Missing in the Mountains

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  At first sight of a trailhead around the bend, he pulled hard on the wheel. The truck slipped beside the school bus and over the rough, rocky berm with a deep guttural roar. The school bus swerved over the yellow line, and the pickup tore off-road completely, cutting a wild path through the miniature parking lot at the trailhead and taking a wooden sign with the location’s official name down with it. The windshield cracked as the wood splintered and deflected off it.

  Beside him, Emma threw her hands out as if the windshield might burst, and she screamed loud enough to chill Sawyer’s blood.

  Outside, people screamed and ran. They yanked babies from strollers and lifted children from the grass, launching their families against the tree-covered hillside. A mass of children in matching T-shirts fled a pavilion beyond the lot, and Sawyer directed his truck toward the newly emptied structure, hoping the slight uphill grade and a series of small collisions could safely slow the vehicle.

  One by one, the picnic tables exploded under the impact of his truck’s grille. One by one, the damage lessened until the little table and the hill brought his truck to a whiplashing stop.

  In the parking lot behind them, a black motorcycle cruised calmly past.

  Chapter Eight

  Sawyer met the police and paramedics in the parking lot and directed them to where Emma and Henry sat on the grass. The path of destruction from the main road to the grassy bank opposite the pavilion was broad and littered with the fragments of state-donated picnic seating. Miraculously, no one had been killed, unless Sawyer counted the trailhead sign, row of picnic tables and his truck.

  Detective Rosen joined them several minutes later, having stopped to speak with a number of witnesses and onlookers. “Are you all okay?” he asked, turning his eyes to the paramedic as he walked away.

  “Yes, just shaken,” Emma said, speaking for them all. “What did you learn?” She tipped her head to indicate the crowd behind them while Henry slept soundly in her arms.

  “The Alabama plate was bogus,” Detective Rosen said. “A bystander caught the motorcycle on video while taping your out-of-control truck. My guys ran the numbers, but that plate hasn’t been in use in a decade. Probably thrown out and picked up by someone.”

  Sawyer lowered himself onto the grass beside Emma and looped a protective arm across her back.

  She leaned against him, deflated, and said, “So even with a license plate number, a description of the vehicle and a hundred witnesses, we still don’t know who did this?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  Sawyer gave her a gentle squeeze. “What else do you know?”

  “We know the truck’s brakes were definitely tampered with,” Detective Rosen said.

  Emma huffed a disgusted sigh, then pushed onto her feet with Henry in her arms. “I need a minute,” she said, walking away.

  Sawyer raised a brow at the detective. He stood and dusted his palms against his pants. “You need to figure this out,” he said. “Half those kids probably caught the whole thing on video with their cell phones.”

  “They did,” Detective Rosen said, “and we’ll review every frame, but the motorcyclist was in head-to-toe black. No one knows what he looks like under the gear, and we don’t have a plate for the vehicle. We’re doing what we can with what we have to work with, which isn’t much.”

  “What about the hospital parking lot?” Sawyer asked. “My brakes were fine when I left. Then they got spongy and went out before I realized what was happening. The guy on the bike was there when we left. I think he might’ve punctured the lines while we were inside, so I wouldn’t know what happened until it was too late. If you review the security feed from the cameras in that lot, you’ll find him.”

  “We can try,” he said, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. “But you should know the cameras outside the credit union, which would have been useful in identifying Emma’s mugger or the hit-and-run driver, were out. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  Sawyer tipped his head back and shut his eyes for a moment. “That’s because it’s not. These crimes were all planned. It’s not good news for the police, or the victims.”

  “Mr. Lance?”

  Sawyer opened his eyes. The tow truck operator lumbered in his direction. “Where do you want the truck taken?”

  Sawyer eyeballed the extended cab of the logoed vehicle. “Wherever you recommend,” he said. “Would you mind taking us to a local car rental company on the way?”

  Two hours later Sawyer steered a rented SUV home from the police station, using the flattest and most low-trafficked route possible between counties. He’d rented the new vehicle under his company’s name and given Fortress Security’s address in case anyone tried to track him through the rental.

  Sawyer’s rustic A-frame house came into view through the trees, and he felt his shoulders relax.

  He went straight to the kitchen for two glasses of ice water, and Emma curled onto the couch with Henry on her lap. She accepted the ice water with deep, thirsty gulps, but the fear and uncertainty in her eyes broke Sawyer’s heart. He’d vowed to protect her and their son at all costs, but they’d nearly died at his hand today.

  Sawyer brought up the photos of Sara’s notebook on his phone as he made his way to the living room. He needed to put a name to their assailant before someone came at them again. He had a duty to protect Henry and Emma, his son and his... The thought twisted into a painful knot. Henry was his son, but Emma wasn’t his anything anymore.

  He hated that truth nearly as much as he hated the man who kept trying to hurt her.

  Emma pulled her feet beneath her on the couch and turned wide blue eyes on Sawyer. “If the motorcyclist knew your truck, then he must know your name.”

  “Not necessarily,” Sawyer said, determined to keep his cool.

  “If he knows your name, he can find your address,” she said. “He can find Henry.”

  Sawyer shook his head and offered her his hand. “It won’t be easy,” he said. “My truck, like my house, is registered to the company.”

  “But the company has a website,” she said. “The website has a list of the Fortress team members’ names. Your name,” she said.

  “I will protect you,” he said. “This looks dire now, but it will be okay. I’m sure of it.” And he intended to do anything he could to keep that promise.

  The fire in Emma’s eyes dimmed, and she shook her head in a look of resignation. “He’ll find us again, Sawyer. He won’t stop, and it’s only a matter of time.”

  Sawyer took a seat at her side. He wanted to encourage and reassure her, but he was having trouble believing she was wrong. Instead, he held his phone between them, a photo from Sara’s notebook on the screen. “Then we’d better find him before he finds us.”

  * * *

  EMMA ANALYZED THE notebook pages late into the night, but nothing had changed. The numbers were still too long to be account numbers from Sara’s credit union. Emma had already compared her fourteen-digit account number to the massive thirty-digit ones in the notebook. There was definitely more to the number-cluttered pages than just account numbers. She only wished she had a guess about what that might be.

  Emma padded softly into the kitchen for another glass of water. Henry was fast asleep in his portable crib, and she’d already showered and changed into her favorite cotton shorts and tank top after dinner. If things went well for a change, Emma might get comfortable enough to fall asleep soon. The stress was taking a toll, and she needed the break. As it was, there was no way to release the ever-mounting tension, but a little rest could go a long way to taking the edge off, and that was what she needed most. She’d considered a jog along the lake earlier, or even a swim, but knowing a psychopath could pop up anywhere at any time had kept her close to her baby. Sadly, there would be no burning off steam for Emma until the nightmare was over. Assuming she survived at all.

  The
soft snick of an opening door put Emma’s senses on alert. She stepped away from the countertop and leaned around the kitchen doorway for a look down the short hall. Scents of shampoo and body wash wafted out of the open bathroom door on a cloud of steamy air.

  Emma’s body tensed for new reasons as Sawyer moved into view. He pulled a black Fortress Security T-shirt over damp, rosy skin, still hot and beaded with water from the shower. His wet hair dripped over his temples and onto his broad, muscled shoulders.

  She forced her mouth closed with effort.

  “Sorry it took so long,” he said, a look of profound guilt on his handsome face. “I was trying to decide if I should shave.” He ran a broad palm over the dark two-day stubble, and Emma’s knees went soft with an onslaught of memories. She’d intimately enjoyed Sawyer’s stubble in the past. She knew firsthand about the rash it left on the tender flesh of her breasts and inner thighs when rubbed just right.

  “I like the stubble,” she said a bit breathlessly.

  Sawyer’s brows rose, and a sly grin slid over his handsome face. “That so?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She cleared her throat and pressed a palm over her racing heart to calm the climbing beat.

  Sawyer kept smiling.

  “What?” she asked, pressing the glass of ice water to her lips before she lost control and kissed him again, the way she had the night before. No, she thought. She wouldn’t kiss him like that again. That had been a chaste kiss on the cheek. Not even close to the way she longed to kiss or touch him. Emma swallowed hard and set the drink aside before she dropped it.

  “You know,” Sawyer began, closing in on her with intense brooding eyes, “we never really talked about the fact you kissed me last night.”

  Heat rose in her chest and cheeks at the reminder. Her gaze lingered on his lips. “It was a friendly, appropriate, completely innocent gesture,” she said, hating the quaver in her voice.

  “Why’d you do it?” he asked.

  Emma struggled to swallow. Her chin hitched upward. “What do you mean?” She crossed her arms over her chest to protect her heart.

  Sawyer took another step in her direction and reached for her, unfolding her arms and resting his broad palms against the curves of her waist. “Why’d you do it?” he asked again, widening his stance to plant one foot on either side of hers, pinning her against the countertop with his stare and the weight of his body.

  Emma gripped his arms for balance, enjoying the heat and strength of him. “I missed kissing you,” she whispered, unable to catch her breath. “I miss you and it makes it hard not to touch you.”

  Sawyer raised his hands slowly up her sides, grazing her ribs with his fingers, the sides of her breasts with his thumbs, then cradling her face between his palms, careful to avoid the darkening bruise along her cheek. “I missed you too,” he whispered. The clean scents of toothpaste and mouthwash teased her senses for a heartbeat before Sawyer took her mouth with practiced skill.

  He kissed her as perfectly as he had a thousand times before, and she curled herself around him in response. The taste of him on her lips pulled a greedy, exhilarating moan from her core, and she drank him in, enjoying the release much more than any evening jog.

  She ignored the little voice in her head reminding her that a jog wouldn’t break her heart when it was over.

  Chapter Nine

  Emma watched the sunrise over the lake, her legs draped over Sawyer’s lap on his back-porch swing. They’d kissed until she was sure the burning need for more would turn her brain to ash, then she’d slipped away to gather her wits. The kiss had been enough for now, considering the excruciatingly complicated circumstances.

  He’d found her on the porch swing, kissed her head and settled in at her side, pulling her legs over his and resting her feet on the cushion beside him.

  “I think we should talk to the branch manager,” she told Sawyer as the fiery sun finally lifted into the sky. “When I was at the credit union gathering the things from Sara’s desk, Kate told me Sara had a bunch of questions for Mr. Harrison. Maybe her questions were related to whatever’s going on here. Maybe he’s part of this.”

  Sawyer stroked the backs of his fingers down her arm. “I’ll give Detective Rosen a call.”

  “No.” She pulled her legs away and planted her feet on the floor. “We can call Detective Rosen afterward, especially if Mr. Harrison says anything useful, but I want to talk to him without the detective there. Besides, the police have already questioned the credit union staff. Maybe he’ll be less on guard speaking to someone without a badge. He knows me, and maybe he knows something that can help me find Sara.”

  Sawyer frowned. “I understand why you want to go. I just wish you wouldn’t.”

  Emma pursed her lips, prepared to fight as long and hard as necessary to get her way on this. “It wasn’t a request for permission.”

  His lips quirked, apparently tempted to smile but thinking better of it. “Two women at that credit union have already been hurt. If it was up to me, I’d keep you in my pocket until the danger passed. Or book us a room at one of those all-inclusive resorts under assumed identities so we could sleep with both eyes closed for a night or two.”

  Emma’s heart sputtered. “I can’t leave Sara,” she said. “I won’t.”

  Sawyer tucked flyaway hair behind her ear. “I know. I was just enjoying a daydream where I know you’re safe.”

  She smiled. “Then you’ll take me to the credit union when it opens?”

  He tipped his head over one shoulder and released a heavy sigh. “The manager is a significant link between Kate and Sara, so it’s worth a conversation. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to cross his path. Like you said, he might know something, or he might be the one behind all this.”

  “That’s exactly why we need to talk to him.”

  * * *

  TRAFFIC WAS LIGHT on the way to the credit union. At nine fifteen, the school buses had already delivered the students, most office workers were at their desks and lunch hour was another two hours away. Sawyer parked the rented SUV across the street at the end of the block, and went to join Emma on her side of the vehicle.

  Henry was bright-eyed and smiling as she tucked him snugly into a thick circle of fabric hung over one shoulder and across her body. He looked like a purse with a pacifier, and it made Sawyer smile.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to hold on to him?” he asked.

  Emma shot him a sharp look.

  He raised his palms.

  A few moments later he opened the credit union door for her, still eyeballing the strange circle of fabric. “Will that thing fit me?”

  “I doubt it,” she said. “A lady at church measured me for it, but Henry’s also got a backpack he enjoys. That’s one size fits all.”

  “You put him in a backpack?” Sawyer frowned. “Whatever happened to just carrying your kid?”

  “Baby slings and backpacks keep your hands free,” she answered softly. “Not everyone has someone to help carry the baby and haul their groceries or unlock the car door or pay the cashier.”

  The words tightened Sawyer’s core. Emma had needed help with those things, and help hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been there.

  “Emma,” a maternal voice cooed. A woman with a round face and salt-and-pepper hair motioned them to the transaction counter. “Come on over here and let me see that little man,” she said.

  Emma obliged with a smile. “How are you, Gladys?”

  “Better than you, it seems.” She frowned at the angry bruise on Emma’s pretty face. “I heard about your mugging, the break-in. Sara, then poor Kate. It’s a darn shame. Things are all but sideways around here lately. If there’s anything I can do to help you, just ask. I can cook, clean, babysit. Whatever you need. I’ve already been praying night and day.”

  “Thank you,” Emma said, wrapping her arms around H
enry, something Sawyer had noticed her doing anytime she looked uneasy or afraid.

  Henry kicked and stretched, discontent at standing still, Sawyer suspected.

  “Here.” Sawyer reached for his son. “I can take him. You can visit.”

  Gladys watched, wide-eyed, as Emma passed the baby to him. “Well, now I think you’ve forgotten to introduce me to someone important here. You never let anyone hold that baby.”

  Sawyer gathered his son high on his chest and kissed his cheeks.

  “Gladys,” Emma said, “this is Sawyer Lance.”

  Gladys sucked air. “The daddy.”

  Sawyer extended a hand in her direction. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her smile grew as they shook. “I’ve been praying for you too,” she said. “These two have needed you something fierce.”

  “I’ve needed them too,” he said, releasing Gladys’s hand and pulling Emma against his side.

  Gladys pressed her hands to her chest.

  An elderly couple came to stand in line behind Sawyer.

  “Well,” Emma said, “we’d better get out of your way so you can work. Is Mr. Harrison in his office?”

  Gladys dipped her head and lowered her voice. “No. He didn’t come in today, and as far as I know he didn’t call off. Instead, we’ve got that one.” She pointed to the office where a vaguely familiar face sat behind the desk, staring at the computer. “His name is Christopher something or other from our corporate office.”

  Sawyer moved out of the way, and Emma followed.

  “Thank you,” Emma told Gladys before turning her back to the woman and trapping Sawyer in her sharp gaze. “Why do you think Mr. Harrison isn’t here?” she asked. “And where do you think he is?”