by Scott Pratt
Lukas nodded.
“Then what are we waiting for? To hell with the FBI and everybody else. Screw protocol and regulations and screw a cup of coffee. I need you to help me get my baby back! Let’s go to Gatlinburg. Right now.”
“It’s a long shot, Brooke. There’s a very strong possibility that he’s still on the move, probably in a different vehicle. If it was me, I’d be getting as far away from here as possible.”
“It’s the only shot we have right now,” she said. “Are you with me or not? Because I’m going, with you or without you.”
Lukas paused, watching the snow fall, not sure what to do. Heading out on their own could cost them their jobs. He turned and looked over at Brooke. He saw Sierra looking back at him.
Lukas fired up the Jeep and headed for Gatlinburg.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Paul Dolan pulled the silver, all-wheel-drive Honda Civic up to the front of his cabin. On his way, he’d stopped at a small piece of property he owned in rural Greene County and switched vehicles. Dolan had purchased the used Civic for cash, registered it under one of his aliases, and stored it in a barn along with some stolen tags. He’d bought the vehicle solely for the purpose of evading capture if the need ever arose, and the need had definitely arisen. He knew taking the child was a risk because of the Amber Alert system, but he’d managed to avoid detection and had made it safely to Gatlinburg. Once he’d gotten to Gatlinburg, he’d made one quick stop at a motel called The Woodbriar Inn. He’d checked in, but only went into his room for a second. He left a breadcrumb for Brooke, went back out to the Civic, and drove up the mountain to his cabin.
Dolan started hauling some equipment he’d kept in the barn along with the Civic into the cabin. Sierra remained sedated in the car. When he was finished carrying his equipment inside, he walked back out to the car, pulled Sierra from the back seat, and carried her into the cabin. He laid her on a bed in a room just off the den.
The child was a dead ringer for Brooke. Dolan found himself wondering what her father looked like. He reached down and pushed a strand of hair from the child’s forehead.
He knew her mother would come after him soon. He counted on it. Brooke, the perfect, beautiful, all-American girl who was supposedly keeping society safe from the “bad guys.” But Dolan knew that was a façade. She was as bad as the whores he’d killed. No…she was worse. At least they knew what they were. They didn’t fake being someone decent.
Dolan reached up and closed the blinds. He continued standing over Sierra, watching the child sleep. Gradually, his thoughts turned to his own childhood. He closed his eyes, and he could hear his mother’s bed squeaking. He could always hear that damned bed. It was constant. He began to sweat, and his breathing quickened as he thought again about the time his drunken mother tried to kill him.
Dolan opened his eyes and saw that Sierra had started to stir. He reached into a backpack and pulled out a syringe, some rubbing alcohol, and a vial.
“Just a small dose for a small girl,” he said, drawing some clear liquid from the vial into the syringe. “Think of it as magic juice.” He rolled Sierra onto her side and injected the drug into her shoulder.
“Sleep well,” Dolan said. “I have to get you changed, and then I have to get ready for Mommy Brooke.”
***
Lukas and Brooke were rolling down I-81 toward Gatlinburg. Brooke noticed the Jeep had little trouble dealing with the snow.
“The way I figure it, it’s normally a ninety-minute drive to Gatlinburg, but with the condition of the roads, it’ll probably take us two hours,” Lukas said.
Brooke checked the time. Two hours was a lifetime. “What’s the first stop?”
“The Woodbriar Inn. I guess I better call Danny Smart and tell him what we’re doing.”
Brooke listened to the one-way conversation and appreciated the way Lukas handled it. Calm but confident. It seemed to be going over better than she expected.
“That seemed to go okay,” she said once he’d finished the call and disconnected.
“If we get a lead down there, the FBI will come running. Listen, I looked up an old file about a prostitute being murdered. Remember the newspaper story we found at Dolan’s? It turns out she was Dolan’s mother. I can’t prove it, but I think Dolan killed her. He was only 13 years old at the time. All the prostitutes Dolan killed had kids. I think he’s been killing his mother over and over because he hates what prostitutes do to their kids. Danny reached out to the behavioral analysis people in Quantico. The profile is complicated, but they agree with the theory. He sees his mother in each one and in his mind, he believes he’s saving the children from a life of oppression, disappointment and failure.”
“Where does that leave me?” Brooke said. “I’m not a hooker, I’m a cop.”
“But you’re also a woman, and a mother. Plus, you’re trying to keep him from doing what he thinks he has to do. Killing prostitutes is his mission in life now, it’s his purpose. You’re trying to take that away from him.”
“That’s what Danny said.”
Brooke typed the address of The Woodbriar Inn into the GPS on her phone. They were still more than an hour away.
“Go faster,” she said.
“I don’t want to wreck.”
“This thing could climb a tree. It isn’t sliding at all. They’ve done a good job on the roads. Pick it up, please.”
“Okay, lady. But we’re screwed if we wind up in another wreck.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
After what seemed like an eternity, Brooke’s GPS app announced that they had arrived at their destination. She couldn’t remember a ride ever seeming to take so long. Moments later, the Jeep crunched to a stop in front of the motel. The parking lot was full of cars, most of which were probably travelers who decided it would be better to seek sanctuary than brave the storm. A quick trip around the lot did not reveal a green Ford truck.
“It doesn’t look like his vehicle is here,” Lukas said.
“He could have changed again.”
“True. Let’s check with the office.”
Brooke followed Lukas across the parking lot. The man behind the desk appeared to be busy with paperwork. He was gray-haired and looked sleepy.
“How’s business?” Lukas said.
“Booming. It happens every time there’s a snow storm. People can’t make it to the cabins up in the mountains, so they end up here. You folks need a room?”
“No, thanks. We’re here on business. I’m Detective Miller, and this is Detective Stevens. We’re working the kidnapping of a little girl from Kingsport and were wondering if you’ve seen this man.” Lukas pulled up Dolan’s driver’s license photograph on his phone.
The man put his glasses on but still squinted at the picture. “Looks kind of familiar, but I can’t say for sure. The Gatlinburg police were already here about this, you know.”
“Sorry, we’re just being thorough and following up. He would’ve been accompanied by a five-year-old girl.” This time Brooke showed him a picture of Sierra she had on her phone.
“No, but she’s adorable. I think I’d remember her.”
“Would you care if I looked at the register?”
“No, by all means. Come around the counter, and I’ll set you up in the office.”
Brooke and Lukas entered the office and took seats in swivel chairs. Lukas combed the guest register while Brooke studied the vehicles the guests had registered. About a minute into the search, Lukas asked Brooke, “What’s Dolan’s middle name?”
“I think his driver’s license said Alan.”
“There’s no Dolan or Danson here, but there is an Alan Atkins.”
“Another alias?”
“Maybe. There’s an Alan Atkins registered here right now.”
“What room?”
“Room one-eleven, bottom fl
oor. Do you think it’s him?”
“Cross the vehicle listings.”
Brooke found the entry for the matching room. “Here it is. Silver Honda. It doesn’t match, but he could have switched cars again.”
“Agreed,” Lukas said. “We have to hit the room no matter what the vehicle register says.”
“Should we call anyone?” Excitement and anticipation were starting to build up inside of Brooke. It was a long shot, but maybe…
“I’ll call the locals. Meantime, we watch the room.”
Lukas was on his phone for five minutes.
“They’re sending their Tactical Response Team. Should be here in twenty minutes.”
It was closer to a half-hour than twenty minutes, but eventually a black tactical van rolled into the parking lot along with a marked and an unmarked cruiser. Lukas and Brooke had kept a close eye on the room, but they’d also searched the parking lot for a silver Honda. There wasn’t one in the lot. No one had gone into or out of the room.
Lukas, Brooke and the Tactical Response Team commander talked for ten minutes and devised a plan for entering the room. The first step would be evacuating the people in the adjoining rooms. After that, the TRT would blast through the door using a battering ram. They would clear the room, and if Dolan was in there, they would either arrest him or – if he resisted or threatened to harm Sierra – kill him. Each member of the eight-man team was shown photos of Dolan and Sierra.
“But we’re not sure he’s in there, correct?” the TRT commander said. He was a skin-headed, tough-looking man named Deakins who looked to be about forty.
“We’re not, but we can’t take a chance on him being there and us doing nothing. If he’s not in there we need to focus our energy elsewhere.”
“Why don’t we just wait until morning? Wait him out.”
“What if he kills her during the night?” Brooke said. “We’ve already told you what we’re dealing with. He’s unpredictable and dangerous. We called you out of respect because we’re in your jurisdiction. We can’t wait.”
“I have to call my chief and cover my ass,” Deakins said.
“Do what you have to do, but my daughter might be in that room. We’re going in with you or without you,” Brooke said.
Deakins put his phone to his ear and walked away for a few minutes. When he returned, he said, “Let’s do it.” He began giving orders to his men, and within minutes, the rooms adjacent to room one-eleven were being evacuated. It was nearing midnight, and people were clearly not happy about being hauled out into a snowstorm. They were all directed to the lobby.
Once the rooms were clear, one of Deakins’s largest officers, followed closely by four others, walked up to the door carrying a battering ram. Brooke and Lukas moved in behind them, but the looks they received from the other officers told them their presence wasn’t appreciated.
“On three,” the second officer in line whispered. “One…two…THREE!”
The door exploded, and the officers rushed in, shouting instructions for the occupants to get on the floor. The flashlights attached to their assault rifles lit up the room, and when Brooke stepped in, her heart sank. The two beds in the room were neatly made. There wasn’t a sign of anyone.
He was still one step ahead.
Brooke walked through the room slowly, taking note of everything. She stepped into the bathroom. On the counter next to the sink was something that seemed out of place. It was a white, cardboard coaster that advertised “Smoky Mountain Cabins, Inc.” She was taking a photo of it with her phone when Lukas walked in.
“What is it?” Lukas said.
“He left it for us. He’s telling us where he is.”
“Are you sure?” Lukas looked down at the coaster.
“Why would that coaster be sitting there? He probably knew we’d find the matches at his place and knew we’d eventually show up here. He must have figured we’d catch onto the alias. He’s playing games, Lukas. He’s enjoying this.”
“I’ll get an evidence bag and seal it up,” Lukas said.
Brooke went outside and told Commander Deakins what she’d found. She asked him about the business.
“They’ve got a bunch of cabins and chalets scattered around Gatlinburg, Pigeon Forge and Sevierville,” Deakins said. “Pretty big operation. They rent some and they sell some.”
“The coaster says they open at eight in the morning,” Brooke said. “I guess that’s our next stop.”
“You’ll have to call the Sevier County Sheriff’s Department if you need tactical help,” Deakins said. “That’s out of my jurisdiction.”
“We appreciate you helping us out here.”
“When they send us a bill for the door, we’ll forward it on to your department,” Deakins said, and he turned and walked off.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lukas had rented a room, and Brooke walked in to find him staring at his laptop. She took off her windbreaker and hung it on the back of a chair. She was bone tired, but there was no way she was going to sleep. She walked over to the kitchenette and brewed a pot of coffee.
“Lukas, do you think Dolan bought a cabin here somewhere?”
“I do, and I think he wants us to visit.”
“He wants me to visit,” Brooke said. “He wants to kill me and my child.”
“He probably wouldn’t mind bagging me, too, at this point,” Lukas said. “I’ve been a pain in his ass, too.”
“Sierra’s close,” Brooke said. “I can feel her.”
“I need to call Danny and tell him about the coaster and this new Alan Atkins alias.”
Brooke walked over to the bed while Lukas called Danny. She fell onto it and closed her eyes. She knew she couldn’t sleep even if she wanted to, but closing her eyes, even for just a minute, kept them from burning so much. She heard Lukas talking to Danny but didn’t pay attention to what he was saying.
“Brooke, you okay?” Lukas asked a few minutes later.
She got up and walked to the window. The snow had already painted a fresh coat on the landscape and cars in the lot. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but when you were in pararescue, did you ever feel helpless? I mean completely helpless.”
“I don’t know if anything that happened to me can compare to what you’re going through, but yeah, I guess there were times I felt like I had no control over anything. It’s a terrible feeling.”
“I feel like Dolan is controlling everything,” Brooke said. “I feel like a puppet on a string.”
She stood there looking out the window thinking about happier times and wondering if she would ever experience happiness again. Lukas’s phone rang, which caused her to jump. Lukas answered it and turned on the speaker.
“Hey Danny, you’re on speaker. What did you find?”
“Good news. It looks like Dolan is using Alan Atkins as an alias. He’s been very careful about how and when he’s used it, so we don’t have much, but there’s enough to link the alias to Dolan.”
“And if he bought a piece of property using that alias there’ll be a record.”
“We’re looking, but the Sevier County Register of Deeds hasn’t entered the twenty-first century. None of their records are online, which means we have to go there to search. They’re obviously not open. We can get to the sheriff and have him roust the Register of Deeds, but I don’t know how long it’ll take. The business opens at 8:00 a.m., which is in five hours. The best bet for you two is to go to the office of Smoky Mountain Cabins as soon as they open and see what you can learn. We’ll keep working the digital side, and if you don’t come up with anything, we’ll send an agent to the courthouse in Sevierville to search deeds.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Lukas said.
“Good luck, guys.”
Lukas ended the call. He looked at his watch and then to Brooke. “Three hundred minut
es,” he said. “Let’s try to get some rest and be there when they open.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The next five hours seemed like five years to Brooke. Finally, just after daybreak, they were in Lukas’s Jeep. Brooke Googled Smoky Mountain Cabins, Inc. and typed the address into the GPS app on her phone.
“It’s eight miles from here,” she said. “Turn right going out of the parking lot.”
The trip to the company’s office took half-an-hour. They climbed steadily, negotiating switch-backs and treacherous roads. Snow was still falling.
The office was a cabin. It looked cozy from the outside, especially with snow on the roof. “How quaint,” Brooke said. “All it needs is smoke coming from the chimney.”
Brooke walked past a new, silver Mercedes AMG SUV and an older, red Dodge Durango as she approached the snow-covered steps. She pushed through the front door at precisely eight. A bell announced their presence, and a petite, gray-haired lady who appeared to be in her late sixties emerged from a room behind the counter. She had a pleasant smile and a charming air about her. Three walls were adorned with paintings and photos of cabins. The fourth was covered by a huge quilt.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, “but all of the cabins are rented. Even most of the people who own cabins are here. Everybody wants to go skiing when it snows like this.”
Brooke held up her badge. “We don’t need to rent a cabin,” she said. “I’m Detective Stevens, and this is Detective Miller. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Clara Ogle.”
“We were wondering if you could give us some information about the people who own or rent cabins from you.”
“You should probably talk to the owner,” she said. “She’s back in the office. I’ll get her.”
Calra returned a few seconds later followed by a dark-haired, middle-aged, attractive woman. Has to be the owner, Brooke thought. The woman was not smiling.