A Dead Man's Pulse

by Samantha A. Cole

  “Fuck! Come on. You can do it. Just a little . . . more . . . ahhhhhh . . . shit . . . shit!”

  Her hand slid free, and Georgia gulped for air as sweat covered her naked body. Not knowing how much time she had left, she popped her thumb back into place and shifted to her left side. Ignoring the agony of her abused wrist, she unbuckled the second restraint. Once free, she sat up and released her legs. Standing, her knees almost gave under her weight and she grabbed the side of the bed to keep from falling. Her mouth was dry as a desert, and she licked her lips as she stumbled toward the cabinets. Hoping her clothes were in one of them or at least a bottle of water, she was disappointed to find they held nothing of use to her except a screwdriver. She could use that as a weapon. The rest of the items were cleaning products, other tools and hardware that were useless for her, and more chains and restraints. Well, she’d been naked in front of dozens of people before in the club. Being embarrassed trumped being tortured and killed any day of the week.

  Hurrying to the door, she was relieved to see a deadbolt latch on the inside. Flipping it, she prayed there wasn’t another lock on the outside. When she pulled on the handle beside the lock, she almost shouted “yes” when the door opened toward her. She eased it slowly until she had enough space to check what was on the other side. She was surprised to see nothing but trees, rocks, shrubs, and weeds. A chipmunk scurried past and birds chirped and flew overhead. The rain had slowed to a sprinkle and everything smelled new and fresh. Stepping out, she ignored the mud and pebbles poking the bottom of her feet, and looked right then left. Before she went anywhere, her bladder was about to burst. Ducking around the building, which had probably been a utility building for some company or parks department before being abandoned, she squatted and took care of business before investigating her surroundings. There was a dirt drive running past the small structure—that was her way out of here but she couldn’t risk her abductor coming back and finding her walking along the road. Her best bet was to stay far enough away from it to stay concealed by the foliage, while close enough to follow it out to a main road. But should she head east or west? What would her brother tell her to do? See if there are any tire tracks in one direction and not the other.

  Good idea, Greg. Maybe you won’t kill me when you find out what a stupid idiot I was.

  Georgia gingerly put one foot in front of the other and hurried over to the drive. Tire tracks went in both directions, but there were deeper ones and more of them to the right—west.

  Moving back to the cover of the trees and shrubs, she picked her way through the forest. The only sounds were from the surrounding wildlife, which made her jumpy, and she tried to figure out where she might be. There were several national and state parks within driving distance of Tampa, as well as plenty of undeveloped land. While it was warm, the dampness from the mud under her feet and the last of the ebbing rain—and probably a healthy dose of fear—was causing her teeth to chatter and goose bumps to cover her skin. She watched the terrain in front of her, carefully, not wanting to trip or step in a hole or, God-forbid, on a snake or some other creepy crawler.

  While it seemed like hours since she’d left her makeshift prison, in reality, it’d probably only been fifteen or twenty minutes. Unfortunately, she hadn’t come across any streams or lakes to slake her parched throat and mouth. She wondered what drugs she’d been given to knock her out for so long. GHB and rohypnol popped into her head, but she quickly dismissed the “date rape” drugs. While she’d never been exposed to them, as a high school teacher she’d taken classes on them. Since those usually caused memory blackouts and she could remember most of last night, it was doubtful either of those drugs had been in her system. Aside from the dehydration, and throbbing wrist and bare feet, the only other physical complaint she had was a pounding headache.

  Rhythmic thumps reached her ears and it took a moment to realize they were the sounds of tires on a highway or main road. At least she was heading in the right direction for civilization. Stubbing her toe on a rock, she cursed herself for being distracted. Shaking off the pain, she forged ahead. Another noise filtered through her brain and she froze. A vehicle was coming down the dirt road which was only about thirty feet to her left. Afraid it was her captor returning to the scene of the crime, she ducked down behind several trees and dense shrubs. Peeking through the leaves and branches, she could just make out a beat up, blue, four-door sedan pass by. Definitely not a police or parks department vehicle and she couldn’t see the driver.

  Georgia’s heart rate increased as she held her breath until the car was out of sight, and then she took off in the other direction. Hopefully, she’d find the highway before he realized she was gone and came after her. Her life depended on it.

  Branches and leaves slapped against her nude body, scratching her skin as she pushed herself as fast as she could under the conditions. She angled away from the dirt drive, heading northwest, putting as much distance between whoever had been in the sedan and herself. Her feet were raw and covered in mud, but still she pressed on. The drone of engines on the highway ahead of her grew louder until the foliage opened up. The paved road was only two lanes as one car and then another flew by her, their driver’s oblivious to the naked woman emerging from the trees. Panting and sweating, Georgia climbed over the guardrail and frantically looked in both directions for a vehicle she could flag down. To her left was a straightaway and she could just make out the turnoff that had to lead to the building where she’d been held. To her right, the road turned sharply. And, damn it, all of a sudden, there weren’t any cars around. Going to the left was out of the question. If that had been her abductor in the blue car, then he’d be coming back that way soon. In fact, she was surprised he hadn’t already.

  Limping on her abused feet, she crossed the road and hurried toward the bend. The shoulder was all dirt and rocks, so she stayed on the side of pavement, along the white line. The sound of a vehicle speeding along was a relief when she realized it was approaching her from around the bend. But her heart caught in her throat when she heard the rev of another engine, this one behind her. Glancing back, she panicked as the blue sedan peeled out of the dirt turnoff and onto the asphalt road, directly toward her. Gasping for air, Georgia began to sprint, her feet slapping against the pavement, knowing it was futile. As she looked back again at her pursuer, the screech of tires was the last thing she heard as pain shot through her body. She felt herself go airborne as her world went dark.

  C

  HAPTER 17

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How the fuck had the bitch escaped! He’d been a little late getting back to her after getting stuck in traffic behind a major accident that had temporarily shut down the lanes of the highway, but she still should have been restrained even if she’d woken up from the drugs. When he’d entered the utility bunker and found the bed empty, he’d been shocked and then panicked that the cops and feds were lying in wait for him, but when no one appeared, he quickly packed up his whips and restraints. He always used gloves in there so not to leave any fingerprints in case someone discovered his dungeon.

  Now, after double checking there was nothing around that could lead the fucking cops and feds to him, he climbed back into the beat-up, non-descript vehicle he used for hunting and headed back to the main road. He almost missed seeing her running naked down the road to his right. Rage boiled within him. She didn’t deserve to be a masterpiece now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to kill her.

  Punching the accelerator with his foot, he yanked the steering wheel to the right. The tires spun a moment before gaining purpose. Dirt and gravel flew behind the car as the tires squealed when they caught the pavement. The bitch heard him coming and glanced back with sheer terror in her eyes. Hmm . . . maybe she could still be a masterpiece.

  As he closed the distance between them another vehicle came around the bend, and the Dom watched it impact the submissive’s body, tossing her like a rag doll into the air. The other driver slammed on his brakes far too late
to keep from hitting her, but it appeared he was going to stick around, which meant the Dom had to cut his loss and get the fuck out of there. Flooring the accelerator, he sped past the broken body of Georgia Branneth, confident she wouldn’t survive her injuries.

  Damn it! Now he had to find a new dungeon to continue his art . . . and select a new victim. His cock twitched as Dakota Smith’s face and delectable body popped into his mind. Risk or no risk, she would be his best masterpiece to date. He just had to figure out how to get her away from that wannabe Dom, Logan Reese.

  Dakota rushed into the emergency room on Ian Sawyer’s heels, with Logan right behind her. The partners had just come out of the gym at the Trident compound and found the owner throwing a ball for Beau to catch. He’d offered the use of the state of the art facility as another way for his men and their partners to bond by working out together and sparring against each other. A brief chat between the trio had been interrupted by Sawyer’s cell phone ringing, and the resulting conversation with SAC Parrish had him barking for Dakota and Logan to follow him to Tampa General Hospital. A naked woman, fitting the missing Georgia Branneth’s description, had been struck by a vehicle on Route 39 off I-75, near the Chassahowitzka National Wildlife Refuge. She’d been flown via helicopter to the trauma center. Ian didn’t know her condition, other than she was unconscious, but if this was the missing submissive, she might be the only person who could tell them who the Kink Killer was.

  SAC Parrish and SA Novik were in the hallway, outside a treatment room, speaking with a short, gray-haired man wearing blue hospital scrubs. The lead federal agent’s attention swung briefly to the newcomers, before returning to the other man. “So, what you’re saying, Doctor Rayburn, is you have no idea if or when she’s going to wake up and be able to talk to us.”

  The physician shook his head. “She came in unconscious and her Glasgow Coma Score is a seven, which means she has some responses to pain, none of them verbal. If that doesn’t improve within twenty-four hours, she’s got a little less than a 50/50 chance of survival. The CT scan showed a subdural hematoma, and she’s heading to surgery now. On top of all that, she’s got a fractured left femur and wrist, and maybe a few ribs, but, obviously, the brain is what we’re worried about most right now. Do we know if there’s any next of kin?”

  “I know she’s got a brother on Miami PD,” Sawyer responded, gravely. “I can have Captain Bowman call a supervisor down there for the notification. I assume a verbal consent over the phone will be fine for the surgery until her brother or other family members can get here.”

  “Yes, although, with her injuries, it’s not utterly necessary. If you can’t get ahold of a family member, we’re covered under implied consent.” In other words, if they didn’t operate right away, she would most likely die from her injuries, and they could assume the patient would want everything done to prevent that. “Oh, before I forget, we took photos of her wrists and ankles at the request of the police officer who had come in with her, before we sent her for the CT. We couldn’t wait for him to get a camera from the station. It looks like she’d been restrained somehow. The abrasions on her ankles aren’t too bad, but she did do quite a bit of damage to her wrists, especially the right one. A lot of the skin is missing from struggling against the restraints. The officer is in that report office over there.” He pointed to a room a few doors down the hallway. “He’s got the SD card with the photos.”

  As the doctor hurried into another treatment room after a nurse called for him, the door to the ambulance entrance swung open and in walked Tiny, Mitch Sawyer, and a woman Dakota didn’t recognize. She stood about five foot four and had long black hair framing her exotic Asian features. Worry was etched on all their faces, but Tiny seemed to be taking it the worst. “How is she?”

  Not one to mince words, Ian shook his head. “It’s not good.” After filling them in on what the ER doctor had said, he addressed his cousin. “Mitch, can you look up her brother’s name in the member files? I remember he’s a cop in Miami and we need to contact him.”

  “Sure thing.”

  As the co-owner and manager pulled out his smart phone and got to work finding the information, the woman who’d come in with him placed a comforting hand on Tiny’s arm. The fifteen-inch size difference between the two of them was almost comical, but the grief on the pale, black man’s face was heart wrenching. He was blaming himself and the woman knew it. “Come on, big guy. While Mitch is doing that, let’s go to the surgical waiting room.” She glanced at Ian. “We’ll be there for her at least until her family can get here. She mentioned last night her folks were on a cruise in the Caribbean somewhere. It’s their anniversary.”

  “Shit—happy fucking anniversary. Thanks, Charlotte. When Bowman talks to her brother, I’ll make sure he finds out what ship. I’ll send CC to their next port in the company jet and get them back here as fast as we can.”

  Once again, Ian Sawyer surprised Dakota. She knew he was protective of the subs in The Covenant. But to send his company’s jet and pilot to pick up the couple on some island in the Caribbean showed how he took his role as head Dom of the club seriously and didn’t care about the cost.

  Tiny and Charlotte headed down the hall toward a bank of elevators, and Parrish tilted his head in that direction. “Novik, go with them. Keep me updated on her condition. Talk to security; tell them she’s in protective custody. I don’t want this bastard trying to get to her in here when he finds out she’s escaped—if he doesn’t already know. I’ll call the office and have Stonewall send more bodies this way. Oh, and grab that SD card or get a copy of it. Reese, Swift, you’re with Sawyer and me. Let’s head to the accident scene and figure out where the hell she was running from.”

  About forty minutes later, they were standing on the edge of the accident scene. A state police escort had sped their civilian vehicles up the 50 miles faster than they could have gone without the lights and sirens. The driver of the car who had hit Georgia was a man in his late-fifties—a real estate agent on his way to meet a client. The poor guy was sitting on the guardrail behind his damaged vehicle and was so distraught, Dakota could see tears running down his cheeks as he spoke to someone on his cell phone. From the report one of the first officers on scene gave the newcomers, the driver came around the tight bend and barely had a chance to hit the brakes when he came upon the naked woman running toward him in the middle of his lane. It had all happened so fast and he couldn’t remember if there were any other vehicles or people in the vicinity at the time. A few minutes later, two female drivers came across the accident and stopped to help. They’d stayed and given their information to the police, before being released from the scene.

  It was easy to figure out where Georgia Branneth’s battered body had ended up. There were some discarded, stained bandages and latex gloves in the middle of the road from when the paramedics had worked on stabilizing her and placing her on a backboard for transport. A small pool of blood was another indication of how serious her injuries were. The local cops had immediately shut down the road in both directions upon arrival and an accident investigation team was in the process of measuring tire marks and photographing everything for evidence. They’d determine how fast the vehicle had been going before the driver had hit the brakes and impacted the victim. So far, there was no press in sight, and hopefully it stayed that way for now before they got a whiff on the big story that one of the Kink Killer’s victims may have escaped and survived. The questions were, what direction had the naked woman been coming from and where had she been held? Had she, in fact, been kidnapped by the same sick bastard who’d killed all those other women? If she had, how did she escape?

  SAC Parrish had commandeered the scene and was doling out orders to the police chief, who had responded, and several of his officers who weren’t already busy with the accident scene and detours around it. “All right, our victim came from somewhere nearby. It’s possible she escaped from a vehicle, but I don’t think that’s the case. She was being h
eld nearby. Chief, I want you and your men to take the north side of the accident, check both sides of the road. Look for bare footprints or any indication of how she ended up on the road. We’ll take this south side. Go at least a mile. If we don’t find anything, we’ll spread out into the woods. I have about a dozen agents responding. Call in whoever you can to help search, but make sure they don’t disturb any evidence. This is the first real chance we’ve gotten to catch this bastard.”

  If the older chief had any problem with being ordered about by a fed in his own jurisdiction, he didn’t show it. “Our fire department has a search and rescue team we can utilize. They know their stuff about tracking in these woods and won’t fuck up a crime scene if they can help it. I can have them out here within fifteen minutes.”

  “Do it.”

  It took a while, but Logan found a set of prints that had to belong to Georgia coming out of the woods on the opposite side of the road from where she’d been hit, about an eighth of a mile to the south. When the police chief strode over, Ian pointed a little further down. “Chief, what’s that dirt road for? Where’s it lead?”

  “Basically, it’s a fire road . . . there’s a bunch of them along this strip, every mile or two, in case of a brush fire, we can get the needed equipment further in. They go in about a mile or so.”

  A uniformed officer with a K9 partner approached, and Parrish nodded toward Logan and Dakota. “You two, follow the dog. Chief, send two more uniforms with them just in case. I want this fucking bastard alive but not at the cost of one of my team or yours. Sawyer, let’s go see what’s down that road. We’ll walk it so we don’t obliterate any evidence—especially after that rain earlier.” Several federal agents had pulled up to the scene and the SAC waved them over. “Davis. Melendez. You’re with me too.”

  Once two more male officers joined them, the K9 handler got the animal on Georgia’s scent and the others followed them into the foliage. Their weapons were drawn and at the ready as they had no idea what was waiting for them at the end of the trail. Dakota shifted the bulletproof vest Sawyer had loaned her to wear over her T-shirt. It was for a much larger male, but was better than nothing, and Logan had helped her adjust the Velcro straps so it was as tight as they could get it. The female versions were curved slightly to accommodate their breasts, but with the extra room this one afforded her, her girls weren’t squished. Logan’s vest had been in the back of his SUV which the two of them had followed Sawyer in. Dakota was glad she’d taken a shower and thrown on a pair of jeans with her sneakers after working out in the gym.