Pretend You're Safe

by Alexandra Ivy

  A thought that made his gut twist with fury.

  “Oh.” Blake’s eyes suddenly widened with hope. “Her phone. We can use it to track her.”

  Mike shook his head. “Her phone was in her purse. I found it under the car.”

  The older man slumped, as if someone had just let the air out of him. Mike sympathized. He’d felt his own share of anguish when he’d spotted the expensive purse on the muddy ground.

  “Someone took her,” Blake breathed, his gaze locked on his daughter’s car.

  “Yes.”

  “The same person who killed Anne.”

  The words were a statement, not a question.

  “That’s my fear,” Mike agreed.

  Blake looked momentarily lost, as if he was incapable of processing the thought of Payton in the hands of a killer. Then he gave a sharp shake of his head, the droplets of rain flying from his gray hair.

  “I can call the governor.”

  Mike lifted his brows. “What could he do?”

  Blake gave a frustrated wave of his hand. “He can send in the National Guard to search for Payton.”

  Mike shrugged. He wanted to tell the older man that the National Guard had already been sent out by the governor to help flood victims up and down the river. Blake Hamilton would naturally assume that everyone should drop what they were doing when he called.

  “You can call anyone you want,” he told the older man. “What we need is a damned clue.”

  Almost on cue, Mike felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he pressed it to his ear.

  “O’Brien.”

  Less than a minute later he was ending the call and shoving the phone back into his pocket.

  “Damn,” he growled, struggling to ignore the sensation he was drowning beneath the tidal wave of disasters.

  He couldn’t let himself become overwhelmed. That was exactly what the killer wanted.

  “What’s going on?” Blake demanded.

  Mike sent his companion an impatient glance. “A call just came in to nine-one-one from Jaci Patterson.”

  “Jaci?” Blake’s brows snapped together. “What happened?”

  “They don’t know.” Mike headed across the parking lot. “She called and said her name, but the phone went dead.”

  Blake hurried to walk at his side. “Where are you going?”

  They walked between the church and the hair salon that was next door.

  “I need to head out to Jaci’s place to see what happened.”

  Without warning, Blake reached out to grab Mike’s arm, jerking him around to meet the older man’s fierce glare.

  “What about Payton?”

  Mike pulled his arm out of Blake’s grip, hanging on to his temper by a thread.

  The older man was worried about his daughter. Mike got it. He truly did.

  “I have every deputy I can call in looking for her,” he said.

  Blake’s square face flushed with anger. “That’s not good enough.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Find her. Find her before . . .” Blake’s words broke off as he blinked back his tears.

  Mike grimaced. He didn’t like Blake. He thought the older man was a braggart who was more concerned with the Hamilton name than his family. But at this moment, he looked like any other father who was desperate to find his missing daughter.

  “I think this is all tied to Jaci. If I can figure out who’s been stalking her, I can find Payton.”

  “If something happens to her I can promise you that I’ll hold you personally responsible,” the older man snapped.

  Mike heaved a sigh, his fleeting goodwill toward his companion vanishing.

  “Go home, Blake,” he commanded. “And call me if you hear from Payton.”

  Without giving Blake the opportunity to issue more threats, Mike jogged across the empty street to climb into his patrol truck. Firing up the engine, he flipped on his lights and siren and tore out of town at full speed. He usually preferred to travel without attracting unwanted attention. There was rarely any traffic to deal with and he didn’t want half the town trailing behind him to see what was going on.

  Today, however, there was no need for subtlety.

  His tires threatened to hydroplane as he reached the highway. The pavement was slick from the persistent drizzle that continued to fall from the low clouds, but he kept his foot pressed on the gas pedal. He sustained his reckless pace even when he turned onto the gravel road leading to Jaci’s house. His truck bounced and splashed through puddles, occasionally spinning out as he hit the boggy spots.

  Coming around a curve, he caught sight of the ambulance that was pulled into Jaci’s drive. He halted at the edge of the road and hopped out. His boots squished in the mud as he angled across the front yard, the rain trickling down the back of his neck.

  He barely noticed. His concentration was consumed by the sight of Rylan Cooper seated on the edge of a portable gurney, his face covered in blood.

  Shit. Mike had been hoping he would arrive and discover that this man had managed to overpower whoever was threatening Jaci and that they could quickly learn where Payton had been taken. Instead it looked like Rylan had come out the loser in the battle. And worse, Jaci was noticeably absent.

  Fear for both women thundered through him as he stepped around the back of the ambulance, but he still found his lips twitching at the sight of Rylan, who was battling away the three EMTs who were busy trying to determine the extent of his wounds.

  “What’s going on?” Mike demanded.

  A large man dressed in a uniform grimly used a swab to wipe the blood from Rylan’s face.

  “We’re trying to treat our patient, but he refuses to cooperate.”

  Rylan whacked at the man’s hand, only to mutter a curse when the paramedic refused to be pushed away.

  “I’m fine,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Mike glanced toward the silent house, still hoping that Jaci would appear in the doorway. When it became obvious that wasn’t going to happen, he returned his attention to Rylan, his heart clenching at the red stains that marred his clothing.

  “You have blood all over you,” he said. “Is it all yours?”

  Rylan met his worried gaze with a grimace. “I think so.”

  Mike arched a brow. “That’s a lot of blood.”

  Rylan made another futile swat at the man, who continued to wipe away the blood to reveal the deep gash that marred his temple and disappeared into his hairline.

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” Rylan said.

  The paramedic glared down at his ornery patient. “It needs to be properly cleaned.”

  Mike moved to stand beside the gurney, his hands clenching at the knowledge that the bullet had missed by less than a fraction of an inch. The slightest turn of Rylan’s head and his brains would have been splattered across the yard.

  Christ. It was no wonder Rylan was refusing to consent to treatment. A miracle had saved his life. He was no doubt anxious not to waste one single second he’d been given.

  “Is that all?” Mike asked the paramedic.

  The man shrugged. “He’ll probably need stitches.”

  Rylan yanked his head back, his expression tight with frustration.

  “Put a bandage on it.”

  The paramedic frowned. “But—”

  “Will he bleed to death without stitches?” Mike asked.

  The paramedic paused before giving a small shrug. “Doubtful.”

  “Then put a bandage on it and give him whatever waiver he needs to sign,” Mike said.

  They didn’t have time for a prolonged argument that Rylan was going to win anyway. The man was stubborn as a mule. And the sooner he was patched up, the sooner he could get the information he needed to begin the search for the missing women.

  With a silent efficiency, the paramedic took care of his business, cleaning the wound, which continued to leak blood, and finally placing a large bandage over it. Rylan absently si
gned the form that said he was refusing to be taken to the hospital, and hopped off the gurney. Five minutes later they were at last alone.

  Mike turned toward Rylan. The man’s face was pale and dotted with flecks of blood that hadn’t been wiped off. His legs were spread wide, as if he was having trouble keeping his balance.

  Clearly he should be in the hospital, but for now Mike was willing to pretend he didn’t notice the man was near collapse.

  Too much was hanging in the balance.

  “What happened?” Mike asked in clipped tones.

  Rylan squared his shoulders, calling on his rapidly draining strength.

  “We were stepping out of the garage when a bullet grazed my head.”

  Mike walked toward the door of the garage, turning so he could glance around the yard, trying to imagine where he would hide if he was a gunman.

  “Did you see the shooter?” he asked.

  “No. I was turning toward Jaci when I heard the sound of the shot. The next thing I knew it felt like a sledgehammer had hit the side of my head and I was falling to the ground.”

  Mike nodded. It was no doubt that turn had saved his life.

  “What about Jaci?”

  Rylan pointed toward a spot a few feet from where Mike was standing.

  “She was about there when I went down.”

  Mike squatted down. There was a small puddle of blood where Rylan’s body had been lying. It was quickly being washed away by the rain. His attention turned toward the place where Rylan had indicated that Jaci was standing.

  He couldn’t see any blood. Instead, a glint of metal caught his eye. He brushed aside a clump of grass, finding Jaci’s phone. Grabbing it, he rose to his feet and met Rylan’s burning gaze.

  The man was close to the edge.

  “Have you done a search?” Mike asked, as much to keep Rylan busy, as in any hope they could find Jaci.

  “Not yet.” Rylan lifted a hand to touch the bandage on the side of his head. “I woke up with those damned paramedics trying to load me in the ambulance.”

  Mike glanced toward the road, before his attention returned to the garage.

  “Where did the shot come from?”

  Rylan took a minute to consider. “The back of the house,” he at last said, already moving along the edge of the drive.

  Mike hurried to catch up, half expecting the stubborn fool to collapse.

  Rylan halted at the back corner of the house, his gaze locked on the ground.

  “Footprints,” he said.

  Mike nodded, easily making out the outline of heavy boots. He glanced toward the nearby garage. It wasn’t the best place to take a shot, but whoever had been waiting here had no doubt been expecting them to go from the vehicle directly into the house. Or maybe the shooter had been in a hurry.

  Considering the various possibilities, Mike was struck by a sudden realization.

  “Footprints, but no tire prints,” he said, moving to inspect the backyard for any sign of ruts. “Where was his car?”

  Rylan narrowed his gaze. “He must have parked it down the road and walked here.”

  Mike agreed. “I’ll go check,” he said.

  “Wait.” Rylan reached up to grab his arm. “I need to get my gun.”

  Mike parted his lips to protest, only to snap them shut as he nodded toward the back door. He needed to get Rylan inside. This was the easiest way.

  Together they climbed the steps and Rylan punched a series of numbers on the electronic pad, unlocking the door. Then, moving through the mudroom, they entered the kitchen and headed into the living room. That’s where Mike informed his companion that he wasn’t going to be a part of the search.

  Not just because he was near collapse, but because Mike couldn’t have him interfering in an official investigation.

  “You need to stay here.”

  Rylan whirled around, his face tight with fury. “Bullshit.”

  “This is police business.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” Rylan growled. “If you think I’m staying here while Jaci is in the hands of some maniac you’re out of your mind.”

  “I wasn’t asking,” Mike informed him, pointing a finger in his face. “Stay here or I’ll shoot you myself.”

  Rylan glared at him, no doubt considering if he had the energy to beat the crap out of him. Mike didn’t stay around to find out.

  With a last, warning glance, he headed toward the nearby front door. Yanking it open, he was out of the house and crossing the porch.

  Behind him he heard the sound of Rylan’s curses, then a loud bang as if the frustrated man had slammed his fist into the wall. There was an even louder crash as something fell.

  Mike shook his head. He understood Rylan’s fury. He’d be doing some punching himself if he was told to stay home. But it wasn’t like he could let him join in the hunt. He intended to do everything by the book.

  When he got ahold of the killer, the bastard wasn’t going to get off death row because of a technicality.

  He’d reached the steps when the screen door was slammed open.

  “O’Brien,” Rylan called out.

  Mike considered ignoring the man. He had two missing women in the hands of a madman. He didn’t have the time or interest in having a pissing match with Rylan Cooper.

  Unfortunately, he sensed that Rylan wasn’t going to give up until he’d had his say.

  “What now?” he asked as he turned to discover Rylan’s eyes glowing with a fierce determination.

  “I know who has Jaci.”

  Jaci was lost in darkness when she felt the fingers grip her shoulders, giving her a sharp shake.

  “Jaci,” a female voice said next to her ear. “Wake up.”

  Jaci didn’t want to wake up. Not when she could already feel the painful pounding behind her right eye, and taste the blood from where she’d bit her tongue.

  “Stop shaking me,” she rasped. “My head hurts.”

  “Too bad. You don’t have time for a headache,” the female informed her with a blunt lack of sympathy.

  Jaci heaved a resigned sigh, forcing open her heavy lids.

  For a horrifying second she thought she’d gone blind. There was nothing but darkness.

  Then, forcing herself not to panic, she sucked in a deep breath and truly concentrated on her surroundings.

  She was in a dark room. Really dark. With just a small sliver of light coming from above her. She could smell dust, and old wood. It was musty, like a basement. And she wasn’t alone.

  She blinked, concentrating on the woman who was leaning over her.

  “Payton,” she said, catching the faintest glimmer of her sister’s blond hair. With an effort, she pushed herself to a sitting position. “Where are we?”

  “I don’t know,” Payton said, staying close to Jaci. As if seeking her protection against the dark. “I think it’s some sort of cellar.”

  Jaci raised a shaky hand to her aching head. Slowly she was remembering what’d happened.

  The trip to Heron where they’d discovered Carol was okay, but that Payton was missing. And then returning to her house and Rylan being shot . . .

  She instantly squashed the memory of Rylan lying on the ground, his face unnervingly pale as the blood dripped from his forehead. She had to believe he was okay. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to function.

  Clearing the lump from her throat, she concentrated on her sister. At least she knew Payton was alive.

  For now.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I’m not sure. A few hours maybe,” Payton said, her voice not entirely steady. “The last thing I remember I was getting out of my car at the food bank.”

  “What time?”

  “Ten.” There was a rustle of clothes and Payton shrugged. “Maybe ten fifteen.”

  “Were you drugged?”

  “I think so. Someone grabbed me from behind and I felt a pain at the side of my neck,” her sister said. “I woke up in here.”

  J
aci shuddered at the vivid memory of the needle sliding into her neck. Rough hands had grabbed her as her knees started to buckle. Then there had been a voice whispering in her ear.

  What had he said?

  Mine.

  Another shiver shook through her. “You don’t know who it was?” she demanded.

  “I don’t have any idea.” There was a faint pause before Payton was asking the question that had no doubt been plaguing her since she’d been kidnapped. “What’s going on?”

  Jaci didn’t have an answer. At least not one that was going to ease Payton’s fears.

  With a low groan, she forced herself to her feet. Her head spun, and her knees trembled, but she managed to stay upright. She was counting that as progress.

  “We need to get out of here.”

  “What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Payton rose to stand beside her. “There’re no windows and the only door out of here won’t budge.”

  Jaci ignored her sister’s petulant tone. “Maybe if we work together we can get it open.”

  Holding out her hands, Jaci inched her way forward. Within a few seconds she reached a narrow set of wooden steps that led up to the door. That was why the light seemed to be coming from the ceiling.

  Still moving slowly, Jaci climbed up the stairs to grab the door handle. No big surprise that it wouldn’t turn.

  Payton remained at the base of the stairs, her pale face illuminated by the faint glow.

  “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

  Jaci shoved her shoulder against the door. The movement jarred her aching head, but she refused to acknowledge the pain.

  They had to get out of there.

  “Not really.”

  “Dammit,” Payton snapped. “This is your fault.”

  Jaci halted her shoving, glancing down at her sister in disbelief. Was she kidding?

  “What’s my fault?” she demanded. “That some psychopath has been terrorizing me since I was sixteen? That he’s been killing women and sending me gruesome necklaces with their blood and hair?” All the frustration that had been bubbling through her for days—maybe years—came to a violent head. “Or let’s just say what you truly mean.” Her voice was shrill, her body shaking with emotion. “It’s my fault I was ever born.”