Missing in the Mountains

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  “The Finns,” Sara whispered. “They bring me food and water.”

  “Yeah. I think there are others too. In the week that you’ve been gone, Christopher has added a lot to the embezzlement, including multiple counts of breaking and entering, a hit-and-run, tampering with brake lines, three counts of abduction, a mugging and assault.” She thought it over. “The brake line thing might qualify as attempted murder, same with the hit-and-run.”

  Sara gasped, “What has been happening out there?”

  “Nothing good,” Emma said, reconsidering immediately. She’d been reunited with Sawyer. Henry with his father. She was in love. Those were all good things. And the thought of Sawyer sparked a new idea in her head. “Do you know if we’re on Finn land?”

  Sara nodded. “I think so.”

  Emma smiled. “Sawyer left at twilight to come here and search for you. He hasn’t found you yet, which means he’s still on his way.” And that was very good news. “He must’ve covered a lot of ground by now. It’s only a matter of time before he finds this shed.”

  She gave the next board a kick, and her foot broke through. “Here!” Emma kicked again. Then again. The wood crumbled and splintered under the force. Slowly the initial shoe-size hole expanded into something big enough to slide Henry through. Soon, they would be able to run.

  “Keep going,” Sara said, scooting in Emma’s direction. “When it’s big enough for you to get out, go. Get help.”

  Emma turned her attention on Sara as she continued to kick and press the decrepit board. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I can’t go,” Sara said. “I can’t run. My feet are bound.”

  “Maybe we can find a way to cut your ropes.”

  “No,” Sara snapped. “I can’t go, but you can. We always put Henry first. That’s the rule, and we never break it. So, you’ll take him and go. Come back with help.”

  Outside, the low rumble of an ATV returned, growing louder with each passing second.

  Emma’s gaze darted around the room in search of something sharp to work on Sara’s binds, but she was right. There was only dirt and wood. Her next kick wrenched the board loose with a crack, and Emma lowered quickly to the floor. She planted both feet against the edges of crumbled wood and pushed. The planks snapped and groaned under pressure. Hunks of the wall fell into the grass outside, and Emma’s feet were suddenly beyond the cabin. Her hips and shoulders would fit through, as well.

  “You did it!” Sara said. “You did it! Go! Take Henry and run!”

  Emma pulled her feet back and hurried to Sara’s side. She threw her arm around her sister’s back and hugged her tight, not knowing if it would be the last time she’d ever see her. The painful tightening of her chest, lungs and heart was nearly enough to make her stay. “I love you,” she whispered. “You are my best friend. My sister. My hero. Always have been. Always will be.”

  The ATV arrived, and the engine was silenced.

  Sara batted tears. “You be the hero tonight, okay?”

  Emma nodded. “Okay.” She kissed her sister, then turned for the newly made escape hatch.

  Before she could cross the small space to safety, the chains rattled and the shed door swung open.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Christopher ignited a flashlight, briefly illuminating his angry face. His helmet and ski mask were off, his hair messy from the aftereffects of both. He swung the beam of light over the floor in search of his captives. Shock tore through his scowl as the beam stopped on the generous hole Emma had recently kicked in the wall.

  “What the hell?” he snarled, storming inside the dank and musty shed, fists balled. “Did you do that? How the hell did you do that?”

  Emma stiffened, scooted back, but didn’t speak. A tremor rocked over her limbs and coiled her nerves into a spring. She’d been hit by him once, outside the credit union, and she’d seen him strangle Sara. She knew what he was capable of, and she hated herself for not being faster on the escape. She’d been so close. Another minute, and she and Henry would’ve been hidden in the shadows, on their way to find help.

  Christopher squatted for a closer look at the hole, then turned to Emma with his signature sinister smile.

  She swallowed hard, scrambling for an explanation, contemplating a run for the door. Though running from him hadn’t gone her way the last time.

  He jerked to his feet, and Emma angled away, blocking her battered sister from his view. “Let us go, and we won’t tell anyone what you’ve done,” she begged. The plea was little more than a whisper on her sticky, swollen tongue, her mouth dry and pasty with fear.

  Christopher barked an ugly, humorless laugh. He pulled his phone from one pocket and stared at the illuminated screen. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t make deals,” he said. “I give orders and I call the shots.”

  She imagined his inflated ego swelling until it lifted right through the hole in the ceiling. “Then what do you want from us?” she asked. “What’s the point? Why did you bring us here?”

  He stepped purposefully in Emma’s direction, and she winced.

  He smiled wider.

  Emma widened her stance and prepared to dodge him if he reached for her, or duck if he swung. She breathed easier when he stopped moving and checked his phone. Still, she had no idea why he’d taken the three of them and delivered them to the godforsaken shed. If not to kill them, which he could have already done, then why?

  Christopher returned the phone to his pocket, looking satisfied with whatever message he’d received. He leaned at the waist, cold blue eyes searching for Sara around Emma’s side. “I worked on this for years, then you just jumped right in and ruined it. You couldn’t let it go. You had to pursue it. Relentlessly. Even after you called corporate to report the problem, and I told you I’d handle it. You just couldn’t let it go!” His tone grew louder and more hostile with every word.

  Emma glanced at her sister’s equally red face.

  Sara glared past Emma to Christopher. “You’re tech support. I called you for help with what I thought was a system glitch. I had no idea I’d contacted the person who’d created the problem,” she said, “at least, not until the problem never cleared up.”

  “You weren’t supposed to follow up! That’s not your job!”

  “You’re just tech support?” Emma asked, recalling Christopher at the credit union in a suit and a smile.

  “I’m not just anything. Except smart, rich and fed up,” he snapped. “Harrison wouldn’t confess to his part in the ongoing amateur investigation with your sister, even under threat of death, and you saw how that went for him. I used my corporate ID badge to pass as the stand-in manager because I needed access to Harrison’s office computer to remove any evidence he kept there. I got that job done, but there’s still the issue with Sara. She told me she has enough data to ruin me, but she won’t tell me where it is or who she’s told. Funny, because she had a real big mouth when it came to shouting the problem from the rooftops.”

  “I was trying to help people,” Sara cried.

  Henry gave a grunt and squeal of complaint against the angry voices.

  Christopher blew out a breath of exasperation. “This could have all ended with you. I asked you who you told, and you lied. Now all these deaths are on your head.”

  Who did you tell?

  The vicious whisper from Emma’s memories rocked her back on her heels. She swallowed another lump of hate and remorse. “I was there,” she said. “When you came into our home and tore her away. I heard you hit her. Choke her. Saw you slam her onto our couch and climb on top of her, bullying, intimidating. You wanted to know who she’d told, but she’d never told anyone except Harrison. Then you screwed up. You took her from me, and you shouldn’t have done that.”

  Henry stiffened his limbs and released a scream that seemed to come all the way from his toes.


  Christopher’s eyes flashed hot. The hard set of his lips and rigidity of his stance warned her to tread carefully, but Emma stormed ahead.

  “You’re going to jail,” she said, bouncing Henry gently in her arms. “It’s only a matter of time now.”

  He shot Sara a fevered look, then fisted his hands into his messy hair. “You,” he seethed, glaring at the woman he’d clearly abused for a week.

  “You,” she yelled back, angry and suddenly looking utterly unafraid. “You stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from local families who were already struggling to pay their bills and buy groceries. You helped yourself to a portion of the interest they’d earned. You’ve killed to keep it. To cover your tracks. You’re a criminal. A monster and a thief.”

  Christopher narrowed his eyes. “And you made me a killer.”

  “Greed made you a killer!”

  He tipped his head back and laughed. “Now, we’re going to play a game,” he said, turning his attention back to Emma. “I’d originally hoped that with enough persuasion, Sara would tell me where she put the files and evidence she’s collected against me, but she hasn’t been very accommodating. I tried hurting her. That didn’t work. I tried isolating her. That didn’t work. Food deprivation didn’t work. Now the police have one of my men in custody, and he’s sure to squeal on me to save his idiot brothers, so I need to get out of town fast. I can’t go without those files. I didn’t work this hard to become a fugitive living on the run.”

  “What kind of game?” Emma asked, circling back to what mattered and not caring if Christopher had to live in a cave in Tombouctou.

  He fixed her with a warning stare, then sidestepped until he had a clear view of Sara on the floor behind her. “The game goes like this—Sara either tells me where the evidence is, or Sara watches while her baby sister and tiny nephew die slow, ugly deaths.”

  Emma moved back another step, putting more space between Henry and Christopher. “What about the Finn boys?” she asked. “You said you’re in a hurry because they’re going to turn on you. Will you kill them too? All of them?” She wrinkled her nose in challenge. “Seems like you might get one or two, but whoever’s left will either get the best of you or get away and turn you in.”

  “You’re forgetting that accidents happen, and those guys go everywhere together,” Christopher said.

  “Another case of cut brake lines?” she asked. Emma struggled not to be sick. He spoke about killing three brothers as coolly as if he were talking about the weather.

  The building sound of an ATV engine turned Christopher to the door. “Excellent. He’s here.” He clapped his palms together. “That game we talked about starts now. You have three minutes to give me what I want or choose who dies first.”

  “You’ll kill us all anyway,” Sara said. “Why would I give you anything?”

  Christopher smiled and pressed the door wide. “Three minutes,” he said, shooting his gun into the air for emphasis before letting the barrier slam shut behind him.

  * * *

  SAWYER HAD LOST count of the number of acres he’d covered when he heard the gunshot. He’d been at it for hours and not found any trace of Sara or anyone else, and at just before dawn, the single gunshot seemed all kinds of wrong.

  He’d left Emma and Henry inside a heavily secured home, protected by a state-of-the-art system, but instinct had his hand inside his pocket, seeking his cell phone anyway.

  He frowned at the pitiful single bar of service, then dialed Emma, thankful to have any reception so deep in the forest. No answer.

  He redialed and squinted at the slowly lightening sky while he waited. The sun would rise soon, and he’d be able to see farther, move faster, finish his mission and return to his family. That was how he thought of them now, he realized. As his family. His new team.

  He dialed again, and the call went to voice mail. Sawyer’s intuition flared. He dialed the number of the officer posted outside his home instead.

  That call went to voice mail, as well.

  Sawyer broke into a sprint, running full speed in the direction of his vehicle. This time, he dialed Detective Miller.

  “This is Sawyer Lance,” he stated without waiting for the customary hello when the call connected. “Have you heard from your man outside my home?”

  “No,” Miller answered hesitantly. “Where are you?”

  “Looking for Sara, but Emma’s not answering, and neither is her security patrol. I’ve just heard a gunshot. I think someone’s taken her and Henry like they took Sara, and I think they’re somewhere on Finn land with her now.”

  “Whoa,” Detective Miller cautioned. “Slow down and start over. Where are you?” he asked again.

  “Detective,” Sawyer said through gritted teeth, feeling his temper flare, “check on my family. Call me when it’s done. I’ll fill you in after.” He disconnected. His mind spun with calculations as he ran. The amount of time it would take him to return home. The amount of time it would take him to reach the Finns’ home. The amount of time it would take to find the location of the gunshot based on the echo and his best guess.

  His phone vibrated in his palm as he slid behind the wheel of his rented SUV. “Lance,” he answered.

  There was a long beat of silence before the detective spoke. “Emma made a 911 call late last night, when responders arrived, the home was empty. Your bedroom window was broken. Our man was down.”

  Sawyer beat his empty palm against the steering wheel and floored the gas pedal. He reversed down the long dirt road at the edge of the Finn property with abandon. Dirt flew in a cloud around him. “They were home when I left,” Sawyer said. “I have the car, so where the hell are they?” He thought for a moment about the situation. “Did you say she called 911?” He pulled the phone away to check the screen. He’d missed four calls. Two from a number he recognized as belonging to the new security system. Two from Detective Miller. His teeth gnashed as he swung the vehicle around at the end of the lane. “You called,” he said. “It never rang.” Cell service wasn’t any good on the mountain. Nothing but trees and wildlife for miles. No signs of civilization.

  Sawyer swallowed past a growing lump in his throat as numerous horrific images cluttered his mind. “Were there signs of a struggle?” he asked, unable to bring himself to ask the bigger question. Was there blood?

  “Just the broken window,” Miller said. “Someone shut off the alarm using the code, but no one answered when the contact number was called.”

  “It didn’t ring,” Sawyer said. He spun the SUV at the end of the lane and shifted hard into Drive. There wasn’t anything to be done at his place. Emma and Henry were already gone. The cops would slow him down with questions for their reports, and time was already wasting. He needed a new plan. “I’m going to the Finn house.”

  “You are not,” Detective Miller ordered, his voice thick with authority.

  “I am,” Sawyer corrected. “If you don’t want me there, I suggest you try to stop me.”

  A siren coughed to life on the other end of the line. Challenge accepted. “You’ve got no business—” Miller began.

  Sawyer cut him off. Miller didn’t get to decide what was or was not Sawyer’s business, and Emma and Henry absolutely were. “I’ve been on the Finn property all night,” Sawyer interjected. “Walking. Looking.”

  “Trespassing,” Miller countered, the siren on his vehicle complaining in the background.

  “Looking for places Sara might’ve been held. I didn’t hurt anything. Didn’t touch anything.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “No, but there’s a lot more ground to cover, and I heard a gunshot. It was near, but not near enough that I could say where it came from specifically, and I don’t have time to mess around trying not to infringe on other folks’ rights when my rights and the rights of my family have been trodden over daily for a week. So, like I said, I
’m going to talk to the Finns. If you don’t want me there or you’re just eager to charge me with trespassing, then you’d better come haul me in.” He disconnected and dropped the phone onto his passenger seat, then depressed the gas pedal and tore up the quiet country road getting to the Finns’ house.

  He took his time pulling into the driveway, careful not to roll into an ambush. He parked several yards from the front porch and climbed out as the sun crested the horizon. Senses on alert, and one hand on the butt of his gun, Sawyer opened the driver’s door.

  The home’s front door swung open a moment later. A man in bib-style Carhartt overalls walked out. His clothes were covered in old grease stains. His boots and ball cap looked equally well-worn. “Who’s there?” he called, stepping onto the top porch step.

  Sawyer remained partially behind the open door. “Sawyer Lance, Fortress Security,” he announced. “I’m hoping you have a minute to talk.”

  “I have a minute,” he said, “but the missus is making breakfast, and I try not to miss a meal. Can I ask what this is about?” Mr. Finn was pushing fifty, tall and lean with a mess of crow’s-feet at the corner of each eye.

  “Are you Mr. Finn?” Sawyer asked.

  “That’s right. I’m Mark Finn.” He hooked his thumbs in the straps of his bibs, both hands visible.

  Sawyer relaxed and shut the car door. “Mr. Finn, I’m here because my...” He paused, stuck for the word. His what? His girlfriend? The term felt far too juvenile for what Emma was to him. She was everything to him. She and Henry. He rolled his shoulders and began again, reminding himself that time was speeding ahead while he floundered in a stranger’s driveway, worried about semantics and courtesies. “My baby and his mama were abducted last night, and there was a gunshot out this way not long ago. I’m worried she might be on your property somewhere and hurt.” Or worse, he thought. But there had only been one gunshot. There were two of them. A mama and a son.