Karissa found her voice even as she unlocked the door. “It’s okay, Hunter. I’m fine.”
The door opened and he surged inside, filling Karissa’s world. Strong arms wrapped her close, and she didn’t resist. How could she when her knees were gelatin, incapable of holding her up?
Hunter’s warm breath teased the hairs on the top of her head. “I didn’t do it, Karissa. I’m innocent. Someone else sabotaged the equipment. Your sister was murdered, but I had nothing to do with it.”
“What?” She looked up into his face and gasped. His bottom lip was cut and swollen, an eye was puffy, thin cuts raked red lines across one cheek, and bloodstains marred his shirt.
“You’re hurt.”
“Just a little skirmish with a dump truck. I’m okay, but your car is toast. After the truck rammed me, the guys inside it started using me for target practice, but then sirens began closing in, so they skedaddled. I ran away and grabbed a taxi before the cops could arrive and demand a statement.”
“You found out who sabotaged the fire rescue equipment?”
“One of my colleagues. Our mutual enemy threatened his family if he didn’t do it. I’m so sorry.”
Breath coming in shallow puffs, Karissa reached up and brushed her fingertips across the scars edging his eye. Her insides expanded as big as all outdoors. What a relief in the midst of danger looming all around. Hunter was innocent! The words rang through her soul like joyous bells. What did that say about her feelings for this man? Too bad there was no time to explore the possibilities. In fact, that time might never come if her enemy had his way.
“You were as much a victim as my sister,” she told him in choked tones. “You were nearly killed trying to save her with faulty equipment. I can’t even imagine how much you’ve suffered. Something inside me knew you couldn’t be guilty. Not when you’ve demonstrated nothing but courage and reliability and faithfulness. That’s your nature—your character. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He hugged her close again, and she wrapped her arms around him. “You have no idea how thankful I am that God brought you into my life—not just because our meeting produced an opportunity to clear my name, but because I’ve had the privilege of meeting such an amazing person as you.” He drew back from their embrace, and she looked into his intense gray gaze. “No matter what happens,” he said, “I’ll always be grateful for that unexpected and undeserved blessing.”
She nodded, eyes clouding with tears. “I feel the same way, but Hunter, Kyle is still missing, and I received this.” She showed him the written note.
His brows knotted as he read it. “Somehow, our mutual enemy not only found you here at this unpredictable location, but someone in his employ was able to gain access to the house in order to leave this note. I’m guessing the guy does have some sort of tracker on you among your belongings. It could be something on your phone that we don’t have the expertise to detect, or it could be in the lining of your purse, but that scarcely matters now. We have to follow his scavenger hunt clues. But remember this—” he laid his warm palm against her cheek “—the guy was wrong about me being eliminated. And now his minion at the fire department has been exposed. I’m predicting that his plan is starting to unravel.”
“I pray you’re right, but we still need to find that scavenger hunt clue right here in the study.” She waved toward the expensively decorated office.
Every nerve within her stretched to the breaking point as they searched through the room high and low. Would either of them even recognize this clue if they saw it? A half hour later, they had found nothing resembling a clue to Kyle’s whereabouts. Her stomach twisted in knots.
With a baby’s life at stake, they’d shamelessly snooped through everything except the locked drawer in the desk and the safe Hunter discovered behind a painting on the wall above the fireplace. They had no key to open the former or combination to open the latter. Surely, their mastermind wouldn’t leave the clue in a spot they couldn’t access.
Karissa performed a 360-degree scan of the entire room. Nothing. With a sob, she plopped in a heap on the cushy carpeting. Was this part of the game? Telling them there was a clue when there wasn’t one?
Hunter stepped over and sat down beside her, cross-legged. She leaned her head against his shoulder, inhaling his masculine, woodsy odor.
“Hang in there,” he said, but his tone was thin and stressed.
“How? I’ve been praying for wisdom, praying for Kyle, praying for us. Is God even listening?”
Lifting her head, she wiped hot tears from her cheeks and dried her eyes with her shirt. Bitterness coated her tongue—the taste of defeat.
She gripped the edge of the desk to help haul herself to her feet, and her thumb brushed across a slick substance that wasn’t desk varnish. With an indrawn breath, she canted her head to check out the anomaly. A small photograph was taped to the underside of the desk’s lip. Hadn’t the note said she’d need to be humble to find the clue? Well, here it was, and she’d had to access it from a position on the floor.
A squeal left Karissa’s lips as she pulled the photo free of the desk. “Here it is. But what is it?”
She lifted the photo, and they both stared down at Kyle’s smiling baby face. The little boy was strapped into a car seat that had been placed directly beside a familiar Portland landmark—one of the two ornate towers that guarded both ends of the drawbridge portion of Burnside Bridge spanning the Willamette River. The picture was taken at night—surely this very night—but the spot was bathed in headlights that sparkled on the water in the background of the shot. A big letter E was drawn in permanent marker on the tower.
“I guess we’re headed for the east tower,” Hunter said.
“I’m surprised they cared enough to put him in a car seat.” Karissa sniffed. “How are we going to get there?”
“I’ll call a taxi.”
“Let me grab my phone and my purse.”
“Leave them behind.”
“But what if one of our upcoming clues involves cell phone communication?”
“Give the guy credit for more creativity than that. I refuse to be tracked any longer.”
Karissa shrugged. “No matter, I guess. We’re on a scavenger hunt being led by these creeps. They’re going to know where we are regardless.”
The wait for the taxi seemed like forever, and the ride to Burnside Bridge began in tense silence. If worry were a sodden blanket, they were both wrapped in it. Traffic was light, and soon they neared the bridge.
“I remember now!” Karissa exclaimed.
Hunter whipped his head toward her. “Remember what?”
“I’ve been racking my brains as to why our enemy might send us to this particular spot. He doesn’t seem to do anything at random.”
The taxi slid to a stop near the east tower, but Karissa made no move to get out, and Hunter stayed put with her.
“A few years back,” she said, “this was the scene of a horrible tragedy. A businessman gone bust ran his car off the bridge near here with his wife and young son in the car. They were all killed. Do you suppose that event is somehow connected to the vendetta against us?”
“You may be onto something. It fits with this guy’s devious mind to give us a clue as to his motive within a clue to Kyle’s whereabouts. We should do some research and—”
“Hey, you two, are you getting out?” the taxi driver interrupted in grumpy tones. “I’m sitting in a driving lane, and a cop could come along and ticket me at any time.”
“Oh, sure.” Hunter handed the driver his fare and tip in cash he’d gotten from an ATM when he was out and about acquiring a cell phone and a gun. “Come on.”
He motioned to Karissa, and they got out. Then they watched the taxi’s headlights fade away.
Karissa shrugged. “Now we’re without wheels.”
“We ca
n always call for another taxi. Let’s find that next clue.”
“I think it’s sitting right in front of us.” Karissa pointed to a skateboard perched in the spot where Kyle’s car seat had been in the photograph.
Hunter grunted. “Good eye. Guess we hoof it to the skate park under the bridge.” He snatched up the board and headed up the sidewalk.
Karissa fell into step beside Hunter. She hugged herself as she put forth the effort to match his determined stride. The summer night was warm, but the breeze off the water had a cool touch against her skin. A shiver coursed through her. What were they doing, following the instructions of a devious and deadly mind? Yet, what else could they do when a baby’s fate hung in the balance? To be honest with herself, she couldn’t see a positive ending to this scenario.
“Do you still have your gun?” Karissa asked her companion.
“Yes.”
“If—no, when we find Kyle, please don’t use it anywhere near him.”
“Trust me.”
She did. With every molecule of her being.
They soon arrived at the iconic Burnside Skatepark that had been featured in movies and documentaries, as well as a number of skateboarding computer games. The park was still in use, but past its heyday, and the site was eerie, dark and deserted. The place smelled of metal shavings and human sweat—odors the concrete had absorbed from skateboard wheels and the people who rode them.
“Have you ever skated here?” Karissa asked out of pure nervousness, not really expecting an affirmative answer.
“I love this place,” Hunter said. “When I was a teenager, Burnside Skatepark was my home away from home. But then, I grew up in this rough area of Portland, so some of the more sketchy clientele didn’t scare me, and the visitors from around the world fascinated me. Actually, I think this place kept a lot of us kids out of trouble.”
He turned on the flashlight feature of his cell phone. Karissa let out a little squeak as the beam hit her eyes. “Oops, sorry,” he said, turning the beam toward himself, illuminating his upper body and part of a deep skate bowl directly behind him. A shot rang out. Hunter fell backward without a sound, and his body disappeared into the bowl. Karissa began to scream, but a large hand clamped over her mouth. All that escaped was a shriek from her heart.
* * *
Hunter hit the bottom of the skate bowl on his back. His head bounced off the concrete, shooting stars through his brain. Every vestige of oxygen left his lungs, and he lay limp and struggling, seemingly in vain, to suck in some air. At last his chest filled. The inhalation ratcheted pain throughout his body. Were bones broken? Was a bullet lodged somewhere in his torso? Forcing himself to move revealed the answers as no and no.
Overhead and all around him, the quiet was deafening and the darkness blinding. Though he was still clutching the skateboard, his cell phone had flown out of his hand so he had no way to light his surroundings. What had happened to Karissa? The answer to that question was all important. He scrambled onto his hands and knees and pushed the skateboard ahead of him in order to help locate the gentlest gradient to the top of the bowl. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the dimness vaguely eased by streetlights located up the block near a relatively new apartment high-rise.
Hunter reached the top of the bowl in time to see a struggling figure being pushed into the back seat of a vehicle nearby. The door slammed on Karissa and her captors, and the large sedan pulled away from the curb. No matter what happened, he couldn’t lose track of that car, and his only mode of transportation was the skateboard clutched in his fists. He half ran, half limped to the road outside the skate park, threw down the board and sent it whizzing after the vehicle.
One of his board wheels was damaged and waffled slightly with every revolution. He probably had that wheel to thank for deflecting the bullet meant to end him. Hunter desperately legged the board to greater speed.
A small transport truck from one of the nearby businesses came cruising past, and Hunter managed to veer over and grab onto one of the slats. The truck, pulling Hunter along, stayed on course with the sedan for a good half mile then started to turn off, and he was forced to release his free ride. Thankfully, the car containing Karissa slowed and turned at the next block, allowing him to keep up. More or less. That wheel was giving him fits now and was likely to fall off at any time. He needed to find another way to stay with Karissa’s kidnappers.
A taxi was parked at the curb ahead, but the roof lighting indicated it was off duty. Too bad. Hunter stopped his skateboard and knocked on the driver’s window until the guy rolled it down.
“What’s the matter with you, pal?” Crumbs of the sandwich the cabbie was eating spewed out his mouth as he talked. “Can’t you see I’m not taking passengers right now?”
“I’ll let you swipe my bank card for five hundred bucks if you let me in and keep up with that car.” He jabbed a finger toward the fading taillights.
“Hop in.” A click indicated the doors unlocking.
Hunter didn’t wait for a second invitation. He hurled himself and his board into the back seat. The cab screeched away from the curb. Clearly, Hunter had spoken the driver’s motivational language.
“I’d prefer it if you would do what you can not to alert the people in the vehicle ahead that we’re following them.”
“You some kind of stalker or something?” The cabbie’s gaze narrowed on him in the rearview mirror.
“Not hardly. I’m trying to prevent something bad from happening, and you’re helping me.”
“Okay.” The word drawled out of the cabbie’s mouth laced with skepticism, but the man stayed on the car’s tail—not too close, but not too far back, either.
“You’re a natural,” Hunter told him.
The guy grunted. “Long as I get my five hundred bucks.”
The cars wended their way through Portland into an unincorporated portion of Multnomah County, in the wealthy Forest Park neighborhood that lay just outside the city limits. Rolling pastures and estate-like properties began to displace multihome developments. Under normal circumstances, Karissa might be feeling some nostalgia by now. Hunter may have grown up in Old Town, but this was her childhood stomping ground—at least until her parents were killed, and the family wealth turned out to be a house of cards that came tumbling down without dad to keep cobbling it together with the duct tape of financial chicanery.
Hunter had to respect the guts and resiliency that Karissa and Anissa had shown in rebuilding their lives after what must have been a double whammy of devastating blows—the loss of both parents and the illusion of financial security gone in one fell swoop. Oh, yes, the news articles that pilloried Hunter after the fire had also contained these juicy details about the Landon family. If anything, the rich girl–turned–poor orphan angle had deepened sympathy for the Landon twins—one deceased and the other bereaved—and compounded antipathy toward Hunter. Some of the news articles had been downright vitriolic about him, even though his guilt was unprovable and no charges were ever filed. Back then, he’d thought he deserved every word.
In the distance, the car ahead slowed down and then turned into a driveway that led between gleaming white fences. A sprawling ranch-style house with several lit windows sat at the end of the drive. The porch light revealed a sleek limousine parked near the front entrance. Hunter’s heart skipped a beat. Were they finally going to encounter the mastermind behind all of this mayhem?
“Stop here,” Hunter told the cabbie when they reached the turnoff toward the ranch property. The man complied.
By now, the sedan carrying Karissa had halted in front of the limo, and several figures were getting out, including Karissa, who was then half dragged, half escorted into the house.
“Let me use your cell phone to call the cops.” His own cell still lay somewhere at the bottom of the skate park bowl.
“What’s in it for me?” the driver said.
Hunter ground his teeth together. He must have drawn the most heartless cab driver in all Portland, but at least the guy had been good at tailing.
“An additional fifty,” he offered.
The cabbie tossed his cell over and waited, drumming his fingers against his steering wheel while Hunter, desperately hoping the assignment would reach honest cops, made a terse call about a hostage situation. Surely, the man who owned the limousine didn’t have deep enough pockets to own the entire Portland Police Department. Moments later, after swiping the debit card from his wallet for a $550 payment, Hunter exited the cab.
As the car sped away, he hauled in a long, ragged breath. What next? The police dispatcher had told him to keep his distance and wait for the authorities to arrive. What if he didn’t have that kind of time before something happened to Karissa and probably Kyle, too?
Sure, Hunter had his gun, but he wasn’t about to start a firefight anywhere near a baby. His only other item ready to hand was a crippled skateboard. What could he possibly accomplish with that in the face of armed thugs and a man of deviant brilliance? Whatever it was, he needed to accomplish it fast.
THIRTEEN
“Kyle!” Karissa cried out and ran to the baby.
There were other people in the great room she’d been ushered into, but the child was all she cared about. He sat, kicking and fussing mildly, in the very car seat in which he’d been photographed hours ago. The seat had been placed, facing the room’s entrance, on top of a familiar heavy wooden coffee table. This was, after, all, her childhood family home. Almost certainly the scene had been staged to immediately capture her focus upon the baby. The ploy worked, and she didn’t care a bit. Not as long as Nikki’s son was all right. Karissa knelt and began unbuckling him.
“Leave the child be,” an authoritative male voice barked.
Karissa didn’t even look around. She’d heard of blind rage before but never experienced it. Until now. How dare these people play deadly games with an infant in the thick of the action?
Lone Survivor Page 14