by Gail Barrett
An owl hooted in the night. The cold wind blew, making the pine boughs moan. Parker glanced back at Brynn, glad she was keeping up. They were quickly running out of time.
They reached a clearing a moment later, and the old fire lookout tower loomed into view. Parker came to a halt and studied the wooden structure; the full moon cast it in an eerie glow.
“I’ll climb up,” Brynn whispered from beside him.
“Not with your bad arm. You wait here, and I’ll go.”
He handed her the flashlight, then jogged across the clearing to the tower and started up. But as he scaled the steep, wooden steps—the same five flights Erin Walker had climbed that fateful night—his doubts about the case increased. Why had she climbed this tower? Had it been a result of the drugs? Meth users sometimes experienced delusions of superhuman power, causing them to risk their lives. Or had she been fleeing Hoffman in terror, so desperate to escape him that she’d decided to risk the tower—and then jumped or plunged to her death?
He reached the top of the stairs. His breathing labored, he strode across the platform and peered inside the room. Empty. And with every passing moment, their hopes of finding that girl unharmed dwindled even more.
He strode back onto the platform, then scowled at the inky woods. Moonlight dusted the treetops. Stars glittered across the sky, their beauty lost to his mounting fear. He couldn’t fail that child. He couldn’t fail Brynn. Because this was it. If he didn’t prove Hoffman’s guilt tonight, he wouldn’t get another chance. Hoffman would destroy any evidence. Terry Lewis would turn Parker over to Hoffman, leaving Brynn unprotected. And she’d pay the ultimate price.
Knowing there had to be a clue he’d missed, he shoved his hand through his hair. Erin Walker had left her cabin. She’d run to this lookout tower, crossing the river somewhere—proven by her wet shoes. But why? He still couldn’t see a child that age making a trek like that through the woods at night.
Unless she hadn’t walked all the way. Maybe Hoffman had picked her up. Then he’d driven her to a closer point, somewhere not too far from the tower. With the surveillance cameras down, no one would have seen them leave the cabin. But where had he taken the child?
Frowning, he pictured the map with the river running east to west. But there’d been another creek on that map, a tiny thread running north to south where the rafts and canoes were stored.
His heart thudding, he turned to the north and stared into the dark. And suddenly he saw a flash of light. He blinked, certain he’d imagined it, then looked again. It was gone.
His pulse began to race. He looked away, letting his eyes drift over the woods, then jerked his gaze north again. There it was. A faint light flickering behind the swaying trees, a half a mile or more due north.
His hopes leaping, he rushed down the steps and rejoined Brynn. “Come on, I saw a light. About half a mile from here. We need to run.”
He set out at a jog, crashing through the undergrowth, not worrying about making noise. They had to hurry. They’d already delayed too long. And backup was still minutes away.
He zigzagged through the trees, ducking under branches, then hurtled over logs and vines. Brynn kept pace, her breath rasping as they rushed along, despite her wounded arm.
Suddenly, the sound of rushing water increased. Parker slowed and shone his flashlight ahead. They’d reached the creek. He stopped on the bank, then studied the water rushing by. It was a dozen feet wide, probably a few feet deep.
“Up there,” Brynn said, pointing upstream. “We can go across those rocks.”
“I’ll go first, then help you across.” He jumped across the stones to the opposite shore. Brynn followed a moment later, gasping when he took hold of her injured arm. “You okay?” he asked.
“It’s just my shoulder.”
“We’ll get it looked at later.”
Her eyes met his in the moonlight, and he could guess what she was thinking, that they might not survive the night. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get him.”
“I know. But we’d better hurry.”
Returning his mind to Hoffman, he started jogging again. A few yards later they reached a trail. It wasn’t much bigger than a deer path, narrow and bumpy with tree roots, but it was the first sign of civilization they’d seen.
His heart began to drum. The trail widened and turned. And then he glimpsed a light through the trees.
He came to stop, throwing his arm out to keep Brynn back. “Quiet,” he warned her. He turned off the flashlight, then crept to the edge of a clearing. In the center was Hoffman’s car. So there had been another road in. It just hadn’t appeared on the map.
He ducked behind a tree, thinking hard. Brynn stood close behind him, her breath rasping in his ear. There were two log cabins and a toolshed, similar to the one at Hoffman’s house. The lights were on in both.
He checked his watch. Within minutes Terry Lewis would be arriving at the farmhouse. But there’d been no way to leave a note, no way to tell her where they’d gone. For now they were on their own.
He tucked the flashlight into his pocket and pulled out his sidearm. “Stay behind me,” he murmured. Then he led the way toward the nearest cabin, the faint glow flickering through the window guiding the way. He ducked below the window, waited for Brynn to join him, then rose and peeked inside. He scanned the bunk beds along the wall, the dresser and corner desk. The computer on top of the desk was on, its soft glow illuminating the room. But Hoffman was nowhere in sight.
“Wait here.” His nerves stretched tight, he climbed the steps to the door. Then he nudged it open and stepped inside. No one was there. He went to the desk and searched the drawers, unearthing a pedophile’s treasure trove—computer disks, photos of naked children, magazines. In the bottom desk drawer was a cache of necklaces, all bearing that hand-engraved heart design.
They’d found their proof—enough to put Hoffman away for good. But they had to find him first.
He forced in a calming breath, the need to exact vengeance riding him hard. Then he hurried through the door and rounded the building.
But Brynn was gone.
Chapter 15
Parker stood stock-still in the cabin’s shadows, shutting down every thought but one. Hoffman had taken Brynn hostage.
He had to save the woman he loved.
He shifted deeper into the shadows, careful not to make any sound. Then he stopped behind a tree and listened intently, struggling to hear above the stark fear bludgeoning his skull. Tree branches creaked overhead. A night creature cried in the distance, the wild sound scraping his nerves. The frigid wind gusted, howling through a crack in the wooden shed, while bushes frothed in the pulsing night.
It was too quiet. Too tense. Locking his gaze on the second cabin, Parker battled the need billowing inside him to burst through that door in a frenzy and rescue Brynn. But he couldn’t afford to make a mistake. He had to stay cool and think this through—or Brynn would pay with her life.
He melted farther into the darkness, every sense attuned to the slightest sounds. He skirted a rotting woodpile, crept to the small shed standing between the cabins and peered inside. Empty, just as he’d expected.
Only one place left.
He merged back into the forest, taking a circuitous path through the trees. Twigs crackled underfoot. The brisk wind blew again, raising goose bumps along his spine while ice congealed in his heart. Something had tipped Hoffman off. Did he have a scanner inside the cabin? Had his wife somehow seen them at the house and contacted him? Was he aware that even now police were converging on the camp, preparing to bring him down?
If so, he’d be desperate, even more dangerous, which didn’t bode well for Brynn.
Dread making his heart thud, Parker neared the cabin and stopped. He took a deep pull of air, struggling to think through the overload of adrenaline blurring his mind, and snuck a peek at his watch. The police should have reached the farmhouse by now. Local law enforcement would take the lead, coordinating the SWAT and H
RT teams as they searched the camp. Given Hoffman’s rank, Lieutenant Lewis would be on scene, along with various department bigwigs—the deputy commissioner, a PR representative, the head of internal affairs.
But none of that was going to help Parker. No one knew about these old cabins. No one knew where he’d gone.
But he couldn’t do this alone. He needed a hostage negotiator to make contact with Hoffman. He needed an expert to convince him to surrender without harming Brynn or that runaway kid. At the very least he needed their stun grenades to get inside that cabin. The blinding light and noise would disorient Hoffman, incapacitating him long enough to free the captives and bring him in.
A whimper cut through the night. Parker’s heart stuttered hard, then took off in a rush. Brynn. He clenched his hands, shaking with the need to save her, to forget every bit of training he’d ever had and barge through that cabin door.
But he had to resist. Too much could go lethally wrong. And it could be a ploy, a trick to lure him into a trap. He had to keep his head, sit tight and hope to God those teams figured out where he’d gone—and arrived in time.
Then another wild cry split the night.
To hell with it. Trap or not, he couldn’t stand by and let Hoffman torture Brynn. By the time the hostage rescue team discovered their whereabouts, she could be dead.
He darted across the clearing to the cabin, then crouched beneath the bushes beside the door. The windows were boarded up. A sliver of light peeked through the cracks, but he couldn’t see inside.
He drew in a breath, trying to think this through. No matter how desperately he wanted to save her, he couldn’t rush in blind. He had to locate everyone’s position in the cabin first.
Figuring Hoffman would monitor the door and windows, Parker worked his way around the perimeter of the cabin, searching for another way in. Then a piece of wooden lattice covering the crawl space caught his eye. He ripped it off and set it aside, then shimmied through the opening. Turning on his flashlight, he belly-crawled through the dirt and weeds, hoping he’d get lucky and the cabin would have a trapdoor to drain the pipes. He finally spotted it several feet away, draped with spiderwebs.
Positioning himself beneath it, he waited a beat, but no sounds came through the floor. Why was it so quiet? What was Hoffman doing in there?
Not wanting to imagine the answer, he tested the door, but it didn’t budge. Putting more force behind it, he pushed again. Locked. Hoffman had secured it from the other side.
Swearing, he crawled back out. Aware that time was fading quickly, he ran through his options again. He could discharge his weapon to alert the cops. That would bring them to the area fast. But it could also cause Hoffman to panic and kill his captives—a disaster he had to avoid. Parker could surrender to Hoffman in order to get inside, then hope to fight it out. But he’d save that as a last resort.
Deciding to try the windows, he crept to the back of the cabin again, tugging on the plywood for signs of give. He finally came across a loose board and pried it up, far enough to peek inside.
It led to the back bedroom. He made out a dresser and chair and in the corner a narrow bed—with a small figure huddled on top. His heart missed a beat. The runaway girl. That put Hoffman and Brynn in the living room.
His mind racing, he lowered the board. Hoffman needed this child for leverage. If Parker snuck inside and released her, he took away Hoffman’s bargaining chip.
He would also remove Hoffman’s only reason to use restraint. Once he realized he couldn’t escape, Hoffman could decide to retaliate—on Brynn.
But Parker couldn’t leave that child inside. The risks were far too high. He had to free her while he had the chance—and then try to neutralize Hoffman before he could murder Brynn.
His heart beating even faster, he pulled on the plywood again. It creaked, and Parker cringed, hoping Hoffman hadn’t heard the noise. But he was committed now.
Working quickly, he yanked the final nail loose and tossed the board aside. Then he braced his hands on the sill and heaved himself over the ledge. The girl whimpered and shrank back against the wall.
“Shh. I’m a cop. I’m here to help you.” He strode across the room, but the sight of her small hands tied to the bed frame nearly razed his self-control. Not wanting to spook her, he knelt on the floor beside the bed. “I’m going to untie your hands, okay? And then I’m going to lower you out the window. I want you to run into the woods—not too far—and hide until the police get here. Do you understand?”
Her eyes were huge, but she managed to nod, and his admiration rose. Even badly traumatized, she was a fighter.
Like Brynn.
He shut down that thought fast, needing to focus on freeing this child. “Okay, I’m going to untie your hands now. Don’t be afraid.” She flinched as he reached for the rope, but didn’t make another sound. He quickly worked the knots loose, mentally cursing when he saw her wrists. The bastard had tied her so tightly that her skin was raw.
Suddenly footsteps sounded in the other room. Tensing, Parker reached for his gun, his gaze locked on the bedroom door. But then the footsteps retreated, and he eased out his breath.
With no time to waste now, he undid the final knot and rose. He started to help her stand but stopped when she jerked away. Instead, he stripped off his leather jacket and held it out. “Here, put this on. It’s cold out there.
“I’m going to lower you out the window,” he continued as she shrugged his jacket on.
“Okay,” she whispered, still trembling.
He crossed the room to the window and held out his hands. “Ready?”
She grabbed his hands, and more respect for her swelled inside. He could only imagine how much it cost her to trust a man right now. He lifted her over the sill, releasing her when she reached the ground. She stumbled, but regained her balance and darted into the woods.
One down.
Drawing his weapon, he turned around. But the wind gusted again, blowing through the open window and knocking papers off the dresser beside the door. Parker lunged forward to grab them, but something plastic clattered to the floor.
Oh, hell. He leaped toward the wall, intending to hide behind the door. But the door crashed open and the overhead light flicked on. Hoffman stood in the doorway, holding Brynn in front of him like a shield, his gun wedged under her jaw.
Parker’s world spun away at the sight of the gun pressed to her fragile throat. He took in her terror-glazed eyes, the dark bruise puffing her cheek. She was trembling so violently he could detect it from across the room.
A frantic feeling took hold inside him. He met his boss’s glittering eyes—the eyes of a man teetering on the edge of control—and his hopes plummeted even more.
His worst fear had just come true.
Hoffman knew that the kid was gone. He knew that he’d been exposed. He had no chance to escape arrest, no reason to stay alive.
In seconds they’d all be dead.
“Put down your gun,” Hoffman ordered.
“Don’t do it,” Brynn cried. “Don’t—” She gasped, her body stiffening as the gun dug into her neck.
“Right now,” Hoffman said.
Parker’s palms turned slick. He lowered the gun slightly, struggling to think. Brynn knew how to fight. She’d nearly bested him in the alley the night they’d met. And Hoffman was older, fatter, slower. If Parker could give her an opening, she could break free.
But he had to be careful. Hoffman barely had a grip on his nerves. If Parker blundered, he’d snap.
“All right,” Parker said. “I’ll put it down. But you owe me some answers first.”
“Answers?” Hoffman scoffed. “About what?”
“Tommy. How you killed him.”
Hoffman blinked. “I didn’t kill him.”
“The hell you didn’t. You executed that guy in the warehouse. You went after Brynn, then killed Tommy when he got in your way. You were there with that gang, the City of the Dead.”
Incredulit
y crossed Hoffman’s face. “You’re nuts. I wasn’t there. I had nothing to do with that.”
Parker frowned, doubts worming through his anger, but he shook them off. The evidence pointed to his boss. “And when those photos showed up in Homicide, you destroyed them to cover your tracks.”
“You’re crazy. I’ve never killed anyone in my life.”
Until now.
The unspoken words hung between them. Parker’s gaze connected with Brynn’s, the desperation in her eyes wrenching his heart. And it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to rush over and grab her away. But he’d never make it. She’d be dead before he went two feet.
“You killed Erin Walker,” he pointed out.
“Erin?” Hoffman’s indignation rose. “I did not. I wasn’t anywhere near her when she died.”
“You brought her here that night. You gave her drugs.”
“She wanted to come. But then she went berserk. It had nothing to do with me.”
“You abused her.”
“That’s a lie. I never hurt her. We were friends. She liked what I did.”
Parker realized that he believed that. In his sick, twisted mind he hadn’t harmed that child.
But what about Tommy? Was Hoffman telling the truth about that? He definitely molested children. There was enough evidence in these cabins to convict him, even if that girl didn’t testify. But had he killed Tommy? Or was Delgado responsible for that?
Parker shook away the thought. He’d sort that out later. Right now he had to save Brynn.
But Hoffman tightened his grip on her throat, causing her to wheeze for breath.
And Parker knew with a sinking feeling that he’d run out of time.
“Put down your gun,” Hoffman said. “Right now, or she’s dead.”
Not seeing an option, Parker bent over and set his gun on the wooden floor.
“Kick it over here.”
Parker sent it skidding across the floor. It came to a stop several feet from Brynn. She rolled her eyes sideways, and he knew she was calculating the distance, trying to figure out a way to get that gun. But she needed him to create a diversion first.