megan to. “Ready?”

With each awkward shuffle forward, they were forced to refine their hold as the woman’s wrists and ankles turned slick with fresh blood. Dead bodies didn’t bleed. Was it possible that the pressure she and Megan were exerting was causing the illusion of bleeding? Or was the woman actually still alive?

“We need…we need to pick up the pace here, Meg.”

Megan nodded wordlessly. Her breathing was coming just as fast as Jillian’s now. They were still twenty yards from the car when they both heard something and looked in the direction of the vehicle.

Backlit by headlights, the silhouette of a man came toward them. Not from the woods, but from where they’d left the car.

The sound of his boot heels striking the pavement echoed in the silence. Silence? She looked toward her car. Jillian had left the engine running. It no longer was.

Blood rushed in Jillian’s ears, her heart slamming against her ribs. She heard the panicked, in-drawn breath of her sister and knew Megan shared her fear.

The man tossed Jillian’s car keys into the air, and caught them easily. Then he started whistling a tune. She couldn’t see the grin on his face, but she suspected it was there. Just as she suspected that his slow, easy swagger was born of his belief that instead of one possibly dead female, he now had two very live ones.

He was tall—six-two or -three—and appeared to be built solidly. Not the kind of man that even two women could easily overpower. He didn’t seem to be carrying a weapon. But could she really bank on that?

“Megan?”

It wasn’t until Jillian said her sister’s name a second time that Megan finally pulled her gaze away from the man. But even as Jillian lowered the woman to the ground, Megan just watched.

“We can’t do anything for her now, Meg.” Jillian inched toward her sister.

“We can’t leave her.” Megan’s voice was low. Strained.

“We have to.” Jillian forcibly peeled Megan’s fingers from around the woman’s wrist.

Leaving the woman on the pavement, Jillian backed away, taking Megan with her. She would have expected the man to pick up his pace, but he didn’t.

The pressure in her chest built. Jillian checked the road and then the trees on either side. Which way? Staying on the road wouldn’t buy them any advantage. They hadn’t passed any cars or seen any sign of civilization.

She checked the side of the road. The girl had come out of the trees to the right.

“The woods on the left,” Jillian murmured as her fingers tightened around Megan’s lower arm. “When I tell you, we’re going to make a run for them.”

Megan glanced over her shoulder, effectively giving away their escape route. Jillian couldn’t worry about that just now. The whistling grew louder, the man closer. She felt her sister inch backward. Megan’s shoulders straightened imperceptibly.

That she seemed to have pulled it together some encouraged Jillian. But would Megan be able to react fast enough when the time came? And what was Jillian going to do if her sister didn’t? How was she going to protect Megan?

Remembering the cell phone in her pocket, needing the assurance that it was still there, Jillian slipped her hand inside.

The whistling stopped. As she watched, the man reached back and grabbed a shotgun that must have been strapped to his back. He brought it down and into position in a single, fluid motion.

“Get your hands where I can see them.”

She’d already started to obey his command when the sudden blast of the sawed-off shotgun sent a dozen ricocheting pellets into Jillian’s left shin, the pain like that of matches being shoved into her flesh.

“Make one more move, and the next one will cut you both in two.”

He had reached the downed woman, but simply stepped over her as if she were some animal.

Jillian hobbled in place. Even if they made it to the woods, there was no guarantee of escape. They couldn’t outrun a shotgun.

But what other choice did they have?

“Meg?” Jillian kept her voice low. She tightened her hold on her sister’s arm until she felt her wince. “Nothing has changed. Even with the gun. Our best chance is to make a run for it. You understand?”

Megan offered a solemn nod.

The man was close enough now that Jillian could see his face. His lips curved upward as he focused on Megan, as if he found her fear amusing.

When the man’s gaze returned to her, Jillian shifted slightly in front of Megan. For some reason, with his next step, he lowered the weapon to his side.

Jillian didn’t hesitate. “Now!”

As Megan turned to run, Jillian rushed their attacker. As she closed the distance, her vision tunneled down until all she could see was the end of the shotgun barrel as it came up again.

The twin barrels appeared overlarge, like two soulless eyes summoned to witness her death. She’d had a rough start in life, and it looked as if the ending wasn’t going to be much different. But all she could think about was the years that had stretched between. The sister who even now was escaping. She had always wondered how she could repay the Sorensens for everything they had given her.

Now she knew.

A shotgun blast exploded, the sound nearly taking Jillian to her knees. It took her several seconds to realize that she hadn’t been hit. That the gun the man held hadn’t gone off.

Megan!

Comprehension dawning slowly, she lifted her chin and stared at the man in front of her.

He smiled as a third explosion chewed the night.

“No!” Jillian whirled toward the trees on the left—the trees where Megan had disappeared.

As she leaped toward them, the man drove the gunstock into the back of her skull.

Chapter Two

Time unknown

The pain started at the back of Jillian’s head but radiated throughout her body. The floor under her vibrated and swayed. Cold. She was so damned cold. And there was a strong odor of urine in her nostrils. Like a public restroom.

A sour taste filled her mouth. Vomit? Had she gotten drunk? Was that why her head hurt and everything seemed to be moving?

Fighting a surge of nausea, she forced open her eyes and faced total darkness, the kind that had frightened her as a child and at the moment still did.

Where was she? She tried to lift her head, to get her bearings, but nearly passed out as agony radiated through her skull.

Don’t move. She sucked in a shallow breath. Then another. That’s it. Just breathe.

In the process of trying to round up enough saliva to swallow, Jillian realized the vile taste came from some type of pill caught between her lip and her lower front teeth. She spit it out, but, as another wave of pain overtook her, wondered if she’d made a mistake. Maybe it had been an aspirin.

Jillian tried again to clear her head. Had she hit it somehow? Fallen? But why would she be lying in straw that reeked of urine? In what seemed to be some sort of moving vehicle? Some type of truck?

From the way that sound bounced around the space, it seemed to be a fairly large one.

Moving carefully this time, she shifted, looking for a more comfortable position. Her arms felt heavy, weighted down. She shifted her legs but recoiled when her left shin touched the straw. It felt as if someone had stabbed her there repeatedly with an ice pick. And it wasn’t just her shin and head that hurt, either. Her whole body ached.

What in the hell had happened to her? Had she been in some kind of accident?

A gun blast…

Everything came back to her in a horrible rush. She and Megan had been driving down to Charleston. The woman in the road. The man with the shotgun.

Jillian clenched her eyes as the next memory hunted her down there in the dark. The sound of a shot fired in the woods. Dread filled her chest. Megan. She searched her memory but couldn’t recall what happened next.

“Megan?” In her head, she screamed her sister’s name, but she knew in reality her voice had barely been a whisper.

“Jill—Jilly? That…that you?” Megan’s voice came from right behind her.

Ignoring the pain, Jillian reached out. A chain rattled and she realized there truly was weight around her wrist. A single manacle. She was chained up.

“Jilly? Where are you?”

“Here.” Unable to see, she scooted toward her sister’s voice. Was there enough slack in the chain to reach her?

To her surprise, she found her sister lying almost next to her in the straw. Fumbling her way upward along Megan’s arms, Jillian discovered that her sister was chained up, too. Jillian ran her fingers up until she found Megan’s face. Her cheeks were cool to the touch. “Megan? Are you okay? I heard a gunshot. Were you hit?”

“N-no.” Her sister’s voice sounded slurred. “They…they gave me some kind of pill. You, too.”

Turning away, Jillian forced a finger down her own throat. She immediately retched into the straw, but it took several more attempts before she actually vomited. And it wasn’t until she dry heaved that Jillian finally sank back to the floor. How much of the drug had already reached her system, though?

Suddenly recalling her cell phone, Jillian dug into her jacket pockets but didn’t find it. No doubt they’d taken it from her.

“Megan?” When her sister didn’t respond, she nudged her. “I need you to force a finger down your throat.”

“Tried. Did…. didn’t work.”

Jillian shook Megan’s shoulder hard. “I need you to try again.”

Megan obediently turned onto her side.

As Jillian listened to her sister’s repeated attempts to vomit, she wondered about the woman they’d tried to save. Had she made it? Or was she already dead? And if dead, had they left her in the middle of the road? Or was she concealed somewhere close by in the dark?

She recalled their attacker’s confidence. He’d seemed unconcerned about discovery.

“No…good,” Megan said after long moments. “This is all my fault…getting us lost.”

“Neither of us is responsible.” Jill moved closer, straining to see. Megan appeared to be lying on her side, her knees drawn to her chest.

Jillian smoothed the hair back from Megan’s forehead. “Tell me everything you can. How many are there?”

“Two.”

“Was I out very long?”

“Don’t…don’t know,” Megan mumbled. “Tired. Cold.”

“What about the woman? Do you know what they did with her?”

“Here.”

Jillian scanned the intense darkness. “Lady. Are you there?” she called, and then waited for any sign of life. When there was none, she leaned over her sister again. “Did the men say anything?”

Megan pulled her legs even tighter to her chest. “Say ’bout what?”

Jillian gave her sister a gentle shake. “Where they’re taking us. What they plan to do with us.”

She didn’t really expect her sister to know those answers. Obviously, Megan was half-gone with whatever they’d given her.

“Kill…us. Like woman.”

“They said that?” Jillian waited for her sister to answer, but she didn’t. “Megan?” Jillian gave her a hard shake this time. “Stay with me.”

But when she still didn’t respond, Jillian sat back. With Megan out, it was going to be up to Jillian to protect both of them. But how? As long as they were chained up, they were pretty much helpless.

Jillian propped her back against the mesh wall and carefully straightened her injured leg. If she flexed her toes, she could just reach the opposite mesh wall. If she had to make a guess, the truck must normally be used to haul some type of livestock.

Given the truck’s speed, she assumed the road they were on to be a secondary one and not a major highway. Was it possible that she’d been unconscious only a short time? That they hadn’t gone all that far? Were still in the Francis Marion National Forest?

If she could get them free from the shackles and get the back doors open, they could wait for the truck to slow even more and…

Jillian tried forcing the manacle over her hand. Unsuccessful, she collapsed her palm at the same time as she pulled. Continuing to manipulate the cuff, she rocked it back and forth as she twisted.

She added some hard-to-come-by spit to her wrist. She’d been fortunate to avoid the full dose of whatever they’d given Megan, but she couldn’t count on that happening a second time. Once drugged, there would be no hope of escape.

Just as there was already no hope of rescue.

With no witnesses to their abduction, who would miss them? No one back home expected to hear from them. And even though they had confirmed reservations at one of Charleston’s better hotels, the hotel staff wasn’t likely to call the authorities when Jillian and Megan failed to check in. They’d run the cost for one night’s stay through on Jillian’s credit card and then cancel the other two nights. And when Jillian didn’t show up for her job interview tomorrow, her résumé would hit the circular file. End of story.

Eventually someone might find Jillian’s abandoned car. But by the time the police were brought in, the trail would be cold. The story of two missing sisters might make America’s Most Wanted, but after a few months another kidnapping, another unfortunate incident would push their plight into the background. And with no family to stoke anyone’s memory, she and Megan would be forgotten.

She couldn’t let that happen. It couldn’t end like this. She wouldn’t allow it. Somehow. Some way. They were going to survive this.

In sudden frustration, Jillian tore at the manacle and in the process peeled open the heel of her hand. Cursing, fighting tears, she bent over her wrist. She’d heard of animals chewing off a paw to escape a trap and of people cutting off a limb just to survive, but she didn’t have any type of instrument to accomplish an amputation. And even if she did, she doubted that she could actually go through with the self-mutilation. At least not yet.

But would it come to that? Would there come a time when she’d be willing to do just about anything? She decided it might be best not to think about the future. Swallowing her tears, Jillian ran her hands upward over the wire-mesh wall to the overhead mesh. For now she needed a skinny piece of metal.

She’d only picked one lock in her life and there’d been someone standing over her shoulder the whole time, explaining the process, but at least it would keep her from going crazy while she came up with something better.

With a quick indrawn breath, she jerked her fingers back, having encountered something sharp. After several seconds, going back to the same spot, she explored more cautiously but just as desperately.

A sharp scraping sound, like nails across a chalkboard, shrieked from overhead. Even though she was encased in suffocating blackness, Jillian stopped moving and stared upward for several seconds. When another screech followed the first, she realized it was just a low tree limb dragging across the outside of the truck, and went back to what she was doing.

It seemed as if she’d exhausted every inch of available surface before she finally located a piece of metal that wasn’t firmly attached on one end. With her second attempt to break it off, she managed to rip off the meaty end of her finger instead. With the sixth attempt, she jammed it beneath her fingernail. With no other choice, and blood now interfering with her ability to grasp, she continued as best she could, stopping only when she could no longer hold her arm above her head.

Finally the two-inch length of metal broke free and immediately fell into the straw.

Desperately, Jillian foraged. This was literally a needle in a haystack. She’d never find it. Panic tightened her chest, as dread deepened inside her. As long as she had a course of action, she’d been okay, but suddenly the ability to cope evaporated.

After several difficult seconds, she managed to partially rein in the panic. She needed to keep it together. The piece of metal would be heavier than the straw. Maybe it had dropped through the bedding, was resting against the floor. Finding the piece of metal where the back wall met the floor, Jillian picked it up and settled back, her manacled hand resting in her lap.

Holding the crude pick between the thumb and first two fingers of her free hand, she used the remaining two fingers to locate the lock, then in an awkward movement attempted to shift the pick forward and into the opening. She kept at it even after her fingers had gone numb from the pain and the cold.

The truck slowed to make a sweeping right turn. Everything seeming to creak and shift at once—the metal overhead, the wood wall next to Megan, the floorboards under Jillian. Holding her breath, Jillian waited for the truck to accelerate. When it finally did, it wasn’t nearly as fast. Were they stopping?

Frantic, she shifted into a different position and jammed the metal pick down. The lock suddenly clicked, and the manacle slid off with a soft clang.

Jillian immediately rolled onto her knees. As she reached for Megan’s handcuff, her sister stirred.

“Megan, wake up!”

“Jilly?”

“I’m free,” Jillian said. “We just need to get you loose, too.”

Megan tried to sit up, but quickly lost her balance and flopped into the straw again. When she tried to sit up the next time, Jillian stopped her. “It might be better if you don’t try to help me.”

“Hurry.”

Jillian had expected it to be easier the second time, but quickly realized that her first success had been nothing more than sheer luck. She jabbed the piece of metal into the opening.

Suddenly braking again, the truck made a hard left and immediately adopted a waddling motion as if it rode the ruts of a washed-out road.

Losing her balance, Jillian wobbled forward, then was thrown backward, her right shoulder and the side of her head bouncing off the mesh. Brake pads squealed as the truck slowed; its tires churned through soft sand or mud for a minute or more before giving up.

As soon as the truck came to a halt, Jillian reached for Megan’s wrist again.

“Why did they stop?” Megan mumbled.

Jillian listened as she worked at the lock, asking herself the same question. Was the stop only temporary? Had they stopped to relieve themselves? To check their route?

Two seconds later the engine was shut down. In the ensuing silence, the sound of the radio in the cab drifted through, the station a country-western one.

A door opened, the hinges screeching for oil. Jillian briefly heard the rumble of male conversation. She went still, waiting to find out if a second door would be opened.

Her brain leapfrogged. What was she going to do? And how? And when? She’d been so focused on getting free of the manacle, seeing that as the first obstacle, that she hadn’t given any thought to the next step.

Jillian searched for the handcuff that she’d removed only minutes earlier. Finding it, she pulled it next to her. Did she have the courage to place it around her wrist again?

When the cab door suddenly slammed, Megan and Jillian both jerked. Jillian immediately rotated Megan’s cuff until she found the lock, but neither woman spoke.

Nearly a minute later, there came a rhythmic sound that Jillian couldn’t identify. What did it matter, anyway, what they were doing? What was important was getting Megan free.

What about the woman from the road, though? What if she was still alive? If she was chained up, too, which Jillian assumed she would be, there wasn’t time to free her.

But how could they leave her behind?

Having ceased for nearly a minute, the sound started up again, outside. Megan shifted. “Oh God…they’re digging. Why?”

Jillian tried to ignore the question. The answer was too obvious.

“Jilly?”

“Don’t think about it.” But now that Jillian knew the origin of the sound, she could no longer block it out. Was that the reason they’d stopped? Was the woman dead and they intended to bury her?

Or were they digging three graves?

The sound stopped. The silence that followed was even more frightening.

When the latch on the truck’s rear door rattled, Megan pushed Jillian away. “No more time.”

“I’m not going without you.”

“One of us gets away, the other…better chance.” Megan’s fingers, suddenly strong, grabbed Jillian’s arm. “Go! Get help.”

The sound of the door being shoved upward was like that of a small roller coaster clattering to a stop. As moonlight penetrated the interior, Jillian got a look at their surroundings.

At first, she thought she’d hallucinated. That the drugs were somehow responsible for what she was seeing. But as Megan stiffened beside her, she knew that she wasn’t that lucky.

Oh God!

There had to be at least six young women—maybe even teenagers—out cold and chained up like livestock, one to a mesh stall. Some wore only shorts and T-shirt. Others had on jeans and sweaters. Despite the cool temperature in the truck, there were no blankets covering any of them.

The woman they’d been trying to save was there, too. Her light-blue skirt wrapped her waist like a thick belt, and her blouse lay open, exposing her rib cage. She wasn’t in a stall, though, and didn’t appear to be restrained like the rest. Did that mean she was dead?

As a man climbed up into the truck, his body briefly blocked the moonlight. It wasn’t the same gun-toting scum from the road. This one was closer to Jillian’s height, five-seven or five-eight, and was dressed in jeans and cowboy boots.

As if he had a single objective, he headed to the front of the truck. Once there, he nudged the woman from the road. When she didn’t respond, he dug the toe of his boot into her back and gave a hard shove, rolling her without resistance onto her belly.

Next, he grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to a spot just inside the door. As he returned to the front of the cargo area again, he pulled a medicine bottle from a front pocket and shook out a pill, clearly intending to dose the other women.

Already unconscious, the first one didn’t fight when he shoved whatever it was into her mouth. He moved counterclockwise to the next girl. She wore jeans, a pink sweatshirt and a pair of athletic shoes. “Come on, darlin’. You know the routine.”

He used her hair to roughly pull her head around, and then pried open her mouth. She appeared younger than the others, or maybe she was just smaller.

Jillian watched through slitted eyes. How often did they drug them? Every four hours? More often? Less often? Would she and Megan have more drugs forced into their mouths in the next few minutes, or would he skip them this time?

As he moved on to the next, Jillian glanced at Megan. But with eyes filled with shock, Megan stared at the woman from the road. Jillian wanted to reach out to Megan and offer comfort, but couldn’t because she needed to keep the empty manacle concealed. Maybe if they were lucky, he wouldn’t stop to check on them. Obviously, they hadn’t reached their final destination. The only reason they’d stopped was to bury the woman. Given more time, Jillian could free Megan.

But even once they were free, there would be the problem of getting out of the truck, since the back door was locked on the outside.

She’d made her decision by the time he stepped in front of her. If he didn’t notice that she was free, she’d stay put. If he did…

When he nudged her with his boot as he had the woman from the road, she grunted softly as if too out of it to do any more.

But then he reached down and pulled on the chain; the empty manacle swung free. “What the…?”

Jillian kicked hard. He avoided the blow. But not the one Megan landed against the back of his knee.

“Bitch!” He tried to grab the mesh wall for support, but instead went down hard.

Even as Jillian snapped the manacle around his wrist and vaulted over him, he was already yelling for his partner.

Jillian hesitated just inside the door, looking out at the dark surrounding trees, looking out at freedom. But she couldn’t jump. It was as if she were still shackled in place.

“Go!” Megan screamed.

The second man climbed out of the cab. Though she couldn’t see him, she heard the sound of a shotgun round being chambered.

“Now,” Megan shouted as she kicked at Jillian’s ankle. “You have to go now.”

Her muscles frozen, Jillian turned back to her sister. “I’ll be back for you. No matter what.”

In the split second before the second man came into view, Jillian did the most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life.

She jumped.

Chapter Three

Time unknown

Jillian raced for the trees. Rain pummeled down. She plunged into the woods as a shotgun exploded behind her, leaves shredding less than a foot away. A second round quickly followed. Without looking back she careened forward, dodging trees, her feet slipping on wet leaves, her hands out in front warding off small branches.

There was not time to think about what she’d just done, about the sister she’d left behind. There was survival.

Seconds later she heard the men crashing after her, one following in her wake, the other off to the right, as if trying to block access to the road.

A wasted effort. If the area was remote enough that they hadn’t hesitated to use a shotgun, even if she reached the road, she was unlikely to find immediate help—the only kind that was going to do her or Megan any good.

For now she’d stick to the woods, hope to either lose or outrun them. But where was she? How far from where they’d been kidnapped?

She fell several times, but came up like a sprinter out of a starting blocks, attacking the gauntlet of oaks and pines and the leaf-covered stumps. She was gasping for air now, her lungs aching. How much longer could she continue the grueling pace? How much farther could she go?

Blocking out those thoughts, she substituted others. Keep moving. Stay ahead of them. Don’t look back.

There finally came a point when she couldn’t do any of those things, though, and like an animal run to ground, she collapsed.

Fear spiked through Jillian as she lay heaving, the rain slashing through the tree canopy, reaching her, splattering her chilled skin. Minutes crept by as she listened, as she prayed, and as she considered what she was going to do if she actually had outrun them. She couldn’t waste time stumbling around these woods, hoping to find a house.

Which left only one option—the road. Jillian stumbled to her feet, stood there unsteadily, briefly staring back the way she’d come. Once satisfied that she wasn’t being watched, she turned and headed in what she hoped was the direction of the road.

But even when she reached the narrow and unlined pavement, she remained hidden in the bordering trees, recalling how the woman she and Megan had tried to save had exploded from similar woods.

The kidnappers weren’t dumb. They’d know that sooner or later she’d have to make for the road.

Was that how they’d caught the other woman? By waiting for her to go for it?

Jillian’s fear was so strong that even when she saw the headlights of an oncoming car, she found it difficult to get to her feet.

What if it was a trap? What if instead of being rescued, of helping to save Megan, Jillian was about to be captured again?

Realizing that there was no other choice, Jillian raced onto the road and into the path of an oncoming car.

Tuesday, 2:18 a.m.

RICK BRADY AWAKENED abruptly, momentarily disoriented. As the phone rang a second time, he rolled toward it, squinting at the clock as he went.

It was after two in the morning. Who would be calling?

When he’d been with Charleston PD, it wasn’t unusual to be called out in the middle of the night sometimes. And because he had, back then, he’d slept where he could easily reach the phone. But he’d been a civilian for nearly five years now, long enough for the habit to die.

He was still attempting to free himself from the sheets when it rang a third time, and he suddenly encountered something warm and solid stretched out next to him.

“Move it, Bax,” Rick mumbled.

The eleven-year-old male golden retriever that had been sleeping with its head on the second pillow grumbled, but didn’t get out of the way until forced off the bed. As soon as his paws hit the wood floor, though, Bax was on the move, bounding back onto the mattress and heading for the warm spot vacated by Rick.

Having finally located the phone among the pile of law magazines, Rick took a few more seconds to clear his head. He ran a hand over his face and squinted at the caller ID.

“PRIVATE.”

The phone rang a fourth time. He hit the talk button. “Rick Brady.”

“Detective Nate Langley with the Charleston County Sheriff’s Office.”

The name wasn’t one Rick recalled from his years on the force.

Propped against the headboard now, he did a quick mental scan of his current client list but came up empty. Not because those that he represented were incapable of murder, but because most of them were already behind bars for that particular felony. That was the up side of handling death-penalty appeals. Rick always knew where to find his clients. Unless…

Had one of them escaped?

“I know it’s late,” Langley said.

“What can I do for you, Detective? I assume this has something to do with one of my clients.”

There was a pause. “No. I’m actually looking for some help with a case.”

Rick remained silent, waiting for the detective to go on.

It took several seconds for Langley to take the hint. “Eight years ago your father was the lead detective on a case. The Midnight Run Murders.”

“Go on.”

“Is it true that even after his retirement, he continued to investigate? And that since his death, you’ve been doing the same?”

“Where is this conversation headed?” Rick abruptly swung his legs over the side of the bed and dragged the sheet across his lap. “And why call me at—” he eyed the clock “—two in the morning to ask?”

“There’s been another incident.”

Incident? It was an odd word choice. Especially when used in the same conversation with the Midnight Run Murders. His father had been obsessed with the case.

“And you think there’s a connection?” It had been over six years since the official investigation of the Midnight Run Murders had ground to a halt and the case had gone cold for everyone but his father.

“I wouldn’t be calling you if I didn’t think there was a connection.”

Hearing the irritation in Langley’s voice, Rick found it more difficult to hold on to his own. “Any survivors?”

“One. She managed to escape. The rest appear to be headed south.”

A witness? The last time there had been one, too. Unfortunately, she hadn’t lived long enough to tell the cops anything.

Rick crossed to where he’d left his jeans hanging over a chair back. “Can she talk?” Holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he kicked his way into his jeans.

“Yes.”

“Did she get a look at her kidnapper?”

“Make that plural, and yes.”

There was a slamming sound on the other end of the line, like a car door being closed. Then the sounds of shouting in the background, of wind briefly hitting Langley’s cell. “Hold on.” The cell’s receiver was momentarily covered as if Langley talked to someone, then he was back on the line. “Are you still there?”

“When did it happen?” Rick fastened his jeans.

“Around midnight. Listen, Brady. I don’t usually

contact civilians, but given your background…” He paused for several seconds, as if uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “Right now I’ll take help from anywhere I can get it.”

“What kind are you looking for?”

“I’d like to get copies of everything you have. Any notes your father produced after he left the department. Anything you’ve turned up since your father’s death.”

He rarely discussed his interest in one of Charleston’s most notorious murders—mostly because he believed that it was that same interest that had gotten his father killed. And while Rick wanted to find those responsible for his father’s murder, he wanted to live long enough to do something about it.

“I can send a patrol officer by to get them,” Langley offered.

If there hadn’t been lives on the line, Rick might have refused Langley’s request. For more than twenty-five years, Rick’s father had been a cop with the Charleston County Sheriff’s Office. When he’d needed his fellow officers the most, they’d let him down. Men he’d worked side by side with hadn’t hesitated to accept that Jim Brady, suffering from cancer, had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Rick knew better. Jim Brady had never been a quitter. For nearly sixteen months Rick had been trying to get the investigation reopened.

Maybe now someone would be willing to listen to him.

Rick grabbed the sweatshirt from the chair back. “Don’t bother sending anyone by. Where do you want me to deliver them?”

“The station.”

Tuesday, 2:42 a.m.

AFTER HANGING UP with Langley, Rick had reconsidered what he’d just agreed to and decided the deal was too one-sided. Langley got copies of nearly eight years of investigation notes while giving up nothing in return. The way Rick figured it, a little reciprocity was in order.

Which was why he’d decided to drive out to the scene and deliver the records directly to Langley. Even if that hadn’t been the case, though, once he’d made a call to one of his contacts at the sheriff’s, and learned where the crime had occurred, there was no keeping him away.

As Rick’s SUV coasted to a stop behind a line of police vehicles, he saw the rack lights of a single patrol car strobe through the trees off to the left.

Two black-and-whites passed him going fifty or sixty, heading north, their lights flashing, their tires turning the moisture on the road into a fine mist that trailed behind. There was no traffic at this time of night, which wasn’t surprising since this narrow secondary road saw limited use even during daylight hours.

Most of the properties out this way were relics of the pre–Civil War South, plantations that had once been capable of supporting their owners. The reverse was true now. It was the owners who supported these white elephants. Or didn’t. Many of the properties were vacant, their titles held by corporations, land speculators who gambled that when the last of South Carolina’s coastline was built up, developers would look inland.

As soon as Rick climbed out of the sedan, a heavy wind gust forced his sweatshirt against his chest. The storm that had been sitting stationary out in the Atlantic for days had suddenly decided to make its move.

Closing the car door, Rick aimed the flashlight at a historic marker across the road. Ravenel Cemetery. His father’s body had been found less than a quarter of a mile from where he now stood. Rick didn’t believe in that kind of coincidence.

The Midnight Run Murders had haunted Rick’s father. Just as his murder now haunted Rick. What had brought Jim Brady out here the last night of his life? Had he been following some new lead, or had he been lured out to this remote area? Rick knew he’d never be able to answer that question with any certainty. Just as he knew that no matter how much time passed, he would continue to hunt his father’s killer.

Turning, he walked up the line of cars, crossing in front of the first in the group, a marked cruiser. Crime-scene tape had been wrapped around a century oak next to the dirt drive and then strung across to what was left of a stone pillar. The loose ends whipped in the breeze, as did the branches overhead.

The rookie officer handling the scene log had been staring back into the trees—probably feeling like the lone kid who hadn’t been invited to the party—but when Rick approached, the officer moved to meet him. “This is an official scene.”

From the phone call he’d made to a buddy of his at the sheriff’s office Rick gathered that Langley was a by-the-rule type of cop. Which meant that selling him on the idea that Rick could be a valuable asset to the investigation was going to be tough if not impossible. But that’s what he was going to have to do if he wanted any kind of toehold on the investigation.

But even if Rick wasn’t able to sell Langley on the idea, at the very least he wanted a look at the scene. Which in turn might fuel a new direction for Rick’s own investigation.

“I’m aware that it’s a crime scene.” Knowing the routine, Rick passed his driver’s license. “Detective Langley contacted me. He’s in need of some files that I have in my possession.”

Everyone who showed up at a scene, every officer, every assistant district attorney, every medical examiner went through the same routine.

The officer checked the license, and then swung the flashlight up to Rick’s face to make the comparison. Rick flipped off the baseball cap to make it easier.

“You can put the hat back on, sir.” He lifted the radio to his mouth. “I have Rick Brady out here. Says he has some files for Detective Langley.”

Nearly half a minute went by before there was a response. “This is Langley. Have Brady give you the files. Tell him I appreciate that he drove all the way out here to deliver them, but that I’m a little busy right now.”

The officer lowered the radio. “I guess you heard?”

“Tell Langley I want a face-to-face before I turn over anything. And remind him that he’s the one who called me in the middle of the night.” Rick felt fairly certain that Langley wouldn’t turn him down.

Rick was also hoping that Langley was busy, too busy to leave the scene. The last thing Rick wanted was for Langley to hike out for the meeting.

The rookie relayed the message.

“Send him down,” Langley barked.

The rookie lowered the radio again and passed back Rick’s ID. “Don’t walk on the drive. Keep to the right of it. Clearing’s a good thirty-five yards back in there.” He lifted the yellow tape. “And I wouldn’t expect much in the way of a welcome when you reach it.”

Rick gave a curt nod before ducking under the barrier. The leaf mulch covering the soft ground made the going slick, and with each gust, the surrounding trees shed water from their leaves. He nearly lost his footing on a slight incline. He hated this time of year. The mud and the muck. The wet, gray days. The upcoming holidays where the families of his clients contacted him with tearful pleas.

The rack lights of the car in the clearing were suddenly shut down. It was only then that he noticed the flashlight beams deep in the woods off to his right.

For the past six months Rick’s investigation of his father’s murder had been limited almost exclusively to reexamining previous leads. Police work was like that sometimes, an old lead suddenly providing a new one. But even those had dried up. Tonight might possibly change that. What had taken place in these woods could bring new leads. New hope for finding his father’s killer. And more misery, too, for the latest victims.

Rick had gone only a short distance when he spotted the tarp spread across an area of the drive. He assumed that it protected tire impressions that the scene techs hadn’t gotten around to casting. If the officer hadn’t been watching, Rick would have taken a quick look beneath it. As it was, he kept moving, unwilling to risk eviction for evidence tampering.

After another twenty feet, though, he stopped and looked back toward the main road. The lane curved just enough that the entrance was no longer visible. Nor was the officer.

Rick shone the flashlight beam onto the drive. It appeared as if two vehicles had used the entrance. One set of tracks belonged to the police vehicle. The other was made by some type of truck as it entered and then exited. The dual tires and larger wheel base were right for a delivery type.

He scanned a broader area with the flashlight, taking in both sides of the drive. A few small limbs were scattered about, torn from the tree by the weather or the passing truck. Either way the truck would have to have been on the small side not to do more damage to the low-hanging limbs.

All in all, the vehicle’s size, the dual tires and larger wheel base were right for a delivery type, the kind that had been found at the scene eight years ago.

Rick squatted for a closer look. The tire impressions were still well defined. The tight tree canopy might act as a buffer against a hard downpour, but even if that were the case, the tracks still couldn’t have been there long. Two or three hours at most. Two hours didn’t sound like much time, but in an abduction case it was.

Up until that moment, he’d managed mostly to avoid thoughts about the current victims—because they were faceless, and because he’d been so callously focused on his own agenda. But as Rick got back to his feet, those faces began to take on the features of the previous victims.

He hadn’t been assigned to the initial investigation eight years ago, hadn’t been on the scene when the truck had been opened up for the first time, but he’d seen the photos. He’d seen the faces of the dead women. Five days of heat hadn’t been enough time to dehumanize them.

But it had been long enough to make them unforgettable. Particularly to his father.

Just as Rick reached the clearing, another rain band roared through, the sound deafening. It came at him horizontally, forcing him to turn his back to catch his breath. It continued to pummel his shoulders and blast his bare neck with a knifelike intensity. He waited seconds, and then impatiently faced the deluge again.

The taillights of the patrol car that had been driven in—probably by the first officer to arrive—were a red blur now. Holding on to his ball cap, Rick cut toward the car, figuring Langley would have sought refuge there. No one would be crazy enough to stand out in this when there was shelter.

It wasn’t until he got closer that he saw that there was no one in the car and that the headlights were aimed at a second tarp, this one spread out over a slightly raised area of ground. A crude grave? Or something else?

There had been no attempt to conceal the victims the last time, so if it was a grave, it meant a change in M.O. Or the possibility that the cases weren’t connected. That he’d climbed out of a warm bed for nothing.

And as far as crime scenes went, it was unlikely to produce much in the way of usable evidence. The clearing was mostly deep grass, a few saplings, some crude building rubble left from some sort of structure that had long ago disintegrated. Even if the kidnappers had left anything behind, the rain had most likely taken care of it.

As quickly as it had started, the rain tapered to a drizzle. A generator cranked up almost immediately, replacing the sound of nature’s fury with one that was manmade. Portable floodlights snapped back to life.

As soon as they did, Rick spotted the man on the opposite side of the clearing. Because he was the only officer in the vicinity who didn’t seem to be actively searching the ground for evidence, Rick felt fairly certain that he’d found Nate Langley. He was average height, five-nine or so, and wore a yellow slicker. Rick took in the man’s clean-shaven head, undecided if it was an effort to disguise a receding hairline or an attempt to appear tougher.

A dark-haired woman, soaked with rain and hunched beneath a heavy blanket, stood next to the man. Rick frowned. If she was their witness, the one who got away, she was too old to fit the previous profile. The victims eight years ago had been much younger—fifteen to seventeen.

At Rick’s approach, both glanced in his direction. The man said something to the woman, and she immediately turned and moved away as if wanting to avoid Rick.

But then again, maybe it had nothing to do with him. Perhaps she just wanted to escape contact with another stranger. To avoid yet another set of eyes watching her with speculation.

So why had she been allowed to remain? Why hadn’t she been transported out of here?

Though she didn’t go very far, she didn’t look at Rick again. Instead she stared straight ahead, almost defiantly.

What had she seen tonight?

In spite of her condition—the wet hair, the muddy clothes—she was striking. As she lifted the blanket, using it to wipe the rain from her face, her chin quivered and her hold on the blanket seemed to intensify.

Watching her, he recalled what it had been like to be called out in the middle of the night to preside over tragedy. This was the part of police work he was thankful to have left behind.

These days, by the time he became involved with perpetrators or victims, most of the heartache, the fear, was carefully concealed behind pride or belligerence. The insight left him unsettled.

The man moved to meet Rick. There was nothing welcoming in his face or in the extended hand, just the required professional greeting.

“Detective Langley.” Langley’s hand dropped. “I assume you have something for me. Besides the notes. Something that you felt compelled you to drive all the way out here to deliver personally.”

“Actually, I thought you might have some questions for me. We both know that a favorable outcome is only possible if you move fast. You don’t have time to wade through years of reports.”

Langley cocked his head as he jabbed his hands into the pockets of the slicker. “I won’t need to. At least not tonight. Kenny Lennox is on his way out here. You may recall that he worked the original investigation, right alongside your father.”

“And the case went cold two years later. What Kenny had, what you’ll be using in the next few hours to make crucial decisions, is two years’ worth of investigation notes, of interviews that led nowhere. The information I have is much more current—”

“But no more conclusive. If it was, I wouldn’t have needed to call you tonight, would I?”

Even though Langley looked ready to throw Rick out, Rick wasn’t giving up.

He had positioned himself so that he could watch the woman over Langley’s shoulder. Langley hadn’t even been living in Charleston when the previous murders had taken place. Was it possible that he just hadn’t asked the right questions? That she knew more than she’d already revealed?

He refocused on Langley. “My father believed that there was a Charleston connection. Kenny Lennox didn’t. Last theory I heard out of Kenny’s mouth was the kidnappers were just passing through.”

The woman suddenly took several steps toward where two crime-scene techs spread a second tarp next to the first. Rick knew what was about to happen—if there was a body beneath that pile of dirt, it was going to be dug up.

Did the woman know who was in the grave, then?

When Rick glanced at Langley, he realized the detective was also watching her. As his gaze reconnected with Rick’s, Langley’s face tightened. “I appreciate your bringing out the records and your offer to help, but my men can take it from here.”

“You do realize that the Midnight Run victims were younger than your witness over there? They were all in their late teens.”

Even as he said it, Rick was thinking about an officer who had just walked out of the woods thirty or so feet to the east of them. Langley had his men still searching the woods. Why? What were they looking for? More victims that were still alive? Or more graves?

“I’m aware that the previous victims were in their late teens. And that the crime scene eight years ago was less than a mile from here. And that the spot where your father was found was even less than that.” He wiped at his face. “This is an official investigation. I don’t need you mucking this up to further your own agenda.”

Langley waved over the officer Rick had noticed seconds earlier. “I’ll have one of my men accompany you back to your car to collect those files. I’ll have them copied and get the originals back to you by morning.”

Langley’s cell phone rang. As he checked the caller ID, the lead detective moved away, turning his back in dismissal before actually answering.

The officer Langley had motioned over continued toward them. There was no way Rick was leaving now. When he arrived, Rick held out his car keys. “It’s the silver Explorer at the back of the line. The boxes I brought for Detective Langley are on the backseat.”

The officer glanced toward his superior as if wanting some indication that this was why he’d been called over, but Langley’s back was turned and he was still on the phone.

After several seconds more of obvious internal debate, the officer took the key ring. “Silver SUV, right?”

“Three boxes.”

As soon as the officer walked away, Rick’s gaze swung to the woman. She continued to stare at the tarp.

Was he really the kind of son of a bitch who would use the victim of a crime to further his own agenda?

As it turned out, he was.