Appalachian Abduction (Lavender Mountain Book 2; Appalachian Magic)

by Debbie Herbert

  Still no answer.

  With a quick burst of energy, he kicked the door. Splinters flew, and the frame rattled. He kicked again, and it burst open. James shuffled to the side and removed his sidearm, then proceeded cautiously inside with his gun raised. The room was abnormally dark from the taped windows, and only the light from the open doorway illuminated the den. At least his sister had gotten rid of most of the furniture. In this room, only an old couch remained. No place to hide.

  James flicked the light switch, grateful he’d kept the power on. The Realtor had insisted on it so she could show the place to potential buyers. That was a laugh—the place had sat empty for months. Seemed fixer-upper cabins in remote Appalachia weren’t a hot commodity. Hardly a shocker.

  He made his way to the kitchen, gun still drawn. Like the truck and the den, it was pristine, and mostly empty. No signs of forced entry or habitation. Three more rooms to check. He padded down the short hallway, gun at the ready. The guest bedroom and bathroom doors stood open, but the main bedroom door was shut.

  Gotcha, he almost whispered aloud. He spared a cursory glance in the guest room that housed only a bed. Nothing was underneath the tucked comforter, so he eased toward the closed door. Spots of spilled liquid, still wet, stained the pine flooring leading from the bedroom into the bathroom. He flipped on the bathroom switch, careful to keep his gun aimed at the closed bedroom door.

  Smeared blood and dirt formed a drag pattern on the floor and basin and continued their path to the side of the tub. A wet towel lay beside the tub, as well as strips of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Someone had been hurt—and recently.

  A grating metal sound came from behind the closed bedroom door, and James barreled into the room. A mattress lay on the floor, and food provisions and clothes were neatly stacked in plastic containers along the side wall. But it was the open window that drew his immediate focus. Oh, hell no, they weren’t slipping away. He was going to get answers. James rushed to the window and stuck his head out.

  Red hair whipped in the breeze. A petite woman wearing a camouflage shirt and black panties—no pants, no shoes—ran through the yard. Blood oozed from ripped flesh on her right leg, and she limped as she headed toward the truck.

  Okay, that was far from the thug or drugged-out squatter he’d expected. “Halt,” he ordered.

  She didn’t even bother looking back at him as she continued a gimpy run to the tree line.

  “For Christ’s sake,” he muttered, tucking his sidearm back into its holster and rushing through the cabin. He exited the busted front door and stormed down the porch steps to the side yard. “Stop right now,” he called out.

  Again she ignored his command. Stubborn, foolish woman. He couldn’t let her get in that truck. But as he ran toward her, she spun around, raising a pistol in both hands and aiming it straight at his heart.

  James threw up his hands and cautiously walked forward before pointing at his badge. “Lady, you don’t want to shoot an officer of the law.” He nodded at her leg. “Looks like you need medical attention.”

  “You’re a cop? Let me take a look at that badge.” She approached and examined the badge on his uniform. The harsh glint in her eyes softened, and she lowered the gun. “Sorry. I didn’t stop to see who broke in when I ran.”

  “I identified myself as from the Sheriff’s department,” he said grimly. She might be pretty as all get-out and pretend compliance, but people weren’t always what they seemed. This job and his tour of duty had taught him those lessons well. “Now gently lay down the gun and step away from it,” he ordered.

  She kept her eyes on him as she bent her knees and placed her weapon on the ground. “No problem, Officer. I always—”

  Her right leg gave out from underneath, and she swooned forward—which put her hands right by her gun, he couldn’t help noticing. Quickly he crossed the distance between them and kicked it several yards away.

  “Suspicious much?” she drawled.

  “I’ll call for an ambulance or drive you to the hospital in my vehicle. Do you have a preference?”

  “Neither. I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “There’s blood on the right side of your scalp. Not to mention your mangled leg. Might need stitches, at the very least. Antibiotics, too.”

  “I said no.” She struggled to stand and then limped past him. “Just let me get dressed.”

  “Not until you explain how you got hurt and what you were doing in my cabin.”

  That got through to the woman, and she whirled around. “Your cabin?” She bit her lip and mumbled, “Of all the damn luck.”

  “You can explain on the way to the hospital.”

  “I don’t need a doctor.”

  She hobbled to the door, and he scrambled to retrieve the fallen weapon before following her, trying to deduce this stranger’s game. “You hiding from an abusive husband?” he guessed.

  “No,” she said flatly, grabbing onto the porch rail and wincing as she climbed the steps.

  “There are shelters that can help, you know. In fact, there’s one less than thirty miles—”

  “I don’t need a shelter. I can protect myself.”

  Like hell she could. “Fine. You want to clam up? Let’s go down to the station. I’ll run your license plate and clear up this mystery.”

  She sighed, resignation rounding her shoulders. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my clothes on.”

  Woman was probably freezing her butt off. “Of course. Look, whatever kind of trouble you’re in, we can help.”

  She blinked and nodded her head. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sorry about intruding and...and pulling that gun on you.”

  About time she saw sense. “Fine. I’ll wait here.” He took in her pale face, and his eyes traveled down to her right leg. “Can you manage by yourself?” he asked gruffly.

  “Of course. Any chance I can have my gun back now? After you unload it, of course.”

  What kind of fool did she think he was? “No, you may not.”

  She cast her eyes down in a demure manner. “Be back in a minute.”

  He watched as she made her faltering way down the hall, her back ramrod straight. What kind of man could hurt a woman that way? It looked as though she’d taken a hard tumble. Her ex was obviously dangerous. He’d see that whoever the man was, he’d get his due punishment.

  James paced the empty den, thinking of his dad and sister Darla, both murdered at the hands of another family member. How sad that the ones we most loved were often our worst enemies and betrayers of our trust.

  He shook his head and strode to the windows, stripping off the papers the woman had taped up to avoid detection. It shouldn’t matter, but he hated the thought of the cabin being shrouded in darkness night and day. Bad enough he’d abandoned it to die a slow death from neglect.

  What was taking her so long? Had she passed out from loss of blood?

  A flash of red in the barren landscape caught his eye.

  Damn it to hell. She was running away again, this time fully clothed and with a backpack strapped to her shoulders.

  Should have known the minute he’d seen those teal eyes and titian-colored hair that this woman spelled trouble.

  Chapter Two

  Charlotte suppressed a wince as she collapsed into the seat across from his desk at the Lavender Mountain Sheriff’s Office. She glanced at his nameplate. Officer James Tedder. The name had a familiar ring.

  “Driver’s license, please,” he said matter-of-factly, firing up the computer on his battered wooden desk. He examined her gun and wrote down the serial number before opening his desk drawer and locking it away.

  “License. Right.” She made a show of rummaging through her backpack. “Shoot,” she mumbled. “It’s not here. Must have left it at the cabin. Sorry.”

  He quirked a brow. “How
convenient. Tell me your name.”

  The officer was bound to get her real name from the truck’s license plate numbers. No use lying. “Charlotte Helms.”

  He picked up his cell phone, and she saw a photo of the rental tag as he typed. But there was no need to panic just because he had her name. He’d run a standard background check and see she had no priors. No reason for him to look further and check out her employment record. A little fast talking on her part to avoid trespassing charges, and her cover would remain uncompromised.

  “The truck’s a rental,” she volunteered. “Thought it would be easier to keep my ex-boyfriend off the trail that way.” She trembled her lips and let her eyes fill with tears. This wouldn’t be her first performance for getting out of a jam. And acting was so much easier when she actually felt like crying from pain. “You were right. I’m running from someone.”

  “How did you wind up in my cabin?”

  Bad spot of luck there. It’d looked perfect when she’d scouted the area earlier—practically deserted but sturdy, and the location so close to Falling Rock. She’d figured it would be less conspicuous to camp there than to rent a room at a local motel. The tourist season was long over and she didn’t want to attract attention.

  “It...seemed safe,” she hedged. “I was afraid if I stayed at a motel he’d track me down. I don’t have much cash on me, only credit cards.” She added a hitch to her voice. “I left in a bit of a hurry.”

  He paused a heartbeat, drumming his fingers on the desk. “How did he hurt you?”

  His face and voice were neutral and she couldn’t tell if he was buying her story or not. Charlotte thought fast.

  “It wasn’t my ex-boyfriend. I’d gone for a walk,” she lied. “Got a little stir crazy holed up in the cabin. I must have ended up on someone’s property because a shot came out of nowhere. Might have been an irate land owner. Or...maybe it was a hunter mistaking me for a deer? I didn’t stick around to find out. In my hurry, I stumbled and took a hard fall.”

  “Exactly where were you when this incident occurred?”

  “About a mile or two south of the cabin? I can’t say. I was focused on getting the hell out of there.”

  A ding sounded on the computer and he turned to the screen. “Truck was rented from Atlanta,” he read. “Two days ago. The contract states you’ve rented it for two weeks.”

  “That’s right.” Charlotte swiped at her eyes and sniffed. “I apologize for staying at your cabin. I’ll be glad to pay for a new door and any other damages incurred.”

  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “A crime’s been committed here.”

  “Please don’t arrest me for trespassing. I’ve never been in trouble with the law.” Then she remembered. “And, um, sorry for that other incident, too.”

  “You drew a gun on me,” he stated flatly, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

  “I thought you were my ex.”

  “Again, I identified myself before entering the cabin. Fleeing an officer is a crime.”

  “But I didn’t see you,” she argued. “I couldn’t be sure who you really were.”

  “And then there’s the matter of someone taking potshots at you. I’m going to need more details on that.”

  She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Why? I’m fine. I won’t be pressing charges even if you find the one who fired. I just want to move on. I decided during that long walk today that I want to stay with my parents in South Carolina for a bit. Get my life together and put distance between me and my ex.”

  “Move on all you like, but I still have the problem of a rogue shooter in the woods. We’re going back there and you’re going to show me where you were when this happened.”

  “But...my leg.”

  “You claim the injury’s not serious enough for medical attention.”

  Her temper rose. “But I can’t walk a mile and go scouting around the wilderness.”

  “I have a four-wheeler. You won’t have to walk.”

  “I see.” She cleared her throat and pressed a hand to her head injury. “Could we do this tomorrow?”

  His blank expression never wavered. “You have a permit to carry a weapon?”

  Charlotte blinked at the sudden change of topic. The damn gun. Once he ran the serial numbers he’d have her employment history. And then her cover was blown.

  “Of course I have a permit.”

  If only she could be sure he was a clean cop. It would be amazing to have assistance in saving Jenny. And he acted sincere with his direct manner. His face was rugged while at the same time maintaining a certain boyish charm. She couldn’t deny that she found him appealing and his forthright air inexplicably tugged at her to confide everything. But this was a small town, one that Jenny Ashbury’s kidnappers had chosen for a reason. And that reason might very well be that local law enforcement had been paid to turn a blind eye on the abductor’s comings and goings.

  She couldn’t take that chance with Jenny’s life.

  A middle-aged lady with dark hair and bifocals stuck her head in the door. “Harlan needs to speak with you ASAP.”

  Officer Tedder frowned. “Can’t it wait?”

  “Nope.”

  Charlotte’s paranoia radar activated. Harlan Sampson was the county sheriff. Was there any way he knew who she was and why she was here? Was that why he wanted to speak with Officer Tedder?

  “Be right back,” he said.

  Alone, Charlotte leaned over the desk and peeked at the computer screen. Her not-so-flattering driver’s license photo was on display. Feeling restless, she stood and strolled to the open window, wincing at the burst of pain.

  Downtown Lavender Mountain was picturesque with its gift shops and cafés. From here she could see the local coffee shop and a gourmet cheese store. Despite the off season, a few people were out and about.

  Leave. Just leave. Now.

  Charlotte bit her lip, debating the wisdom of her inner voice. It’s not like Officer Tedder had arrested her, right? And he didn’t issue an order to stay when he left. If she could keep out of sight for a couple of hours and then hitch a ride back to her truck, maybe he’d give up on questioning her.

  Yeah...but then what? Stay the next town over? It wouldn’t be as convenient, but she could rent a different vehicle, find an inconspicuous place to park it near Falling Rock, and then continue on as before. All it took was one photograph of any of the lost girls by a window, one slip-up by the kidnappers transporting their captives, or one girl to escape their cabin and make a run for it. Then she’d have the needed proof to obtain a search warrant and rescue Jenny.

  It was worth the risk. Hell, she’d already damaged her career by coming to Lavender Mountain anyway. So what if a local cop got angry with her and eventually charged her with trespassing? That was the least of her worries.

  With a longing glance at the locked drawer housing her gun, Charlotte scooped up her backpack. She’d get another weapon. If nothing else, she was resourceful and a risk-taker. With that, and a whole lot of luck, she’d bring down that human trafficking ring.

  * * *

  SOMETHING ABOUT HER story didn’t jibe. James hurried back to his office. More than anyone, he realized these mountains were as dangerous a place as any city. He need look no further than his own family for confirmation of that sad fact. But hunters shooting at a woman didn’t sound right. Hunters around these parts knew you shot by sight, not sound. Was it an irate property owner? It was possible they’d fired a warning shot or two in the air. People ’round these parts didn’t take kindly to trespassers on their land.

  And what was she so afraid of? If Charlotte Helms could afford to rent a truck, she could afford a motel. No reason an ex from Atlanta would ever think to look in this area.

  Time for answers.

  Squaring his shoulders, he stepped back into his office. His emp
ty office. No, surely she didn’t run again. She wouldn’t, would she?

  “Sammy,” he bellowed, scurrying down the hall.

  “What’s up?” Samuel Armstrong asked, not looking up from his computer.

  “Did you see a woman leave the building a minute ago? A redhead limping on her right leg?”

  “Nah,” he drawled with a wry grin. “Saw y’all come in, though. You manage to lose her?”

  “Maybe.” James hurried over to Zelda’s cubicle. “Did you see that woman in my office leave?”

  Zelda laid down her pencil and crossword puzzle book. “No, my back’s been to the door. Want me to check the ladies’ room?”

  “Please.”

  She rose from her chair with a sigh. He followed Harlan’s secretary to the lobby restroom. But he guessed Zelda’s answer before she emerged half a minute later.

  “She’s gone.”

  Aggravating woman. “Thanks,” he mumbled, hurrying back to his office for his jacket. He pulled it on as he rushed out of the lobby. He’d spoken with Harlan about five minutes, tops. Charlotte couldn’t have gone far with an injured leg and no vehicle. He glanced up and down the road, but no flash of red was in sight. James crossed the street and entered the coffee shop. This was as good a place to start as any.

  Myrtle waved as he entered. “What’ll it be, Jim Bob? Your regular with two sugars and one cream?”

  His campaign to have people address him as James instead of his boyhood nickname was not a success. “No, I’m looking for a woman. A petite redhead. Seen her?”

  “You have very particular tastes,” Myrtle said with a wink. “Didn’t know you were partial to redheads and leather.”

  He was so not in the mood for jokes. “Sheriff’s business. Has she been here or not?”

  “Touchy today, huh? Nope, haven’t seen your mysterious lady.”