Appalachian Abduction (Lavender Mountain Book 2; Appalachian Magic)

by Debbie Herbert

  “For you.”

  Her eyes snapped to the doorway as Sam entered the room waving a thick manila envelope, which he tossed in James’s inbox. His forehead crinkled. “Something going on in here?”

  “No, thanks for—” James began.

  “Nope,” she denied.

  He glanced between them, realization dawning in his eyes. “Right. Whatever you say.”

  Charlotte rummaged through her backpack for her case files, ignoring Sam as he swept out of the room. The situation was awkward enough without the man’s teasing. She cleared her throat and spread her files across his desk. “Let’s get down to it, shall we? Here’s a photo of Jenny.”

  The blown-up color print portrayed a smiling girl, her mother’s arm slung across her shoulder. The girl’s eyes and skin had that glow that came only with youth. Tanya’s grin was carefree and proud—in contrast to the past two weeks, when her eyes had been practically swollen shut from crying and her face puffy with misery. As thankful as Tanya would be when her daughter returned home—and Charlotte vowed to make it so—she suspected that Tanya’s carefree look was gone forever.

  “Jenny Ashbury,” she said softly. “I also have photos of other missing girls ages twelve to sixteen, although most are twelve to fourteen years old. We tried a sting operation using me as bait, but I only drew men wanting to hire me as a prostitute. I’m too old to be considered a prime target for trafficking.”

  “Too old?” James shook his head in disgust and looked over the mug shots.

  “Anyone look familiar?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, that was a long shot, but it could be helpful if you familiarized yourself with their faces and names. Never know when they might slip up and one of the girls escapes.”

  “Will do. I’m printing out the owner names and information for all the houses at Falling Rock. In the meantime, fill me in on everything you have.”

  Charlotte settled into a seat. “We’ve known for some time that a woman is locating and luring vulnerable young girls—runaways, foster children, the homeless, you get the picture. We don’t know her name, but our nickname for her is Piper, short for Pied Piper.”

  “Where are you getting your info?”

  “Mostly from Karen Hicks, a thirteen-year-old runaway who managed to escape. Piper befriended her after discovering her roaming around on Peachtree Street. Bought her a meal and offered to put her up for a night at a motel.”

  James frowned. “Your Piper’s a class act. But I don’t see the connection. Lavender Mountain’s a long way from downtown Atlanta.”

  Charlotte couldn’t mask her distaste. “According to Karen, two armed men forced her and three other girls into a van, bound and blindfolded them, then drove them around for a couple of hours. They were offloaded at a huge, luxurious house...and then they spent the next week being instructed in the finer points of sexual relations.”

  “Lovely,” James muttered.

  “Oh, it gets better. Karen found out that there was to be a party that weekend where Piper’s clients could come and sample the goods. If they liked what they found, the girls were to be sold at a price—either as exclusive property to their new owner, or to a man who would pimp them out to others.”

  Charlotte shook her head. Poor Karen. At first glimpse, her prison must have seemed like a fairy-tale castle. But it hadn’t taken long for the illusion to shatter—there would be no happily-ever-after on the horizon.

  “How did she manage to escape?”

  “Luckily for Karen, one of the rapists who visited there was not only excited but also stupid. He forgot to lock them up from the outside of the bedroom door before he asked her to tie him up and gag him. Karen happily complied, managed to slip out the back door, and then hitched rides back to Atlanta.”

  James tapped an index finger to his lips, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. “And Karen claims this happened at Falling Rock?”

  “When she escaped, she noticed the entrance sign on the subdivision gate. Unfortunately, she never got the house address. She and the others were kept in the basement, and once she got free, she didn’t stop running to look back.”

  “What about a description of the captors?”

  “Middle-aged white couple of medium build. Man had gray hair and woman had brown hair. Both blue-eyed. In other words, generic.”

  “We can show Karen photos of the different property owners and have her identify which couple held—”

  “Karen’s long gone. I can only assume she’s left the Atlanta area. No family or friends have heard from her in weeks.” Charlotte feared the worst for her former informant.

  James pulled the plat map of Falling Rock from the printer and circled one property in red. “Pretty sure this is the house we observed with the gardeners out back and where you saw the girl at the window. It belongs to Richard and Madeline Stowers, who have no children. We’re in luck.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. “Why? Do you know them?”

  “Barely. Not like we run in the same social circles. But next week, they’re hosting the annual fund-raiser for the sheriff’s office.” He gave a grim smile. “And we’re always invited to attend. Every officer—including new trainees.”

  Charlotte slapped her hands on the desk and grinned. Finally, an opportunity to access the grounds. “Bam. We can take advantage of that and sneak around.” But as suddenly as elation surged through her body, it deflated. “Still, a whole week...they’ll have moved the girls out by then. Sure, it’s brazen enough that they’re holding y’all a fund-raiser, but to keep the girls locked up for hours with a dozen lawmen in the same house? I don’t see it happening.”

  “Oh, the fund-raiser won’t be at their house. They hold it at the Falling Rock Community Clubhouse.” He pointed to the map. “The clubhouse is only three doors down from the Stowerses’ cabin, though. They plan on trying to sell the girls practically right under our noses.”

  “Perfect cover,” she pointed out. “Invite all the law enforcement officers to the ball—which leaves no one patrolling the streets.” Charlotte stood, restless and hungry with the need for action. “I want to see their home and the clubhouse from the front. I couldn’t do a safe drive-by in my rental, but what if we took a patrol car for a spin? We’d be providing a routine public service, right?”

  “I’m all in.” He pushed back his chair and grabbed his jacket. “Don’t forget your camera. With any luck, you’ll catch a glimpse of Jenny.”

  * * *

  JAMES KEPT HIS gaze fixed on the winding mountain road. Something had happened back there in the office—unspoken, unexpected and unwanted. Sure, there had been a few flashes of heat before, but now their chemistry crackled and burned with tension. Charlotte’s presence filled the vehicle, filled his mind and filled his senses.

  “Fancy, shmancy,” she commented as the Falling Rock entrance came into view. By the gatehouse was a large stone wall with a six-foot waterfall feature.

  “Only the best for these folks.” Despite all his years away and his overseas stints, James’s nerves were still set on edge whenever he crossed into the exclusive community. Growing up as the son of a local moonshiner hadn’t been easy. Even by Lavender Mountain standards, his family had been poor and looked down upon. In many ways, the situation was even worse since the Tedder name had been linked to a string of murders last year. The disparity between the rich and poor couldn’t be more evident.

  Charlotte’s voice wrenched him out of his thoughts. “Do they keep this gate manned 24/7?”

  “Yep. The guards are paid out of homeowner association fees. Must pay them fairly well, too—there’s seldom any turnover. Then again,” he admitted, “steady jobs are hard to come by around here.”

  “Could be the Stowerses pay them a little something extra to turn a blind eye to their comings and goings,” she mused.

  James p
ulled up to the gate and rolled down his window. Les Phelps leaned out the gatehouse window with a clipboard. “Afternoon, Officer Tedder. Cold day today.”

  “Hey, Les. Meet our new officer, Bailey Hanson. I’m showing her around the area. Letting her get a feel for the lay of the land.”

  His gaunt face lit on Charlotte with interest. “Howdy, ma’am. Pleasure to meet ya.”

  Charlotte leaned forward and gave a friendly wave. “You write down every vehicle that comes and goes here?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Make, model, time of arrival and time of departure. Always take a quick glance at strangers’ driver’s licenses, too. All day, every day.”

  “Bet nothing gets by you,” she said with a coy smile.

  “No, ma’am. It surely don’t.” He blushed and continued staring at Charlotte. “I take my job seriously.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a minute.” Her voice practically purred.

  Irritation spiked James’s blood pressure. Charlotte never spoke to him that way. “Thanks, Les,” he muttered, then rolled up the window and hit the gas pedal.

  Charlotte eased back into her seat. “How well do you know that guy?”

  “I’ve seen him around. He was a couple grades behind me in school.”

  “Trustworthy or no?”

  “Never been in trouble with the law, as far as I know. Seemed an okay kid.”

  “Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

  He shrugged. “How can you ever really know what goes on in other people’s lives? We all wear a mask to some degree. For all I know, Les might be a serial killer.”

  And he wasn’t being flippant. Even family members sometimes weren’t what they seemed—as he well knew.

  Charlotte snorted. “And here I thought I was jaded. You’re just as bad.”

  The road climbed until they rounded a bend and faced the first behemoth of stone and wood and glass. Charlotte gave an appreciative whistle. “Sweet little mansions you’ve got here. I bet most of the owners don’t even live here full-time.”

  “Most don’t,” he agreed. “We hardly ever see them during the cold months unless it’s for the fund-raiser or a holiday.” James slowed the car. “And here we are. Third house on the left belongs to the Stowerses.”

  “Nice digs,” she commented, studying the house. “Would it be possible to get an architect’s drawing of the floorplan? Could come in handy later.”

  “I’ll check. Shouldn’t be a problem since the architect lives in Falling Rock. He’ll want to help keep his community safe and clean.”

  “I take it there’s only one entrance to Falling Rock?”

  “It’s the only paved road, yes.”

  “Good point. I noticed the jeep and four-wheeler trails along the back of the properties on this side of the street. We’ll need a lookout posted front and back to secure the neighborhood.”

  “Harlan would agree to the needed manpower if we could show some proof that the girls are trapped there.”

  “Proof?” Charlotte slapped the dashboard and huffed, “She’s there. It’s so frustrating trying to prove it.”

  “You’re a cop. You know how this works.”

  “I know,” she muttered, staring at the dashboard. “I’m just... I call Tanya every night and have to give her bad news.”

  “But tonight you’ll have good news. You saw Jenny. As long as she’s alive, there’s hope.”

  She sighed and rubbed her temples. “You’re right. I can’t imagine what it’s like for Tanya, though.”

  He didn’t want to do it, damn it, but he couldn’t resist. Couldn’t bear to see the misery in her eyes. James reached across the console and took her hand. Her fingers encircled his and held on. They didn’t speak as they left Falling Rock and traveled back down Blood Mountain.

  Peace settled over James. It was inappropriate, ill-advised and one step closer to heartbreak. Charlotte was his partner—a temporary one, at that. Once this case was over, she’d return to her life in Atlanta and forget all about him, just as Ashley had forgotten him while he was in Afghanistan.

  And yet he held on to her hand.

  A black car slowly exited Falling Rock and fell into place behind their vehicle. Although darkness had not yet fallen, it was impossible to make out the driver through the tinted windows. Reluctantly James removed his hand from Charlotte’s and placed it on the steering wheel.

  She instantly sensed trouble. “What is it?”

  “Black sedan behind us. Just keeping an eye out since you were followed by one in town.”

  She straightened in her seat and turned her neck. “Holy,” she grunted. “I’m glad I have a gun this time. And you beside me.”

  The five-mile stretch between them and town was practically deserted. A growing unease prickled his scalp as the sedan picked up speed and drew closer. Close enough that if he came to a sudden stop, the vehicle would ram into theirs. Two men were in that car, but he couldn’t make out their individual features. James hit the accelerator.

  The sedan did the same. An arm emerged from its passenger-side window, and a gun took aim.

  “Get down!” he shouted, and shoved Charlotte’s head below the glass. “They’ve got a—”

  The ping of gunfire erupted, followed immediately by the grate of metal against metal as a bullet connected with fender.

  His mind cleared and narrowed to a crystallized focus. He had to get them to safety. His brain worked at warp speed, calculating his options. It was another four miles to town, and he was willing to bet that the snipers wouldn’t shoot with eyewitnesses around. And he knew every hairpin twist on this road—advantage, him. So...his best bet was to drive fast and weave the cruiser so that the snipers would have a more difficult shot.

  Charlotte turned on the walkie-talkie. “Come in. This is Officer Hanson. We’re at mile marker three on County Road 143. Officers needs help. Shots fired. All available backup needed immediately.”

  James rounded a curve and jerked the steering wheel to the left. Another bullet fired, missing them completely. Quickly he maneuvered back into the right lane. Paved road and faded lines of white paint rose to greet him at a dizzying speed.

  Ping. Glass shards exploded from the back window. He slowed for an instant, ensuring Charlotte was unharmed.

  “That’s it, damn it!” Charlotte loaded her gun, unrolled the passenger window, and halfway leaned out.

  “What are you—”

  The roar of her shot exploded, and James tugged at her jacket. “Get down!”

  “No way.” She took aim and fired again. “Missed. At least they’re slowing.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to drive? One sharp turn and your ass will fall out that window.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You focus on the road.”

  James gritted his teeth. If they managed to survive the next five minutes, Charlotte was in for a tongue lashing of a magnitude she’d never experienced. He was the lead, and as such, he had the right to—

  A red pickup truck swerved around the corner, and James jerked the car back into his own lane. Only inches of space separated their vehicles. There was barely time to register the man’s shocked face, and then he heard him lay on his horn. No doubt Harlan would be getting a civilian complaint about his reckless driving. So be it.

  Another mile and a half passed. A few sprinklings of barns and cabins dotted the wintry landscape. They were getting closer to safety.

  Charlotte fired again. “Got ’em! Bullet went through their windshield, but I’m not sure if it hit one of them.”

  And her tone indicated she hoped that the bullet found its human mark. A surge of admiration, mixed with adrenaline, rushed through him. He’d take Charlotte Helms as a partner any day, every day.

  His bubble of appreciation burst as their cruiser suddenly pitched to the left. The sniper had shot out his lef
t rear tire. James fought to keep the cruiser from veering over the side of the mountain. The flimsy guardrails would never hold back over three tons of speeding metal. Soon the heat from the tire rim grinding on pavement might lock up his brakes.

  And that would be it. They’d come to a dead halt and be a sitting target. Orange and red sparks tunneled upward from the rear of the cruiser.

  From a distance, the whirring of sirens approached. Would it be too late?

  The sedan surged forward, trying to pass him on the left. Its right front fender crashed into them, and the cruiser spun out of control.

  Round and round they flew in a circus ride of terror. He caught glimpses of Charlotte’s face, which was set, grim and determined, even if her voice shook. “I’m ready to face them,” she declared, one hand on the dashboard to keep from flying about, the other gripping her weapon.

  The cruiser slowed its spin, and James withdrew his gun. This was it.

  Another burst of gunfire erupted from beside him. “I hit their front tire,” Charlotte said. “Take that, you bastards!”

  The sedan took a sudden dive to the right, flipping over the guardrail like dandelion seeds in the wind. James slammed on the brakes, abandoned his vehicle and rushed to the rail, Charlotte one step ahead of him.

  On and on it rolled. “Radio for an ambulance,” he said.

  “I’m going down.” Charlotte hopped over the mangled guardrail and slowly walked down the steep incline, holstering her weapon.

  “What the hell,” he muttered. Backup was on the way. It was more important that he stay close to Charlotte. Bastards were like cats—they always seemed to have nine lives. No way would he risk letting one of them shoot at her. And she still favored her right leg after yesterday’s flesh wound.

  “Careful,” he warned. “They might still be alive and dangerous.”

  “As if this is my first day as a cop,” she muttered as she continued the slow descent. Rocks and roots marred the surface, and bits of gravel tumbled beneath his feet.

  Oomph. Charlotte went down, feet flying out from under her, and tumbled a good ten feet on her side. James stumbled and slid to a halt beside her. “You okay?”