by Vonnie Davis
Panic pulsated in Storm’s heart, forcing an erratic beat of alarm. He could barely breathe. “Rachel told me Benson likes to use a knife. She has a two-inch scar over her breast where he cut her before.” Fear and the power of his rage brought murder to mind. He shook with loathing. His fists clenched and his vision field slowly turned red. “I’ll kill him. If he’s hurt her, I’ll kill him.”
“That’s not the kind of remark you want to make to the chief of police, although I’d feel the same way if it were Sunny’s blood I was looking at. We’ll find her, don’t you worry.” Jackson walked over to the open window and looked out. “Sunny’s escape tree she used as a teenager when she would sneak out to meet me. Benson dragged Rachel out and down the tree, by the looks of the blood trail.”
“Chief, here’s the stuff you wanted.” Clyde was out of breath. Jackson had complained to Storm many times about Clyde’s lazy work habits.
“Stay where you are. I don’t want a bunch of feet destroying any possible evidence.” Jackson strode to Clyde and took the offered items. “Who searched the upstairs?”
Clyde scratched his neck. “I did.”
“Did you give all the rooms up here a thorough search?”
“Well, yeah. I looked in every room, every bathroom. Went up in the attic.”
Jackson stared hard at his deputy. “Did you check in the closets? Be honest, now.”
Clyde’s face turned bright crimson. “Well, no, Chief. No, I didn’t.”
“What? You didn’t think a maniac would hide in a closet?” Storm advanced on the deputy. He’d tear him apart.
Jackson extended a hand in a stop gesture. “I don’t harangue your ranch hands, Storm. Don’t think you’re going to berate my men. Is that clear?” He turned his attentions to Clyde. “You were severely derelict in carrying out my orders. More than likely Benson was hiding in that closet and attacked Miss Dennison. Unless you act like a damned hero in the next twenty-four hours, you’ll be suspended from duty pending further investigation.”
Clyde’s gaze shifted to Storm for a beat. “I’m sorry. It’s just most women’s closets are so jammed packed with clothes a cat couldn’t hide in there, much less a man.”
“Send up Mick Vasquez. Keep everyone else downstairs. You hear me?” Jackson turned and powered up the camera, taking pictures in rapid-fire succession.
Storm pivoted and stood at the open door of Rachel’s closet. Two candy wrappers were crumpled on the floor. Extra blankets and some of her clothes were spread out on the closet floor, as if Benson had made himself a bed to lie in wait for his victim. He tried to imagine Rachel’s fear when she opened the door and found him there. Had she screamed? Had she fought? Dear God, was the woman he loved still alive?
Chapter Twenty
Rachel’s head throbbed. It hurt to swallow. What was wrong? Where was she? Why was it so dark? Pain. She was in a lot of pain. Awareness slowly crept back, entering her muddled mind, sweeping away the cobwebs of confusion with the bristly broom of reality. Kyle had beaten her again. Calm. She must stay calm.
She took a minute to do a mental inventory of her body. She ached all over. Her left eye was swollen shut. Her lips and jaw were sore. Swallowing was very painful, almost to the point of impossible. Her knee throbbed, and the small of her back ached where Kyle had kicked her. The cuts on her wrist stung.
A few minutes later, she started trembling—a sign of low blood sugar. So was the sweating and mental confusion. Or did that come from the chemical Kyle used on the rag he’d held over her nose and mouth? Tired. She was so tired. Drawing on all her remaining energy, she focused on her present situation.
With her non-swollen eye, she surveyed her surroundings. Even though the room was dark, she could tell she was on a wooden floor. As her remaining good eye adjusted to the dimness, she could discern large shapes and many boxes. This was some kind of storage area. With keen ears, she listened and relaxed. She was obviously alone. For the time being, Kyle was gone.
Now what? With her hands tied behind her back and her feet banded with plastic tie-strips, she could hardly escape or investigate her storage prison. The wide tape across her mouth prevented her from calling out for help. Her trembling increased. She needed food.
She had to fight off terror; she’d fall apart if she didn’t. In such a situation, one had to focus on the positive. Tears burned her eyes. Long, slow breaths calmed her. She would not give into terror. She simply wouldn’t. Hadn’t she promised herself, after she escaped to the mountains of Colorado, she’d be strong? That she’d never give into the fear of a man again?
A prickle of pride surfaced. She’d fought back this time. She’d surprised Kyle. With any luck, she left some marks on him for a change. Let the bruises and scratches remind him Rachel Dennison was no longer a doormat. Granted, she was beaten and tied up in a storage area, but she hadn’t gone quietly or easily. When things got worse, and they probably would, she’d dwell on this one empowering fact. She was no longer a docile doormat.
Gathering resolve, she focused on finding positives in this horrifying situation. If she dwelt on her fears, her pain, or on all the what-ifs, that futile process would only put her into a state of panic. Something she could ill afford. Since Kyle had her, Storm and little Sawyer were safe. She exhaled a shaky sigh. Although she was in peril, those she loved weren’t.
She took comfort and dwelled on the fact her loved ones wouldn’t be harmed, no matter what happened to her. For sure, her life was ebbing away. If Kyle didn’t kill her using a knife, his fists, or a gun, with no food or insulin, her diabetes would probably take her. In her weakened state, she reconciled herself to that fact and prayed, thanking God those she loved were safe.
****
Storm and Jackson bent over the shoulders of a man with military bearing, sitting in a chair, reviewing security tapes on the monitors in a well-equipped van. Mick Vasquez had filled Storm in on the positions of all the surveillance cameras. One was on the entrance to both the stables and the barn, one at the front and back doors of the house and one at each of the windows on the ground floor.
Mick shook his head. “Nothing. I see nothing here on these tapes. I’m thinking the perp was already inside the house by the time we arrived.”
Storm ran his hands through his hair in agitation and disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” This maniac had been inside his home all day, and no one knew about it? This was one sneaky bastard. Now this sneaky sombitch had his hands on the woman who was Storm’s whole world. He swore under his breath.
Jackson shot him a sidelong glance. “Easy now. You won’t do Rachel any good if you don’t keep a cool head.”
The side door to the van slid open. “Mick, here are the tapes from the barn and stable cameras. That’s the last of them.” A tall, lanky man in his early twenties passed the two tapes to his supervisor.
“Thanks, Harley. You and Smitty do a continual patrol of the buildings’ perimeters.” Mick slid the door shut, turned and shoved one of the tapes into the bottom of the monitor.
He was ten minutes into viewing the tape from the barn when a figure appeared onscreen, carrying something wrapped in a dark blanket. “There!” He pointed at the screen.
Storm thought he’d prepared himself for seeing the proof Kyle had abducted Rachel. But how did one get ready for seeing such a thing? He pressed the heel of his hand against his heart, hoping to ease the pain there. That maniac had come on his ranch and entered his home, his home where one expected family to be safe. Kyle had taken away the person he cherished most in this world. He knew he loved Rachel, yet he’d had no concept of the depth of his love until that very moment.
“You okay?” Jackson elbowed him, concern shadowing his features. “You’re lookin’ pale.”
For the life of him, he couldn’t talk. He nodded. How could he possibly be okay? This woman, his happiness, his future, his everything was in peril. He swallowed and closed his eyes.
Jackson clasped Storm’s shoulder. “Keep the fai
th, man. We’ll get her back.”
Would they? Suddenly a memory washed over him, making him sick with fear—Rachel passing out when her sugar levels dropped. Would Kyle feed her? What about her insulin? He ran both hands through his long hair. “She needs insulin and food.”
Jackson nodded. “I know. Time is critical. How long since she’s eaten?”
“Not since breakfast. She had her last dose of insulin when we got to the mall. I’m still learning how this whole diabetes thing works.”
Mick commented, never taking his eyes off the monitor. “My kid sister’s got it. Takes a lot of monitoring. I know that much. When she’s sick or stressed, her sugar levels go berserk. If your woman’s losing blood in addition to the stress of being abducted, she could have a real problem. Could be fatal.”
“Fatal?” Storm’s heart felt as if it were being ripped apart by two hungry, snarling coyotes. Fatal.
“Easy, fella. We’re doing everything we can.” Jackson glanced at his watch. “So Rachel last ate thirteen hours ago?”
Storm nodded, still trying to come to grips with the severity of this situation. He could very well lose Rachel. Someone knocked on the van door behind him. He turned and opened it. “Momma, shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Who can rest with our Rachel missing? Here.” Noella held out a plate of food and two thermoses of coffee. “Meatloaf sandwiches. You and Jackson haven’t had supper. You must keep up your strength to find her.” She glared at him for a beat. “Don’t bring me that plate back until it’s empty. Noella wants you to eat, son. You mind me now. Sí?”
Storm almost smiled. The woman who stood before him was one of the great constants in his life. He could depend on her for so much. “You’re the best. Thanks.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “You find my little one. Sí?”
“I will.”
She patted her apron pocket. “If I see that sidewinder first, I shoot him dead.”
Storm rolled his eyes heavenward. Noella was packing.
Jackson turned and took one of the thermos bottles from Storm. He glared at Noella. “Do you have a gun in your apron pocket? I want you to put it away. My men and the security team we hired will take care of this.”
Noella reared back and squared her shoulders in that stance both Jackson and Storm had learned to fear growing up. “Your men? Those security people?” She spat onto the gravel driveway. “Worthless, all of them! They couldn’t keep that awful man out of our home. Couldn’t keep my little one safe. Idiots, every one. I will not put my gun away. Someone with some common sense has to protect this family.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the house, ranting at the top of her lungs in Spanish.
“God help Kyle Benson if she finds him before we do.” Jackson reached for one of the sandwiches.
“He’s on another tape, too. Twice.” Mick pointed to the screen. “He’s alone this time.”
“Show me.” Jackson sat again and poured his coffee.
Mick rewound that segment of the tape. “This is the tape from the stable. See, he’s coming toward the house again. Note the time in the upper corner: eight sixteen. Now, he’s going back the way he came: eight thirty. Both times his arms are empty.”
Storm swallowed a bite of sandwich. “It’s like he’s toying with us.”
“Put in that tape from the barn where he’s carrying Rachel.”
Mick inserted the previous tape and queued it up. “Here he is. The time on this is eight-o-four. So he had to get to wherever he put Rachel and then get to where the security camera at the stable could pick him up in twelve minutes.”
“Rewind that part again.” Jackson leaned in as if he were analyzing, measuring every movement. “I swear, he knows he’s being watched. Look how he turns toward the camera here.” He pointed to the monitor. “Bastard is smirking.”
Storm swore. His fists clenched. Murderous rage, scalding hot, pumped through his veins. How did one outsmart such an opponent?
“Look at his face, all scratched to hell. Rachel put up a struggle, that’s for sure. Play it again, Mick. Something doesn’t set right with me.” The police chief took a long gulp of coffee.
****
Rachel heard a sound and slowly opened her eye. The room spun; her sugars were definitely low. She blinked several times in hopes of clearing her vision, but it remained blurry. She was shivering. A man leaned over her, his shadowy form slowly coming into focus.
“Storm?” She was shocked at the rasp of her voice. She sounded as if she’d gargled with gravel.
The crack of an opened hand slapping her cheek intensified her headache. “You bitch! Can’t you see? He’s not coming for you.”
Kyle. It was Kyle. So close to her. She was unable to muster enough emotion to be afraid. He crouched next to her and yanked the tape from her mouth. Stinging pain registered; however, she had a more pressing need. “Fo…food.” Her teeth chattered. She was cold, so very cold.
Her captor smiled and waved a candy bar in front of her face. “I could share this with you, darling.” He tore it open. “But we both know candy’s not good for you. Wasn’t I always sensitive to your diabetes? Didn’t I take good care of you?” He grabbed her hair and yanked her face up to his. “Didn’t I?” he hissed, his eyes cat-eye slits.
“Yes,” she croaked. Her mouth was so dry. “Wa…water.”
He bit off a chunk of candy bar and chewed, his head tilted as if he were thinking. “Now if I give you water, you’ll only need to pee.” He glanced around and smirked. “Sorry, there’s no bathroom facilities here. Gee, bet this wood floor is a bitch to sleep on. I’ll try to make you more comfortable. Good ol’ Kyle, once more looking out for sweet, gullible Rachel’s best interests.”
The man was insane. She drifted into unconsciousness again. There was a feeling of being lifted and moved. Her eyelids were too heavy to open. She was tired and so very cold.
****
Jackson was on his fifth viewing of the tape segment in which Kyle carried Rachel away. “Storm, look at this.”
“I can’t. Not again.” It was just too damned painful. He kept thinking that this image might be the last one he’d have of Rachel.
“Stop it right there, Mick.” Jackson leaned closer. “Can you zero in on his biceps?”
“Biceps? Sure.” Mick made a few clicks with the mouse to pan in on Kyle’s arms.
“If he was holding a woman…” He turned to Storm. “How much does Rachel weigh, would you say?”
He shrugged. “About a hundred twenty, hundred thirty.”
“Right. That’s what I’d estimate, too. Now look at his biceps. Do they look strained to you? There’s no evidence of flexing like there should be if he’s carrying that much weight. No matter how strong a man is, a hundred pounds, or more, would strain the biceps.”
This time Storm took a look. Jackson was right. Kyle’s arm muscles weren’t tensed. His biceps were flat. “So what are you thinking?”
“My guess is he’s carrying an empty rolled-up blanket. Probably has something in it to look like a body, another blanket maybe.”
Storm turned his gaze to Jackson. “Why? Why would he go through a pretense like that and risk getting caught?”
Jackson stood. “Because he wants us to think he’s taken her from the house. I’m betting he has her hid somewhere inside. Come on.”
Both men scrambled out of the van, running through the darkness of the night for the ranch house.
****
“Drink this.” The command came from far away as if through a tunnel, yet she could feel something at her lips. Her mouth opened obediently and, after many attempts, she sipped. Swallowing was extremely painful. She choked several times, yet she knew she must take in as much as she could. Orange juice. Orange juice would elevate her sugar levels. She greedily gulped all that was offered. Would it be enough?
She was so confused. Would Storm come for her? No, he was with Pilar. Time to give Sunny her acupuncture treatment. No, she’d done that al
ready, hadn’t she? Maybe… Was that Sunny calling her? “Co…coming, Sunny.”
Kyle grunted. “Don’t bet on it.”
She drank more juice. Several minutes later, she felt her system regain a sense of normalcy. The trembling slowed a little. The mental fog lifted. Her non-swollen eye opened and she looked around.
She was lying in some type of hammock contraption. A rope was tied around her ankles. The other end of the rope was knotted around a wooden post, as was the blanket she was lying on. Her arms were extended above her head, also tied to a rope that was probably secured to another wooden post. “Where…where am I?”
“Had to get you off the floor so you couldn’t thump on it and alert the people below you.”
What did he mean, below her? She was in so much pain now.
Kyle yanked on the knot. “There, these knots’ll hold you.” He tore off a strip of tape and pressed it against her mouth. “You see, you’re in your boyfriend’s attic. Imagine his surprise when he finds you up here. Dead.” He winked and gave a maniacal chuckle. “That’s why I gave you the juice, sweetheart. So you can lie here and think about his finding you. About how he’ll never be able to come up here again. Hell, maybe he won’t even be able to live here any longer. Wouldn’t that be a damn shame?”
He waved his fingers and made a ghost-like sound. “The haunted ranch house. Hey, he could give tours on Halloween. Make a few bucks.”
Floorboards creaked. Kyle spun around, his back toward Rachel. “Well, change of plans. If it isn’t the new lover boy to the rescue.” His hand reached behind him to the revolver stuck in the back of his camouflage pants. “Who do I shoot first?”
“Rachel? I’m here, mouse.” Storm stepped up from the wooden stairway onto the floor of the attic. He was holding a gun. “Move away from her, Benson.”
Both men held their revolvers, glaring at each other. Dear God, what would happen now?
“How will you help her if you’re dead, lover boy?” Rachel watched in horror as Kyle fired two shots and Storm collapsed onto the floor. The reverberations of the loud gunfire echoed off the rafters, lending gruesome sound effects to the nightmarish scene in front of her. Blood flowed from Storm’s body. He fired a shot, hitting Kyle’s shoulder before he passed out. Three more shots were fired, and Kyle dropped like a sack of potatoes.