Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1)

by Lori Power

  The cost of in-room calls was, of course, worth it. She hated to be away from Kris for any length of time. Nodding her head at the clouds, knowing procrastination was not going to make the clouds any less ominous or the drive any shorter, she pulled the ignition fob out of her pocket, and laid it in the console beside her before pressing the engine start button.

  “I’ll be home tomorrow, little man,” she murmured, remembering how Mitch used the term and it seemed to fit.

  Lorna took one last look around the empty meadow, smiling. Today was a job well done. They had gotten shots of wildlife—deer, rabbits, even a fox—completely undisturbed by the pipeline’s progress through nature. Just the message she needed to convey to keep the environmentalists and naturalists at bay and the project on pace.

  Slipping the seatbelt over her shoulder and across her waist, she kicked her shoes to the side, glad to provide her toes with some respite. Spreading her toes wide, she put the SUV in gear and started down the dirt path towards the highway. Reaching across the seat for her phone, she held it high in the air as she crested a hill. “Damn, no service.”

  Knowing she was obsessing over no signal, she laid the phone back on the passenger seat next to her bag with her iPad. She had turned the volume off so if she did get a call, it wouldn’t interrupt the filming. The last thing anyone wanted was a retake on a nature shot when someone’s cell phone went off. That certainly would not reflect the image Aqua Oil was striving to create. Not bothering to turn the volume button back on, she focused on the road ahead. If a call came through, the screen would light, and in the darkness of the car, it would be a beacon.

  Stopping at the crest of yet another higher hill as she climbed out of the valley, Lorna picked up the instrument of her current preoccupation. The cell had two bars, and she had missed no less than seven calls. Not bad. Depending on whether they were fires or not. Two from Tia and three from various clients and two from a number she didn’t recognize. Four messages in total.

  A tentative third bar bounced on and off her screen. Lorna rolled down the window just in time for a flash of lightning, followed quickly by a crash of thunder that sent vibrations coursing through the ground and caused the hair on her arms to stand on end. Lightning flashed again in the distance but no rain. The wind was picking up speed, pulling her hair from its confines. The messages from the clients were standard follow-up requests and questions. Tia was providing an update on an existing file due for proposal on Thursday. She needed to double check on a particular item before printing the proofs.

  “A text or e-mail confirmation will be fine. I can’t imagine service is great where you are,” Tia said in her message, and Lorna could almost see the quirk of her assistant’s smile through her voice. Tia had teased her about heading off to the boonies and warned her to leave the heels at home. “The last thing you need is to be sinking in the mud.” Which is the reason Lorna had stopped in one of those little airport boutiques to pick up a pair of flats. They have everything at the airport these days.

  Lorna pressed the “6” key to save the message. “Okay, you were right about the flats,” she confirmed to empty air as she listened to her last message.

  “Lorna, it’s me, Mitch. Call me on this number. It’s important.”

  There was a pull in her stomach just hearing his voice. She wanted to call. She needed to call him. This is my opportunity to tell him I have an envelope for him. But she didn’t feel up to the task of facing the music yet. Telling Mitch what she uncovered was the right thing to do. However, she wasn’t ready to reveal her past and how she managed to gather the information. There was still the hurt she felt about him invading her privacy. He slept with her, thinking she was a link to the Fongs. The cold-blooded rational side of her brain admitted he was right. The emotional side—her heart—was still a girl, and she felt used.

  Staring at his number a long time, she pressed “8” to delete the message but retain the number, adding it to her contact list. “I’ll call,” she whispered close to the phone in a promissory tone as though speaking directly to the man himself. “Just not yet.”

  Chain lightning streaked the sky and multiple thunderclaps boomed. Dialing her home number, she waited for the connection. A symphony of tones sounded in her ear, indicating the loss of signal. “Damn.” She put the phone back on the seat, her opportunity to reach home was gone for now.

  Rain splattered her windshield as she reached the highway turning south. Peering through the gloom, Lorna shook her head. “It’s gonna be a long drive in this weather,” she groaned, rubbing her palm across her forehead.

  After a half hour on the road, she had passed only one vehicle. Desolate was the word to describe the terrain. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, chancing a glance at her phone, noticing she still did not have a signal. Let’s hope I don’t break down in this.

  Rain cascaded like bullets from a gun, falling so hard the water bounced back off the pavement. Visibility was limited. Streaking flashes of lightning provided the only illumination in the darkening sky. The crashing thunder followed close on its heels had stopped making her jump, though her nerves remained on edge at each crash. When hail the size of small golf balls descended, all she could do was slow down. She couldn’t stop.

  Checking her rearview mirror, she noticed headlights approaching quickly. Her digital speedometer read 61 kilometers. Almost half speed, but certainly fast enough in these conditions. Lorna pulled closer to the narrow shoulder of the road, hoping the approaching vehicle would pass her and be gone. The last thing I need is to hydroplane and end up in the ditch when I can’t even get cell service in these backwoods to call CAA.

  Straining to see through the sheets of rain and hail, she tore her eyes from the rearview mirror only to see a figure suddenly loom up in the middle of her lane. “Ohmigod,” Lorna yelled, slamming her foot down on the brake, the SUV’s antilock brakes kicked while she fought to avoid hitting the person. Too close for comfort, she watched him cross and uncross his hands over his head in the nonverbal illustration of help required.

  “What the f—” Lorna’s teeth clamped on her bottom lip as she white-knuckled the steering wheel, trying to accomplish the dual feat of not hitting the person while keeping the vehicle on the road. The Enclave fishtailed on the slick pavement, then came to a stop and stalled sideways on the highway, just short of the indistinct figure whose arms had now dropped to his sides.

  With effort, Lorna unclenched her fingers from the steering wheel. Her hands came up to cup her face and she wiped her palms across her eyes, feeling perspiration suddenly slide down her shoulder blades. The air felt heavy in her lungs. Spreading her fingers wide, straining for visibility through the pouring rain, she moved one hand back to the steering wheel, glancing in her side mirrors. While the man on the road walked towards her hood, the fast-approaching truck behind her stopped, basically on her back bumper, preventing her from backing up to straighten out in the lane. Lorna’s heart began to beat erratically. While her left hand engaged the locks, her right slithered from the steering wheel down to the phone, pressing the screen off button on the top left. Palming the device, she allowed the windshield wipers to slow, leaving her indistinct from the outside looking in, as the person approached. She slid the phone, screen in, down her bra, under her arm. If I’m overreacting, fine, I’ll laugh at myself later. But early lessons had long since taught Lorna to be cautious and on alert for approaching danger.

  Placing a hand to the ignition, she pressed the start engine button. Nothing.

  Damn, it’s in gear. She remembered how these new vehicles started, not with a key, but with an electronic fob close by, vehicle in park and foot on the brake.

  With a shaky hand, she moved the stick to park, placed her foot on the brake and pressed the start engine button again, her shaking thumb missing the easy target several times in her attempts. Finally, the Buick hummed to life and she released a pent-up breath. About to put the car in drive, her eyes focused only on the m
an—who now had his hands splayed across the hood. His head jutted forward over the expanse in her direction. Hail drummed against the metal and the rain slipped down his face like a second skin. Focused on the man, she jumped, releasing a small squeal when another stranger pounded on her window, lifting the door handle, trying to get in.

  “Get out of the car,” the face pressed against the glass said. He raised a crowbar and tapped it against the side mirror.

  A shaking hand blasted the horn before she slammed the car into drive at the same time her foot released the brake and tramped the gas to the floor. The guy at the front of the car jumped back at the unexpected noise of the horn. She tore forward on the glassy pavement, but he jumped onto the hood. She watched—horrified—while his fingers slid into the hollow between window and hood. An explosion of glass, mixed with the pelting rain, showered in on her as the crowbar bounced off the roof before shattering the driver’s window.

  With no ability to see the road, Lorna screamed, the car swerving from one side of the road to the other as she desperately tried to dislodge the hulking man hanging onto the hood of her car. “Get off,” she screamed, easing her foot off the gas. “Get off!”

  The large truck was behind her again. The Buick surged forward as she was hit from behind. Her head hit the backrest, but she held firm to the steering wheel, her foot never leaving the gas pedal. Hands shaking, barely breathing as her heart pounded in her ears, Lorna swerved, lost her traction, and drove into the deep ditch, twisting and turning. The SUV tried to gain traction in the slick grass, finally extricating the man only when she slammed into an ancient tree.

  The impact bounced her against the door frame just before the air bag engaged, smashing her face and pushing her back against the seat. The OnStar light lit up amber on her dashboard, but no voice sounded. Dazed, she lifted her hand to the instantly swelling goose egg on her brow. The interior light was on and rain slanted in through the broken window as she pushed the airbag, ribboned with blood, out of the way, trying urgently to gather her wits.

  Run.

  She glanced over her shoulder towards the highway while her hands fumbled with the gears, pressing the ignition button.

  Nothing.

  Steam billowed from the front of the car.

  Large, meaty fingers reached in through the broken window to fist around her hair. “Get out of the goddamned car, bitch,” said a menacing voice close to her ear. “You wanna see that little boy of yours again, you’ll get out now.”

  As though the strong grip had closed over her vocal cords, Lorna could not form words. Kris! Her stomach dropped. She nodded her head, lifting her hands into the surrender position.

  Not bothering to release his grip on her hair, her pursuer’s other hand reached through the window to open the door. She stepped out of the car, her bare feet squelching in the mud as grass lodged between her toes. Lorna reached hands up behind her head after she was released suddenly, catching herself from falling to her knees. The respite was temporary to allow her tall tormentor to position himself beside her. He grabbed her hair again just below her crown as she braced her hands on either side of his grip. She tumbled forward while he pushed against her neck with one hand and the small of her back with his crowbar.

  Her captor pulled her back and they paused on the verge of the highway. In the distance she saw the foggy outline of the man from the hood of her car.

  “You okay over there?” her captor asked. His voice was so deep and resonating he needn’t raise it to be heard even above the noise of the storm.

  A guttural “yeah” seemed to satisfy. Her captor continued on his path and dragged Lorna up the embankment to the waiting truck. A black Ford F-150 Crew Cab idled at the edge. Not a standout vehicle in this part of the world where every forestry and oil patch worker seemed to own one.

  Standing next to the passenger window, Lorna clamped her lips shut and stood still, waiting, watching, her heart hardly daring to beat. Lightning struck, illuminating the face of the driver. A woman. They made eye contact. “Put the blindfold on her before putting her in.”

  “Just let me get the tie straps first,” the man behind her grumbled, digging in his pocket one-handed.

  A hollow thunk was the sound she registered as a meaty fist connected with her tender stomach. Lorna couldn’t have anticipated the blow.

  Heavy breathing echoed close to her ears. “Fucking cunt” was all she registered as her legs gave out beneath her while the shorter man from the hood of her SUV returned to his mates. The only thing holding her from striking the pavement was her captor’s relentless grip on her hair.

  “What the fuck was that?” the man holding her yelled above the noise of the thunder.

  “She fucking well hit me!”

  Lorna fought to draw air into her body after absorbing the blow to her abdomen.

  “You did good hanging onto the hood,” the woman praised without inflection, coming around the truck to pull Lorna’s hands together and attach the tie strap around her wrists. She seemed completely unconcerned Lorna couldn’t draw breath.

  “I can’t believe she fucking hit me,” he said, bending close to Lorna’s face as she wheezed, struggling for breath. The man’s thin lips were pulled back from his gapped teeth. “With her car.”

  He stood and faced the other two. “That’s a big-ass car.”

  “You jumped on the hood. She didn’t really hit you.” The woman yanked on Lorna’s arms, unsympathetic. “Put her in the back.”

  Her captor pulled her up by her hair and she gained her legs unsteadily, wanting to double up on the ground to contain the pain. Though she couldn’t get a look at the captor’s face, she could feel the girth of him when he released his grip to hoist her up easily to lay her prostrate in the flatbed.

  Pulling her legs up to curl in a ball as rain and hail bounced off her cheeks, she struggled to sit up. Piercing, indistinct eyes popped through the hank of wet hair and he laid a meaty hand flat on her chest, pushing her down. “Stay,” he commanded. “You’ve caused enough trouble.”

  She straightened her legs in an abrupt movement, trying to catch him in the shins and throw him off balance. “What do you want?” she whispered hoarsely when she missed and he pushed harder on her chest, interrupting her breath.

  “Me?” He linked a length of tie strap around her wrist, securing them further with another tie to the bed of the truck. “Nothing but to get out of this fucking storm.” He laughed without mirth.

  Placing his large foot close to her face, he reached into his pocket for more bindings to lash her ankles together. Lorna rolled quickly onto her back and straightened her legs again, kicking out with all her force aimed into the man’s groin. Unable to avoid the blow, his body jerked and he straightened in response, resembling a rocket ship about to launch. His head jutted high into the night sky as a guttural “aghh,” from the pit of his stomach escaped his lips.

  His howl attracted the others. Lorna pulled on the lashings at her wrists, struggling to get to her knees. She would jump over the side of the truck and make a run for the cover of the forest. Like a caterpillar, she scooted to the far corner of the truck bed, pulling on the hard plastic lashings with all of her strength.

  “What the fuck is going on up there?” the other man’s voice was too close. Lorna ceased her movement, striving to make herself as small as possible, bracing for the worst.

  Her captor gasped and loomed above her. “She fucking well nailed me in the balls,” he said as he hauled back and kicked her. The heavy boot landed low on her back, close to her buttocks.

  “I told you she was a fucking cunt,” the other voice said.

  The booted foot landed again, and this time, Lorna felt the blow deep in her kidney. “This was supposed to be an easy grab.”

  The big man eased his pants away from his private area before placing his hands on his upper thighs his head hanging while he gasped for air. “When’s it ever easy?” There was a sardonic humor almost detectible in the man’
s tone when he finally straightened.

  “Well, you haven’t made it easy for yourself there, bitch,” the big man growled, yanking on her legs to straighten them painfully as he lashed them first together and then to the truck anchors on the side. She was as secured in her place as a stuck pig on a spit. “I hope you fucking-well drown.”

  He looked as though he would kick her again for good measure when the woman’s voice was heard from around the side of the truck. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Nothin’,” one of the men replied, though Lorna couldn’t be sure which. “We’re ready.”

  “Did you put the blindfold on her?” the woman questioned, coming close to the side of the truck.

  “No,” came the even reply as the man jumped down from the back. “What’s the fucking point?”

  “Fuck it then. I don’t care. See if you can get her car out of the ditch,” the woman commanded. “I’ll wait until you’re clear.”

  “What about back there? On the road.”

  “With all this rain? I’m not worried about it,” the woman replied, her voice trailing away. “The main thing is to lose the car. Likely this will all be over by tomorrow morning anyway.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The chopper dropped suddenly in an air pocket as they descended into Jasper to refuel. Pushing over the mountain from this point onward would be a rough go, their pilot had told them.

  Unable to shake the ominous lump settled in the pit of his stomach, Mitch walked to a relatively quiet spot inside the hangar to call Mariam, while Hank marched off to the men’s room. The big man’s stomach didn’t react very well to altitude shifts.

  In the small visitor’s lounge, Mitch nodded to the pilot who looked like he had found a small slice of heaven as he tilted the newly filled coffee mug to his lips.

  Relieved the salon was empty, Mitch dialed the number, closing the door behind him. He needed to know if she’d heard from Lorna. Lorna hadn’t returning his call—either because she didn’t want to or because she was unable to. He hoped for the former rather than the latter. He wanted her safe.