Flashback

by Gayle Wilson

  Bastard. You damn bastard.

  She drew air into her aching lungs, the sound like a sob. The pent-up frustrations of the past week screamed for release, but she denied them. If he were out there in the darkness, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had made her cry.

  She caught her breath again, snubbing like a child on the edge of tears. She refused to shed them. She turned instead, moving carefully through the shadows toward the house.

  Her home. And she swore that whoever he was, that bastard would never set foot inside it again.

  JAKE SNAPPED HIS PHONE closed and laid it on the center console of his truck. He increased his speed, as once more he devoted his total concentration to the road.

  Maybe Eden had taken something to help her sleep. Despite how logical the explanation was, he didn’t believe it.

  She wouldn’t take anything that would knock her out so completely she couldn’t hear her phone. That would be so out of character that, despite his growing fear, he couldn’t convince himself of the possibility.

  He had thought about going by police headquarters, but found himself turning instead onto the narrow side street where he’d parked last night. The small, well-kept houses, mostly postwar-era bungalows, were all dark, their inhabitants sleeping in the cocooned isolation of their air-conditioning systems.

  The same instincts that had seen him through dozens of missions caused him to kill his lights as he glided to a stop more than a block from Eden’s front door. He waited in the car long enough to make a thorough survey of the empty street.

  Nothing stirred around him. No porch lights came on. No dogs barked.

  Reaching up, he switched off the dome light and then opened the door. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and using whatever cover the suburban terrain afforded—the trunks of the moss-draped oaks, the wild hydrangea and azalea bushes, and even the shadows cast by the cars parked along the curb—made his way toward the house where he’d stood guard last night.

  Halfway there, he realized he’d left his cell on the console. The decision not to go back was easily made, because by now he could see that, among all the darkened houses on the street, a light was burning in Eden’s.

  Something was wrong. He had known it from the first time she’d failed to answer her phone. Had known it with the same inexplicable connection he felt to the terrified child in his flashbacks.

  Hurrying now, he skirted the side of the house next to hers, praying there was no dog in its fenced yard. He had somehow escaped detection in the sleeping neighborhood, but as he began to cross the open expanse between the two bungalows, he knew how far he had pushed his luck.

  Simultaneously with that thought, a figure appeared out of the shadows of Eden’s bungalow to assume the classic shooter’s stance in front of him. Feet slightly spread, knees bent, both hands locked around the weapon that was pointed at his midsection.

  His recognition was instinctive. Almost instantaneous.

  “Eden,” he said softly. “It’s me. It’s Jake.”

  “What were you doing in my house?”

  He examined the question, using the information it provided to piece together the scenario that had brought her out here. “Somebody was in your house?”

  Another incident like the one with doll?

  “Answer me, damn it,” she demanded. “Was it you I heard inside?”

  “I wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

  The gun she held didn’t waver, but she seemed to be considering his denial. “Then why are you sneaking around out here in the dark?”

  “I think she’s alive.”

  Another silence, longer than the last. “Raine? You saw her?”

  He was tempted, at least briefly, to say he had. The truth might be less compelling, but it was the truth. Eden deserved that.

  “I heard her.”

  “Heard?”

  “I heard her crying.”

  “But you didn’t see her?”

  “No,” he admitted. And waited.

  After a dozen heartbeats, she lowered the Glock and straightened. “Then how can you be sure it was her?”

  “I don’t know. I just am. I heard her.”

  “Crying.” She repeated the word as if she found it unbelievable.

  “She sounded… I don’t know. Lost, maybe.” That was it exactly, he realized as he said the word. She had sounded lost. Alone.

  But not as terrified as she had been before.

  “I don’t know what that means, Jake.”

  He shook his head. “All I know is that she’s alive.”

  “Is she in the same place where you saw her before?”

  “I don’t know,” he said again.

  He knew how thin this all sounded. Why in the world should she believe him? He wouldn’t. Not if some nutcase was telling him this crazy story.

  “But you’re sure what you heard was Raine?”

  Was he? All he could be certain of now was that the crying he’d heard tonight hadn’t been Martinez.

  “I thought I was. I thought it was her,” he amended.

  She shook her head. “I don’t see how—”

  “It happened just like before. Everything was the same as it always is, and then it all… I don’t know. Changed. Shifted. Became something else. Something that was taking place in the darkness. Somewhere damp. And I heard crying. It wasn’t any of the others. The men I was with that day. I know the sounds they make.” He should. He had heard them in a hundred nightmares. “This was… I really think it was her, Eden. I’m sure of it.”

  “Okay. Okay. That’s good. If it’s her. That’s good, isn’t it? That means she’s still alive.”

  The intake of breath that followed the last word was strange. Wrong. He knew it, just as he had known something was wrong when he’d seen the light on in her house.

  For the first time the thought that whoever had been inside might have injured her occurred to him. He’d been so caught up in wanting to tell her about Raine, he hadn’t followed up on what she’d said.

  “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Despite the weapon she held, he approached her, putting both hands on her shoulders.

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark. Her lips parted as if she intended to speak, but she shook her head instead. And then, in a move so unexpected it took his breath, she moved against him, burying her face against the center of his chest.

  He waited a moment, unsure what the correct response to that should be. Remembering the endless warnings from the therapist the Army had required him to see about not over-reacting to situations. About always thinking before he did something. About the need to exert an ironclad control over his emotions.

  Ignoring them all, he released Eden’s shoulders, wrapping his arms around her as he gathered her to him. She turned her head to the side, her cheek over his heart. He could feel the Glock against his spine as her hands moved behind his back, to settle around his waist.

  “It’s okay.” His lips moved over the fragrance of her hair as he whispered those words of comfort. “He’s gone. It’s over.”

  “I wanted to kill the bastard.”

  “A damned healthy response.”

  The sound of her laughter was muffled against his shirt. “You’re probably the only person I know who would say that.”

  “I have been told I’m no longer a good arbitrator of what’s appropriate.”

  She pushed away from him to once more look into his eyes. “Because of your injuries?”

  His laugh was short. And bitter. “The politically correct term is ‘brain trauma.’ Not that I’m big on political correctness. I’m not crazy, Eden, I swear to you. Even the doctors haven’t suggested that. And other than the change in the flashbacks, nothing has happened here to contradict their assessment.”

  “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

  Despite liking the sound of that, he wasn’t sure what she was getting at. “I don’t understand.”

  “I�
��m the one with the phantom. Someone who can come into my house whenever he wants. Despite locked doors and windows.”

  “He isn’t a phantom.” There were a few military terms he could use to describe the guy, but he was enjoying the sensation of holding her too much to risk scaring her off by using them.

  “I know. What I don’t know is how he found out about my sister. Nobody down here knew. My dad never talked about her, because he couldn’t bear to. Neither of us did. So how can this bastard know everything about what happened to her?”

  “The same way your father learned about all those other cases. All the kidnappings he investigated. The information’s out there. It doesn’t take a law-enforcement officer to track down that kind of stuff these days. All it takes is an internet connection.”

  “Do you think it’s possible this could be the same person who took Raine? If so, then why would he do this? I was only a couple of minutes behind him tonight. If I’d been quicker, I might have seen him. Why expose himself to that kind of risk?”

  “To distract you?” Jake suggested, although he didn’t believe Raine’s kidnapper was the one playing these mind games. “But he hasn’t. My entire focus since this started has been on finding Raine. The other… It’s been a sideshow, I’ll admit, but…” Her eyes begged him to believe her. “I never once lost sight of what’s at stake.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “Now that we know she’s still alive,” she said softly, “we go find Raine.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Thanks, Doc. And again, I’m sorry to wake you in the middle of the night.”

  “Not the first time I’ve had a phone call at this hour, Eden. Don’t you worry about it. And if I think of anybody, I’ll call you.”

  “I owe you. Again.”

  The old man’s chuckle was all the response she got to her expression of gratitude. That and his promise to call if he thought of someone in town who fit the description she’d laid out for him.

  When she put down the phone, she looked up at Jake, who was standing at the side of her desk. She shook her head and read the disappointment, quickly hidden, in his eyes.

  “Who’s next?” he asked.

  “Winton mentioned that his mom keeps up with family connections. We could call her.”

  “Winton?”

  “The younger deputy that works the front desk.”

  “The guy there when we came in.”

  “Winton left at midnight.” Eden glanced at her watch. “He should be home by now.”

  “You have his number?”

  “I can get it.” She punched the intercom button and waited for the deputy up front to answer. “Carl, I need Winton’s number. Preferably his cell if you have it. Home phone if not.”

  “That’ll take a minute.”

  “I’ll wait.” She released the button and looked up at Jake again. “He was going to try and check the records of local driver’s license applications. He didn’t call me, so maybe he didn’t find anything. Or maybe the license procedure doesn’t work the way he thought it did.”

  “Or maybe you were out chasing phantoms when he tried to reach you. I couldn’t get you, either.”

  “Chief.”

  In response to the deputy’s voice, Eden pressed the intercom again. “Okay.”

  “This is his cell. And I’ve got the home number, if you want that.”

  “Give me both.” She wrote down the numbers as the deputy called them out. “Thanks, Carl.”

  “And, Chief?”

  “Yes?”

  “Winton and I talked this all out before he left. If Major Underwood is here about filing those charges the chief deputy mentioned, then I’m real sorry. We only did what he told us to.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We let Dave go. It was after midnight. He said if the major hadn’t come in by the end of the day, we had to release him.”

  Eden raised her brows in question to Jake, who shook his head.

  “That’s okay, Carl. You did the right thing. Major Underwood decided not to press charges.”

  “Good. I mean I’m glad we didn’t screw up. When I saw him come in with you, I was afraid that’s what he was here for.”

  “No, it’s okay. Thanks for the numbers.” She released the button. “I don’t know why Porter was still here. I would have thought he’d have made bond.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have the money.”

  “Then I guess we should pay him more.”

  “He works for the department?”

  “He’s a mechanic. He keeps our cars running, and we certainly can’t afford to replace them. Nobody else can touch what he charges us.”

  “No family to raise the bail for him?”

  She shook her head as she picked up the phone and began punching in the number of Winton’s cell. It rang several times before the deputy answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Sorry to wake you,” Eden said. “I need you to do what we talked about before?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I need you to ask your mom about some people in town. About their family connections.”

  “She’s asleep. You want me to go wake her up?”

  “I do, Winton. I’m sorry, but I think this is that important.”

  “Okay. Let me get her, and I’ll call you back.”

  “As soon as you can.” Eden thought about telling him this concerned the Nolan kidnapping, but in spite of having bought into Jake’s certainty to this point, she found she wasn’t quite ready to share his theory with the world.

  As she put the phone down, there was a knock on her door. “Come in.”

  With his elbow, Carl pushed the opening wide enough to peer in. “I thought y’all might want some coffee. I just made it, so it’s fresh.”

  She glanced at Jake, who nodded. “Thanks, Carl.”

  Jake took the mugs from the deputy’s hand, putting one of them down in front of her.

  “I didn’t want y’all to try to drink the stuff left in the pot. Not fit for man or beast.”

  Jake raised the mug he held, taking a long swallow. “This is great.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for not pressing charges against Dave. I know he goes off half-cocked sometimes, but he’s a good guy. He’s taught me a lot about cars and engines.”

  Jake nodded again, avoiding the necessity of commenting on Porter’s character by taking another sip of coffee.

  “They say you did a number on him,” the deputy said admiringly. “That ol’ coon ass claims to have come up the hard way, but I guess that don’t make him a match for somebody from the Special Forces.”

  That ol’ coon ass. Eden replayed the sentence in her head to make sure the words had been in reference to Porter.

  “What did you just say?” she demanded.

  “Sorry, Chief. I didn’t mean any disrespect.” Carl cut his eyes toward Jake, as if to establish some sort of male bond between the two of them.

  “Did you just call Porter a coon ass?”

  “I’m really sorry, Chief, but Dave says it himself all the time. It’s not something bad. Not like—” He stopped, his eyes again seeking approval or support from Jake.

  “Dave Porter’s from Louisiana,” Eden said aloud. There was no other explanation for what Carl had just said. And as she made that realization, the others followed.

  “That’s why she’s alone,” she said to Jake. “We’ve had him in jail for the past two days. She is alone. She has been since—”

  She stopped because she had come to the final, terrible realization. “We let him go. We let him leave, so he can go back to her. Oh, my God, Jake, he’s on his way back to her right now.”

  EDEN WAS BEGINNING to regret her decision to do this by the book. Her first instinct had been to rush out to Porter’s by herself and find Raine. To get her away from him as fast as she could.

  But if she wasn’t successful in doing that, it would give Porter a chance to get away, possibly taking
the child with him. Or even worse, allow him to put an end to this kidnapping in the same way those other two cases had ended.

  She had notified Dean first, not only because he was in the closest physical proximity to the office, but also because he was the most experienced officer on the force. Although her chief deputy had arrived at the station within five minutes of her call, his reaction to Carl’s revelation was turning out to be less than supportive.

  “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” he asked, when she explained her decision. “You can’t go out there with guns blazing on something as flimsy as this.”

  Eden raised her eyes from the shotgun she was loading. “Major Underwood is pressing assault charges against David Porter. I’m going out there to arrest him.”

  “You’re going out there because the two of you think he’s the one who took Raine.”

  “Yes.” She shoved the second cartridge in the riot gun.

  “Based on a bunch of crap he came up with.” Dean pointed a shaking finger at Jake, who had so far held his peace.

  “Based on the similarities of this case and the one in Boothville.”

  “Hell, you don’t even know if Porter’s ever been there. You don’t know where in Louisiana he’s from. All you know is that Carl Youngblood called him a coon ass. Been called that myself a time or two. And I ain’t from Louisiana.”

  “If you add that to the similarities in the cases—”

  “Yeah, two little girls were abducted. One from her bed and one from her front yard.” The sarcasm was thick. “That’s real concrete evidence they’re connected right there.”

  “Two little girls who look alike.”

  “All little girls that age look alike.”

  “I’m going out there to make an arrest for assault.” Eden worked on keeping her tone reasoned, but she couldn’t resist snapping the barrel of the weapon closed. “We’ll figure the rest out after that.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, Eden. You know that, don’t you? You’ve let some brain-damaged pretty boy convince you that Dave Porter, somebody you’ve known for years, has made a practice of snatching and killing children.”