by Irene Hannon
He elbowed him and mouthed the word relax.
Not that it did any good. Brian looked ready to puke.
He was definitely off Colin’s fun and games list.
Peeking through the branches again, he watched the old guy circle around to the passenger side and open the door. He reached in, and a moment later a gray-haired lady appeared beside him. Her back was to him, but she was kind of bent over. Like maybe she had arthritis. Or didn’t feel too good.
The guy tugged her forward, toward the front of the car, and she stumbled.
The moan that followed sent a chill down his spine.
And when she turned so he could see her face, his heart did a weird stop-start kind of thing. She had a really bad bruise on her cheek, and her eye was kind of black. Plus, she didn’t seem to want to be here. The guy was dragging her along. Forcing her.
Something bad was going on.
“Colin.” Brian’s urgent whisper reminded him he had company. “Did you see that lady’s face?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think that guy did that to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would he be taking her back into the woods?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think we should call the cops?”
The couple disappeared down the gravel road, and Colin frowned. “They’ll be able to trace the call to my cell. How am I going to explain why I’m here instead of at school? I’ll be toast. My old man will ground me, like, forever.”
“Yeah, but that lady looks like she needs help. What if we find out later he did something bad to her, and we knew we could have stopped it? Man, that would be a boatload of guilt to carry around for the rest of our lives.”
Brian had a point.
“Look, you want me to call?”
As Brian pulled out his cell phone, Colin was tempted to let him take the heat. But that wasn’t fair. He’d been the one who’d come up with this idea and dragged Brian along with him. If anyone got in trouble, it should be him.
A woman’s muffled cry of pain echoed through the woods, galvanizing him into action.
Opening his cell phone, he tapped in 911.
She was moaning way too loud.
Martin picked up his pace. He should have gagged her before he pulled her out of the car. Not that anyone was around to hear her, other than maybe a few deer. But he’d silence her once they got to the lean-to. He didn’t want to run the risk of having anyone hear her scream. And without a gag, she’d be doing a lot of that.
The crude structure came into view up ahead, set back from the gravel road in the center of a clearing about a hundred feet in diameter. It sure wasn’t a place he’d want to sleep, exposed to the elements and all. But the owner belonged to some kind of mountain man group and liked to come out here in buckskins and shoot his black powder rifle and sleep in the open.
Go figure.
Still, he was glad he’d met Jeff in the café in Potosi, where he’d stopped for breakfast on one of his first weekend trips to his cabin a year ago. The place had been packed, and the guy had claimed a stool next to him at the counter. He’d been real friendly, and they’d struck up a conversation. When Martin had told him he owned property nearby but complained he didn’t have enough acreage to allow for good hunting, Jeff had invited him to hunt on his three hundred acres anytime. And he’d done so on a number of occasions. Jeff had also offered him the use of his “cabin,” then explained it was just a lean-to he used for protection from the wind or rain.
Who knew it would end up serving a higher purpose?
Arriving at his destination, Martin pulled the judge into the open-ended wooden structure and dumped her against the single sloping wall. After balancing himself on one knee, he fished in his pocket and withdrew a strip of cloth.
The judge’s head was lolled to one side, her eyes half closed, and when she opened her mouth to moan again it was easy to slip the cloth between her teeth, pull it taut, and tie it behind her head.
Her eyes flew open, wide with fear, as he gagged her. As if she knew the end was near.
It made him feel good.
Righteous.
Like a patriot.
Thanks to him, in just a few minutes there would be one less freedom-sucking judge to undermine America.
He pulled out two plastic restraints from the pocket of his jacket. With one, he secured her ankles together. She struggled a little, but an elbow to her ribs took care of that. She collapsed with a moan.
With the other restraint, he attached her wrists to a metal hook sunk deep into the wood of the lean-to above her head, where Jeff maybe hung a lantern or draped a canteen. As he stretched her arms up, she made a noise deep in her throat, and he glanced at her again. Her features were contorted with pain, her expression pleading. Like she thought he might take pity on her.
Fat chance.
No one had ever taken pity on him. Not the government. Not his employer. Not his father. Why should he feel one iota of sympathy for a corrupt judge who reveled in controlling people’s lives?
Backing out of the lean-to, he retrieved the plastic-wrapped bales of straw he’d hidden under cedar branches in the woods. Then he jogged back to his car to get his rifle—just in case—and to remove the plastic from the car seat and floor. Bundling it in his arms, he returned to the lean-to and stuffed it around the judge. In just a few minutes, any trace evidence or stray fingerprints would simply melt away.
Along with the judge.
22
______
At the impromptu command post that had been set up at Reynolds’s cabin, Jake tried to ignore the fact that the woods around them were being searched. He chose to believe Liz was still alive.
It was the only way he could stay focused. And in control.
Motioning to Todd to join him, he strode toward the tire tracks the other marshal had discovered. If there were tire prints, there might also be footprints.
Two sets, he hoped.
The rocky ground didn’t offer much. But as he scrutinized the tire tracks, then widened his scan to what he assumed was the area around the car, he picked up an indentation that, from a distance, looked like it could be a shoe print.
As he moved toward it, Todd fell in behind him. “See something?”
He pointed toward the disturbed area. “That might be a print.”
Todd squinted at it as they approached. “Maybe.”
Stopping a foot away from the muddy patch, Jake dropped down to study the impression. It was definitely a shoe print. More like a boot print, based on size.
But it was the scuffed mud next to it that drew his attention. It appeared to be a much smaller partial shoe print.
Yes!
Todd knelt beside him. “It looks as if he was dragging something—or someone.”
“Yeah. Or partly dragging, anyway.” He did his best to contain his burgeoning hope, trying to engage the left side of his brain. “I see part of a shoe print. That means Liz was still on her feet when she left here. And if they’ve only been gone for . . .”
His BlackBerry began to vibrate, and he pulled it off his belt, glancing at the display area. The caller ID was unfamiliar.
“Taylor.”
“Marshal Taylor, this is Hal Davis, chief of police in Potosi. The Highway Patrol patched me through to you. We just had a call from two juveniles who say they saw suspicious activity about four miles from your position. It involved a gray-haired man and an elderly woman who appeared to be injured. The man pulled his car behind some evergreens to shield it from the road, then took off with the woman down the gravel path that leads into the property. The kids didn’t get the license plate, but the color matches the BOLO alert. I have an officer in your area who should be arriving momentarily. He can lead you to the entrance.”
Jake’s pulse skyrocketed. Motioning to Todd and the other marshals milling around the area, he rose and took off at a sprint for the vehicles parked a couple hundred yards from
the cabin.
“Okay. We’re heading for the main road as we speak. Alert your officer we’ll meet him or her there. Are there any buildings on the property?”
“Not that we know of.”
“How far back does the road go?”
“I don’t have that information. It’s a three-hundred-acre parcel, but most owners don’t go to the expense of building roads too far back. Just enough to get them away from the main road.”
“All right. Tell your officer no siren. We’ll stop an eighth of a mile away from the entrance and go in on foot. I don’t want to advertise our presence.”
“I copy that.”
“I also need an EMT crew standing by. Make sure at least one of them is a paramedic. They should wait half a mile away until we give the signal to move in.”
“Understood.”
Ending the call, Jake stopped beside the Highway Patrol SUVs that had transported them here. The other marshals gathered around as he filled them in.
“We’ll fan out and go in through the woods.” He fitted his voice-activated earpiece into place as he issued the clipped instructions, and the other marshals followed suit. “We’ll work on the assumption that our guy isn’t going in too deep. If Liz is injured, he won’t want to transport her very far. Let’s do it.”
By the time they piled into the two Suburbans and arrived at the main road, the police cruiser was waiting for them. Jake motioned through the window for the officer to move out. The man floored it, and they fell in behind him, spitting gravel.
Pulling out his BlackBerry, he punched in Matt’s number. When his boss answered, he brought him quickly up to speed.
“We also need a medevac helicopter ASAP,” he finished.
“I’ll take care of it. Just rescue the judge.”
“That’s my plan.”
As he ended the call and they sped down the two-lane road, Jake sent seven silent words heavenward.
Please, Lord—let us be in time!
She couldn’t breathe.
Every time Liz tried to suck air into her lungs, pain exploded in her midsection.
She felt the hovering, shadowy presence of death.
Pressure built behind her eyes, but no tears came. Through a haze of pain and dizziness, she watched her tormentor moving about as she tried to inhale tiny breaths that wouldn’t cause further agony. It didn’t work. No matter how slight the rise and fall of her chest, searing shafts of pain shot through her.
She couldn’t even cry out. Not only had the gag silenced her, it had also sucked out whatever moisture had remained in her mouth. Her tongue felt huge and parched.
All at once a muscle cramp seized her shoulder, and she gasped at this new torture. She tried to maneuver herself into a different position, tried to rise to her knees, to flex her shoulders—anything to alleviate the spasm. But weakness had robbed her limbs of their ability to respond to the commands of her brain.
Her body stiffened as the cramp twisted the muscle in her shoulder, and a despair deeper than any she had ever known rolled over her, crushing in its intensity, sucking the hope out of her.
All her life, she’d been a fighter. A woman who’d never believed in giving up. Who’d always battled to survive. To endure. That’s why she’d tried so hard to escape. Why she’d left clues every chance she’d gotten.
But she’d finally reached her limit.
She was ready to concede defeat.
Until the pungent smell of kerosene seeped into her fading consciousness and jerked her attention back to her abductor.
Blinking, she tried to focus. Straw was piled high around the lean-to now. So high she could barely see over the top.
And Reynolds was dousing it with kerosene, his movements methodical, impassive.
A splash of the noxious liquid hit her face, trickling down her chin, soaking into the rag around her mouth. She gagged at the taste, but there was nothing in her stomach to retch up.
As the final horror registered, revulsion and fear clawed at her.
No!
She tried to scream the word.
The gag muffled her cry of terror. But it couldn’t stop the surge of adrenaline that shot through her, giving her a final burst of panicked energy. She’d been ready to die. But not like this. Not engulfed in flames.
Desperately she yanked at the restraint holding her wrists. Again. And again. And again.
But it didn’t give.
Then Reynolds lit a match. Threw it in her direction. Repeated the action. Over and over again. Like he was playing some macabre carnival game.
As flames began to curl up from the straw and smoke started to waft her direction, he finally spoke.
“Good-bye, Judge. And good riddance.”
Jake was out of his vehicle and sprinting toward the woods even before the SUV came to a full stop. Gesturing toward the other marshals to spread out, he plunged into the thicket of branches, grateful that much of the stubby undergrowth had been nipped by frost and died back.
He was making steady progress when a puff of smoke rising above the trees up ahead caught his attention—and sent his pulse rocketing off the scale.
“We have smoke. Move in!” As he issued the curt instruction into the mike on his cuff, he broke into a flat-out run.
Thirty seconds later, he emerged into a small clearing. He could see billows of smoke, and through it some sort of lean-to structure. Here and there, fingers of flame licked upward.
Then, as a gust of wind whipped the smoke aside for a brief instant, he saw Liz.
In the middle of the inferno.
He whispered a word he rarely used.
“What’s wrong?” Todd’s voice.
“I see Liz. She’s in the lean-to. I’m going in.” He raced toward the blaze, adrenaline pulsing through his body. “We need to—”
The crack of a rifle ricocheted through the woods.
It wasn’t one of theirs.
Jake dived for the ground as another bullet ripped past him, so close he could feel the vapor bulge.
His gaze riveted on the lean-to still thirty feet away, he pressed himself flat to the ground. Now he could smell kerosene as well. Reynolds had used an accelerant.
They had very little time.
“Jake—are you hit?” Mark’s terse question crackled through his earpiece.
“No. But I can’t budge till we get this guy.” He tried to keep the panic and desperation out of his voice. “Todd . . . can you spot him?”
“Not yet. But I’m working on it.”
He looked again at the lean-to, the smoke and flames increasing by the second. Terror tightened his throat. He couldn’t lose Liz. Not when they were this close.
Not when he could no longer imagine a future without her.
“Work faster! We’ve only got seconds!”
How in the world had they found him?
Martin hunkered down among some large boulders near the edge of the woods. Good thing he’d taken one more look over his shoulder as he trekked back toward his car or he would have missed the guy running toward the lean-to.
If he hadn’t checked back, the judge might have survived.
And he couldn’t allow that.
He wasn’t going to fail a second time.
Peeking over the rocks, he saw that the man was still on the ground. A marshal or FBI agent, maybe, based on his attire. And he wasn’t moving. Martin wasn’t sure he’d hit him, though. Surprise had thrown off his usual precise aim. But it didn’t matter. If the man wasn’t hit, he was pinned down. There was no way he could get to the judge to save her. That was all that mattered.
Except . . . he wouldn’t have come alone. The place was probably swarming with law-enforcement types.
The reality slammed into him, stealing the breath from his lungs.
He wasn’t going to get out of this alive.
His stomach coiled into a knot of fear. He hadn’t planned to die carrying out this mission.
But a lot of patriots had put their l
ives on the line back when the country was just beginning. Thousands had died fighting for independence and freedom. It was a noble way to go. An honorable way.
A strange peace settled over him as he tightened his grip on his rifle and scanned the area around him. All he had to do was hold them off a little longer.
Then he would take his stand.
Just as the patriots had at Bunker Hill.
23
______
“I have him in my sights. He’s behind the boulders on the west side of the gravel road.”
As Todd’s terse words crackled through his earpiece, Jake responded without hesitation. “Take him out.”
A second later, the retort of a rifle splintered the still air.
Jake didn’t wait for Todd’s all clear. Before the echo of the shot faded, he was on his feet. Running.
As he approached the lean-to, a staggering wall of heat hit him. Coughing, he peered through the swirling smoke, desperately seeking a way through the ring of fire.
A sudden gust of wind whipped the acrid cloud aside for a brief instant. Long enough for Jake to spot one section where the flames hadn’t yet engulfed the straw.
Shielding his face with his arm, he took a deep breath, held it, kicked aside the smoldering straw, and plunged through.
The smoke stung his eyes, and he blinked to keep his vision clear. Liz didn’t appear to be burned, but her bound hands were secured to a hook on the lean-to and her head was slumped on her chest.
She was unconscious.
Or worse.
Smoke inhalation could kill quicker than fire.
Pushing that terrifying possibility aside, he pulled out his knife and went to work on the nylon restraint. Heat scorched his upper arm, but he ignored it and kept sawing.
When the restraint gave way at last, he gathered Liz into his arms. Doing his best to protect her from the fire, he exited the same way he’d come in, flames licking at his legs as he passed through.
Once in the clear, he knelt and gently lowered her to the ground. Sitting back on his heels, he sucked in deep breaths and wiped his streaming eyes on his sleeves.