Appalachian Abduction (Lavender Mountain Book 2; Appalachian Magic)

by Debbie Herbert

  The trail narrowed. Did the men have a plan, or had they fled on a knee-jerk impulse? Soon there would be nowhere left to drive. Worst-case scenario, they were part of a larger group that was nearby and could be recruited to assist their fight. Or maybe there was a drying shed nearby that the men hoped to hole up in.

  Both possibilities became moot as the men’s four-wheeler crashed into a huge oak.

  James drew out his sidearm as he raced forward. This time he’d be ready.

  * * *

  CHARLOTTE’S HEART NEARLY burst with anticipation. They’d get these men and force them to talk. With any luck, they’d provide a clue to help catch the traffickers.

  Both men jumped off the ATV, the eldest clutching his shotgun. She and James did likewise with their pistols. But the yahoo mountain outlaws still weren’t done fleeing, and the two ran in opposite directions.

  So it was going to be one of those arrests. Lots of trouble and a real pain in the ass.

  “You go after the younger,” James shouted.

  Of course he chose the armed man to chase, and it ticked her off. She was as capable as any male cop when it came to apprehending felons. No time to argue, though. Later she’d set him straight on that score.

  Charlotte took off, legs pumping and heart pounding double-time with adrenaline. Fortunately, the past several days had been event-free, allowing her injuries to heal. Problem was, her target was just as hyped as she was.

  From below, brambles sliced and shredded her pants legs while low-lying tree branches from above slapped her torso. On and on he ran. Whatever the guy had done, she’d make sure a fleeing arrest charge stick. That and whatever else she could slap on him.

  The dude was fast and crafty, darting from tree to tree in a zigzag pattern. She briefly wondered if James had caught up with the old man.

  “Stop!” she ordered.

  He didn’t look back or slow down. The jerk. He wasn’t getting away. Not even if it meant her heart exploded from exertion. “You’re just making—” Charlotte gulped oxygen into her burning lungs “—it harder on yourself.” She drew a few more gasping breaths. “Give it up.”

  “Up yours,” he shouted, flipping her the middle finger.

  Nice guy. But she’d seen and heard worse. Far worse.

  Abruptly the trail widened, and he stumbled into the open. He glanced back at her, eyes bewildered and panicked. Charlotte smiled and raised her gun. “Halt!” she called out. “Got a clear shot” —she panted, though her aim never wavered—“at you this time.”

  He hesitated, running a hand through his dark, shoulder-length hair, and then raised both arms high in defeat.

  Charlotte approached, cautious. She didn’t trust his sudden surrender for a second. Backup would be cool right about now, but she was used to working alone. She only hoped Sammy had heard the fired shots and had left his post to find James.

  “On the ground,” she ordered. “Facedown.”

  He dropped, and she was pleased to note the rise and fall of his chest. Apparently, the run had tired him out, as well—but he might yet have some fight left in him.

  “Hands behind your back, and spread your legs wide.”

  He grudgingly complied. “Bitch,” he muttered, then spit.

  “Careful. You might hurt my tender feelings.” She stood over him and used her right leg to spread his legs out further. “Got any weapons?”

  “If I did, I’d have used ’em on you by now.”

  Dude was charming. Defiant to the end. She tucked her gun into her side holster and withdrew a pair of handcuffs.

  “That ain’t necessary.”

  She bent to one knee and slapped a cuff on his left wrist. “I’ll decide what’s necessary.”

  Charlotte grabbed his right wrist, but he twisted and jerked away. He reached into his jacket pocket. Must have a weapon after all. She’d expected no less.

  Quickly she rose as he pulled out a knife and flicked it open. Sunlight touched the silver blade, and it glinted with malicious promise. She had one second to prevent an attack that could leave her gutted. Another second, and she’d have to run and would turn from hunter to prey. Not happening. Charlotte lifted her right foot and then stomped with all her might on his right hand.

  “Owww...son of a bitch!” His fingers loosened their hold on the knife, and he curled into a fetal position. “I think you broke it!”

  She stuffed the knife in her pocket, then bent down again and cuffed his wrists together. “What you got here?” Inside his other jacket pocket was yet another knife. “Any more weapons? Tell me now, and I won’t have to hurt you again.”

  “One more knife. Right pants pocket.”

  She retrieved the weapon and patted down his legs before ordering him to roll over. Swiftly her hands ran down his arms, chest and hips.

  “You need to git me to a doc,” he said with a pitiful moan.

  The adrenaline left her system with a rush, and she sank onto her haunches several yards from his curled-up body. She reached for her walkie-talkie and then let out a moan of her own. Either she’d left it in the truck or had lost it during the chase. Just terrific. “Looks like we’re in for a hike.”

  “Can’t,” he protested.

  “You’ve got a broken wrist, not a broken leg.”

  His face flushed scarlet, and his eyes were bright with tears. Whether from pain or anger, she didn’t know and didn’t much care.

  “Heartless bitch. I’m suing your ass. Police brutality.”

  “That’s me. Coldhearted,” she cheerily agreed. “Some perp twice my size tries to gut me with a knife, and I dare defend myself. Wonder who the judge and jury will rule for at trial?”

  He scrambled to a sitting position, turned his head to the side, and spat again. “There’s more than one way to get justice ’round here.”

  Anger blazed behind her temples, and she stuffed her fists into her jacket. What she really wanted to do was pummel some sense into the guy, but that was a line she’d never cross. In and out she breathed, willing her temper to cool. Dude hit a nerve for sure. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard such a threat, and she didn’t take it idly. One day her past might catch up to her. She’d return to her one-bedroom apartment some night, and someone would be there, waiting for her in the darkness.

  “You want to sit around all day and exchange pleasantries, or shall we return to our ATV? I’m sure Officer Tedder has your partner in custody by now.”

  “Betcha Grandpa got away.” A smirk twisted his thin lips.

  Charlotte jumped to her feet. Why was she lollygagging? James might need her assistance. “Rest is over. Time to hit the trail.”

  “You go. I’ll wait here.”

  “The hell you will.” Charlotte leaned over and yanked at his cuffs.

  A high-pitched wail escaped his mouth.

  “C’mon, big guy,” she said as he struggled to his feet. “Play nice, and I won’t tell your grandpa and your future cellmates that I made you cry like a girl.”

  He opened his mouth, no doubt to call her another choice name, but then clamped it shut. “I’m coming,” he said, his face scrunched in sullenness.

  Frankly, he could pout all he wanted as long as he followed orders. Charlotte made a sweeping gesture. “You go first.”

  She followed a couple of feet behind as they made their way back through the underbrush. Only the crunch of their shoes and an occasional bird call ruffled the wooded silence. Where was James? With every step, her worry increased.

  The crashed ATV came into view, still overturned and lying on its side. And still no sign of James. The cuffed suspect turned and grinned. “What’d I tell ya? Grandpa’s long gone.”

  “Yeah, gone to jail,” she snapped. But her uneasiness grew, pinching at her lungs and heart.

  One of the large black garbage bags the men carried
had fallen two feet from the ATV. What was in them—drugs? Weapons? Body parts? Curious, she scooped it up and looked inside. The bag held...vegetables? She pulled out one of the plants and held it in her palms. It had a green stem about twelve inches long that was topped with five leaves. Long, stringy roots resembling white carrots were attached to the base of the stem.

  “What’s this? Albino carrots?” she asked.

  He snorted. “It’s ’seng.”

  She blinked. “Come again?”

  “Ginseng. You ain’t never heard of it?”

  “It’s an herb, right? But...what’s the big deal? Why the hell did y’all run from us?”

  A voice called from behind, “Because it’s highly profitable and highly illegal.”

  Charlotte whipped her head around. James strode her way, grandpa cuffed beside him. Relief jellied her knees, and for one horrible moment, she thought she might faint. So this must be what Southern belles called a swoon back in the old days. She straightened her shoulders and frowned. Since when had James’s well-being mattered as much or more than her own? She had a job to do here, one that required all her focus.

  “Thought you’d got away,” the younger guy muttered, clearly disappointed. “Did he rough you up any? I think this one broke my damn wrist.”

  James quirked a brow at her, amusement dancing in his eyes.

  “He neglected to mention he sustained the injury while attempting to stab me,” she said.

  Her partner’s amusement flashed to fury. His eyes were flaming blue orbs, and his whole body grew taut, filling the air with a crackling tension. He left grandpa behind, all his focus on the younger man.

  Now the dude wasn’t so cocky. He stepped backward and held up his cuffed hands. “I’m hurt,” he whined.

  James grabbed him up by the collar and pushed his body against a pine.

  This was a side of James she’d never seen. “Wait.” She tried to wedge herself between the two men. “Stop. I handled the situation. It’s over.”

  James let go but kept glaring at the guy.

  A little redirection was in order. She retrieved a pen and small notepad from her uniform shirt. “Okay. Junior claims to need a doctor, so let’s get the ball rolling. Y’all have any identification on you?”

  Grandpa shook his head. “Don’t need it to drive my four-wheeler.”

  “Name, please.” Her pen hovered over the notepad.

  “Linton Harold Drexler the Fourth. And this here’s my grandson.” A grand name for grandpa.

  “And yours?” she asked Junior.

  “Ross Drexler, you—”

  “Careful,” James warned with a growl.

  She scribbled down the information, then held up the plastic bag. “Ross told me they were digging up ginseng, and that appears to be what’s in the bags they carried.”

  “Yep. If they hadn’t resisted arrest, they’d be charged with poaching and trespassing, which usually only carries a small fine.”

  “You questioned them yet about seeing or hearing anything?”

  “We ain’t no snitches,” Ross piped up.

  “If you know something, you will tell me,” Charlotte said through gritted teeth.

  “Shut up, Ross,” Grandpa said. “I done told ya digging for ’seng so close to them fancy-pancy houses were beggin’ fer trouble, and I was right.” He turned his back on Ross. “We heard some terrible screaming one day, and it ain’t been sittin’ right on my conscience, neither.”

  Charlotte swallowed hard. Sure, she was aware of the methods traffickers used to break down their captives, but she’d kept that knowledge tucked away in a don’t-go-there zone. Now it was all she could think about. Jenny was one of the screamers. And jackasses like Linton and Ross heard them and did nothing to stop it.

  “When?” James pressed.

  “It’s been since we found that patch last week. At first, I thought I was a-hearin’ thangs, but several days passed, there weren’t no mistakin’ that a girl was screaming. Spooked me. We hightailed it outta there, and ’bout five minutes later, a shot was fired.”

  “But did you actually see anything?” Charlotte asked. “If we had a witness—”

  Grandpa shook his head so hard that his beard whipped from side to side. “No, ma’am. We ain’t seen nothin’.”

  “What about you?” James asked Ross.

  “I ain’t seen nothin’.”

  Charlotte sighed and gestured for James to follow. About six feet away from the men, she stopped by a copse of pines. “I’m surprised Sammy didn’t hear the shots and drive over.” She kept her voice low.

  “He heard and radioed me. I told him to stay put, thinking these guys might have been hired to provide a distraction while the kidnappers transferred the captives out. If I’d known you were in danger...”

  She waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve handled worse. So how are we going to transport these two to the station?”

  “Sammy’s already taken care of it. A cruiser should be on the main path any minute.”

  Whew. She’d had enough exercise for the day without having a mile trek to James’s cabin with two fugitives in tow. “Junior will be glad to hear it. He’s been whimpering like a baby ever since I stomped that knife out of his hands.”

  Oops. Mistake to bring that up. James’s jaw clenched again, and she sensed the anger seething from his entire body. “Old man give you any trouble?” she asked quickly. “I kept expecting to hear his shotgun fire.”

  “Nah, once he saw the writing on the wall, he gave it up quick. Sorry. I should have chased the younger one. Would have if I’d known he had a weapon.”

  “That shouldn’t enter into your decision. We’re partners—equals.” She held up the bag. “How much is this stuff worth?”

  “You can fetch anywhere from five hundred to a thousand bucks a pound for wild ginseng.”

  She whistled and glanced down at the strange-looking plants. “You’re joking, right?”

  “’Fraid not. They’ve been poached so much it’s possible they’ll become extinct in a few years.”

  What a damn shame.

  “What’s so magical about ginseng?” she asked.

  “People claim it can cure anything from cancer to diabetes to weight loss.”

  James regarded the poachers, rubbing his chin. “Forget your occasional murderer preying on lone hikers walking the trail. Between the moonshiners, pot farmers and ’sengers, Appalachia can be a dangerous place. Atlanta’s crime rate has got nothing on us.”

  “And now you’ve even got human trafficking.”

  “Not for long,” he vowed. “Not on my mountain.”

  Chapter Ten

  James settled into a chair in Harlan’s office. The hot seat, judging by Harlan’s scowl. That, and the fact his boss had told him to come alone and leave “that woman” behind, clued him in that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. James mentally reviewed the ginseng poacher arrests he’d made yesterday with Charlotte. Everything had proceeded smoothly. This had to be about the trafficking case. Harlan leaned back and ran a hand through his hair.

  “What’s up?” James asked.

  “I’ve just spoken to the mayor. There’s been a backlash from our questioning at Falling Rock. Numerous complaints and a formal petition for the mayor to ‘do something about me.’”

  “Rich folks’ complaints. We’ve done nothing wrong and the mayor knows it. Did Madeline Stowers and her husband lead the charge on the petition?”

  “He didn’t mention any names, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  He’d be lousy at Harlan’s job and the ensuing political pressure that came with holding a public position. Mostly he’d hate the necessary kowtowing to the rich and powerful that came with an elected office. But James had enough sense to realize his resentment of the upper echelon was partly a resu
lt of his own upbringing as a Tedder. People had always judged him by the black sheep in his family and it had left him with a huge chip—no, make that a boulder—to carry.

  “Surely he understood the necessity for questioning everyone,” James said.

  “He did—but he’s still not happy about the situation.”

  Anger flushed the back of James’s neck. “Maybe the mayor should be more concerned about the safety of his officers and the welfare of the people in his city than he is with keeping up an all-is-well appearance about crime in the area.”

  “Was that little speech for my benefit, too?” Harlan asked brusquely. “Because if it was, I can assure you that I have my priorities straight.”

  He said nothing. Let Harlan make of it what he wanted. Bad enough to have this tension at work, but the fact that this man was his brother-in-law might make the next family get-together awfully awkward.

  “I’ve been reviewing my conversation with Captain Burkhart, Charlotte’s supervisor. Her claim that the traffickers operate here stems from an unreliable witness.”

  “But don’t forget that she saw a young girl at the window.”

  “Exactly. She saw it—not you.”

  Heat lanced his gut. “You accusing her of being a liar?”

  “Not deliberately. Hell, James, sometimes people are so determined to prove a theory that they actually invent things in their own mind as proof and believe it’s real. Detective Helms has admitted to a personal involvement in the case and that’s always dangerous. It can cloud your judgment.”

  Harlan was nothing if not stubborn. “What about the men who tried to run us off the road? You can’t blame that on a figment of imagination.”

  “No. But it’s possible the incident had nothing to do with covering up a human trafficking ring.”

  “What else could it be?”

  “Let me put it to you this way,” Harlan said slowly. “Ever since you found that woman in your cabin, trouble has followed. We know something is going on, but is it really what she claims it is? I’m concerned about Detective Helms’s mental health.”