Called to Protect

by Lynette Eason

“Well, come on,” Linc said.

  In her vehicle, with Hank in his area, she pulled out of the parking lot. The drive to the hospital only took her about fifteen minutes, then she was following the two men inside while Hank stayed in the vehicle.

  The tension radiated from Blake, and Chloe found herself wishing she could do something to ease it. But she had a feeling that only finding Rachel would do that.

  They found the security office and Monique was waiting for them. Her dark brown eyes glinted when they walked in. “Glad you could make it on such short notice.”

  “Thanks for calling,” Linc said.

  “This won’t take long.” She motioned them toward the display of monitors and clicked on the mouse. A video Chloe thought they’d seen before jumped onto the nearest screen. Monique pointed. “This was the side view of the truck. I really wanted to see what was inside the back of the vehicle, so I started going through each and every camera, trying to find the right angle. I think I did.” She clicked through another series and finally got a shot of the back of the Suburban. The window was down, as they’d noted before. “I just thought it was really weird that he’d have the window down in November. It’s not freezing during the day, but still . . .”

  “So, what did you find?” Blake asked.

  “Here. In the back. What does that look like to you?” Monique zoomed closer.

  Chloe squinted. “Looks like some kind of rack or something. Like a super large dish rack?”

  “Good description. And in that super large dish rack are paintings.”

  Blake blinked. “Paintings? As in pictures? And stuff?”

  “Yes,” Monique said. “My guess is the oil still had a strong odor, so he left the window down.”

  “And Rachel just helped herself,” Blake muttered.

  “Rachel mentioned the girls were going to be sold at an auction,” Chloe said. “Let’s see if there are any auctions scheduled soon.”

  “Rachel wasn’t talking about an art auction.”

  “Maybe not, but wouldn’t hurt to check, would it? The fact is, she heard the word ‘auction.’ The guy she hitched a ride with had oil paintings in the back of his vehicle. I’m thinking there could be a connection.”

  “I agree,” Blake said.

  “So, we need to check art supply stores around here too,” Chloe said. “Track down the driver of the Suburban. If he paints, he’s got to purchase his supplies from somewhere.”

  Linc nodded. “I’d say that’s our best bet.” He blew out a breath. “You have a picture of this guy, Monique?”

  A few more clicks on the keyboard and she brought up a close-up of the young man who looked to be in his late twenties or midthirties. “This is the best one I could get. It’s not bad if I do say so myself.”

  “I think that’ll work just fine.”

  Monique moved back to her keyboard. “All right,” she said and looked at Linc. “I have your number so I’m going to send this picture to you. Feel free to share it with whoever you need to.”

  “Thanks.”

  Within seconds, the three of them had the man’s picture on their devices. “Anyone want to try again with the facial recognition software?” Chloe asked.

  Linc shot her a tight smile. “I’m already on it.” He tapped the screen. “The bureau’s resources are faster.”

  Blake snorted and Chloe rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “As long as it gets results, I don’t care which agency does it,” Blake said.

  Linc tucked his phone into its clip and stood. “Thanks, Monique.”

  “Hold on, not so fast. I’ve got one more thing.”

  Linc raised a brow and settled back into his chair. “What’s that?”

  “In finding that segment, I also found this one.” She clicked a few keys and the footage rolled.

  Their man had just come out of the stairwell and walked toward a car that had stopped. “What’s he doing?”

  “They talk for forty-five seconds, then the driver leaves. I figured you might want the license plate on that nice Mercedes S550.”

  “Yes,” Blake said. “That would be awesome.”

  She tapped another few keys and everyone’s phone buzzed. Chloe looked at hers. “Well, well. Linc, guess you’d better send that off as well.”

  Linc worked the screen. “Done.” He tucked his phone back into the clip. “Those are some seriously good investigative skills you’ve got there. Thank you.”

  Monique batted her long lashes at him. “Any time.”

  Chloe raised a brow when her brother’s cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink. She locked her gaze on his and he scowled at her, daring her to say one word. She bit her lip on a smile, but filed away the information for use later. When she needed it. She so rarely had anything on Linc that she could use as leverage for . . . whatever. But she knew he knew this would come up again.

  And probably soon.

  When she turned her attention back to Blake, all thoughts of teasing her brother dissipated. The mixture of raw grief and fear in his eyes sent shafts of compassion through her. Her heart actually hurt for him and for Rachel. He was studying the picture of the man who owned the Suburban. “We need to find this guy like yesterday.”

  “Agreed,” Chloe said, “but this is going to take some manpower.”

  “We’ll round up volunteers to hit the pavement with this guy’s face,” Linc said. “Surely someone’s seen him. Even if Rachel just hitched a ride with him due to the convenience of the open window, I want to know where he went.”

  “Exactly. The more stops he made, the more chance that someone spotted Rachel.”

  Linc’s phone rang. “St. John.” He listened, his eyes snagging hers and Blake’s. “I see. Thanks for the update. Email me everything.” He hung up. “Fingerprints came back on our courthouse shooter. Noah Hampton. He’s in the system. In fact, he was just released from prison about four weeks ago.”

  “Let me guess,” Chloe said. “The judge put him away.”

  “Excellent guess. Ten years behind bars for being in a bar fight that resulted in a broken bottle hitting a young man in the face. He lost an eye.”

  “Ouch,” Blake said. “That’s serious, but ten years?”

  “Maximum sentence and Judge Worthington gave it to him.”

  “That could make someone mad. Ten years’ worth of rage and planning to kill the man who put him in prison?”

  “It’s possible,” Linc said.

  “Then it could really be over?” Chloe said.

  Linc shook his head. “Not until we have hard evidence that he’s the one who sent the threatening letters and kidnapped Rachel.”

  “Well, he sure fired the bullets.”

  “That he did. We’ve got a team over at his place. He was staying at his mother’s house. She’s in a retirement home now, but the house was sitting empty. When Hampton was released, that’s where he went. We’re checking to see who he’s had contact with since his release.”

  Chloe rubbed her eyes and fought off the weariness that pressed in on her. “Okay, let us know what you find. If anything. And if you get a name on the Suburban driver.” She tapped her phone that held the mystery man’s picture. “In the meantime, Blake and I are going to get to work as soon as businesses open in the morning.”

  “Let me go!”

  Rachel jerked fully awake at the shout. She pushed the blanket off and hurried to look out the cracked door. Even though it let in the cold air, keeping it shut didn’t make it much warmer in the barn. And this way she could hear better when something was going on outside.

  “I said let me go!” The scream that followed was high-pitched and ear-shattering. Rachel flinched.

  “Shut her up,” a harsh voice said.

  “You heard him,” Carson said. “Shut up.”

  A twin scream to the first one ripped through the night air. A sharp smack sounded and the pained cry that followed made Rachel wince again.

  Then silence.

  Fina
lly, the men attached to the voices came into view, thanks to the motion light that came on. One of them had a young teen tossed over his left shoulder. Probably the one who’d been uncooperative. She didn’t recognize him or the girl, but she saw Carson come around from behind them, a key ring jangling in his fist. At the side of the house, he stopped, then bent over at the waist.

  Rachel’s breath caught when she realized what he was doing.

  And frowned. That’s not where the girls were kept. What was he doing with her?

  Taking deep breaths in order to slow her pounding heart, she continued to watch. He opened the double doors that were attached to the cellar-like opening, and the man carrying the girl disappeared down the steps.

  Within a minute or two, he returned empty-handed and Carson shut the doors, then bolted them with a padlock.

  “Leave her down there for a day or so and she’ll break,” the man said.

  “Wish we could just drug ’em,” Carson grumbled.

  “Yeah, well, we can’t. Not these girls. Not with these clients. Right now, the money’s better than ever and that’s the way I want to keep it.” He paused. “And if you ever hit one again, I’ll kill you.”

  “Like you killed Manny?”

  “He was a liability. It was time for him to go.”

  Carson sighed. “You said to shut her up.”

  “Exactly. Didn’t say to mark her up, did I?”

  A slight pause. “No. You didn’t. Sorry.”

  “This is your only pass. Don’t screw it up again.”

  “Got it.”

  “Good. Now we’ve got a missing one to find. Let’s get busy.”

  The two men rounded the side of the house and went inside.

  Rachel let out a shallow breath and swallowed hard. She had to do something. They’d killed Manny. Not that she was upset about his death, but . . . she was. It hit home that these guys were serious. They didn’t mess around and she didn’t want to fall back into their hands.

  And she had to find a way to get the other girls away from them.

  She needed a plan.

  A better one than what she’d come up with just before she’d drifted off to sleep.

  But as long and as hard as she thought, she couldn’t figure out anything else.

  So . . . plan A it would be. Go down the driveway, hit the road and follow it until she came to a store or a gas station that had a phone and call 911.

  But first, she needed food. She stayed to such a strict diet that she didn’t usually have issues with low blood sugar, but the beginning symptoms were there. Lightheaded and nauseous, heart palpitations, sleepiness. She drew in a deep breath, then blew it out. She pulled the pod off. No sense in pumping more insulin in if she wasn’t eating.

  Food. She had to find some. Now. Passing out wasn’t an option, but her body wouldn’t give her any choice if she didn’t do something about it.

  Keeping the horse blanket wrapped around her, she eased the door open and stepped into the wide-open-anyone-looking-toward-the-barn-would-see-her space. She shut the door with as little noise as possible and darted toward the driveway. Staying far enough away from the house so that she didn’t trigger the light was extremely important.

  With a pounding heart, she hurried as fast as she could without making any noise until she could run parallel to the drive. Once she reached the end, she was out of sight and surrounded by trees. Her absolute terror at being discovered faded slightly. Now, which way? Right or left?

  She remembered turning right into the driveway so she decided to go the way they’d come.

  Gripping the horse blanket tight, she started walking. If she saw a car, she’d have to find a way to hide. In the dark, it wouldn’t be that hard. She could just drop to the ground. The wet, cold ground. But until she was far enough away from the house, she couldn’t take the chance that a passing car might be someone involved with the rest of the people at that house of horrors.

  Streetlights were few and far between, but they did pop up occasionally, causing her to have to walk farther from the road to avoid being cast in the light. Fortunately, trees lined both sides of the two-lane road, offering her plenty of places to duck into.

  And each time a car passed, she did.

  The passing cars were also few and far between. Scant enough that it made her nervous about flagging one for help. She knew not every one of the passing cars held someone who would hurt her, but she simply couldn’t take the chance that the one who stopped would be the wrong one.

  “Just keep walking,” she whispered. Her stomach cramped and her throat felt dry. At the barn, she’d been able to use the water hose connected to it, but out here . . .

  A car approached, the headlights sweeping across her before she could duck.

  She dove into the protection of the trees as the vehicle slowed, then pulled to a stop. “Hey, anyone out there?”

  Her stomach clenched. She couldn’t be positive, but he sure sounded like one of the men from the cage room. Maybe. Or maybe she was just so scared that every voice she heard would sound like one of them.

  Heart pounding, she closed her eyes. This was why she hadn’t flagged down any passing cars. This was why the only person she would trust to help her was Blake. He might not want her, but he’d never do anything to put her in danger. And he would help. Surely he would.

  Soon the man climbed back into the car and roared off down the road. Rachel let out a slow breath. She could do this. She would do this. Maybe if she rescued the girls, her father would love her. Just maybe.

  Only one way to find out.

  Pressing on, fighting the nausea and the desperate need for food, she walked, then stumbled. Gritting her teeth, she kept going. Passing out was not an option.

  Five steps later, a light caught her attention. A house set back off the road. She knew she had to chance it—and maybe they had a phone.

  Once she reached the front door, she noticed one car in the driveway, but other than the porch light, the rest of the house was dark. With a shaky finger, she pressed the doorbell then ran and hid behind the bushes.

  She waited.

  No one came. No dog barked.

  Nothing.

  Rachel made her way back up to the front door and rang the bell again. Then hurried to hide once more.

  Again, no one came to the door.

  “Okay, you can do this. Everyone leaves out a spare key. Just find it.”

  She made her way to the back door and tried the knob.

  And found it unlocked. “Or they just don’t bother to lock up out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  She gave a silent laugh and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, she stayed as silent as possible while the darkness pressed in on her.

  Once her eyes adjusted, she moved into the kitchen and stopped when she found a bunch of bananas. She pulled two off and shoved them into her back pocket. She removed a third and ate it. A bowl of M&Ms sat on the counter and she stuffed three handfuls into her front pocket.

  It might not be a good idea to open the refrigerator. Would someone be able to see the light from the road? Probably not, but why chance it?

  Instead, she opened the pantry and found it a bit bare, but a jar of peanut butter and a package of crackers stared at her from the eye-level shelf.

  “Marge, that you?”

  Rachel froze, her breath caught in her throat as the light flicked on in the hallway and footsteps headed her way.

  “When’d you get home? I didn’t hear the car pull up.”

  Rachel grabbed the peanut butter and crackers and darted for the door.

  13

  SATURDAY MORNING

  At 9:00 a.m., Blake met Chloe and Hank outside the first place on the list they’d put together last night. She handed him a cup of coffee and he took a sip. Black, just like he liked it. “Thanks.”

  “Welcome. Did you sleep?”

  “Nope. You?”

  “Not much. A little.”

  He took another swig,
ignoring the burn as it went down. He’d already gulped one cup before he left the house. After this one, he might consider himself appropriately caffeinated to work. “Did Linc call you this morning?”

  “He did.”

  “So, you and Hank are officially Deputy US Marshals. Welcome to protection duty.”

  “Thanks. I suppose he told you that Hank and I were assigned to be with you and JoAnn. Stacy and her K-9, Max, are with Parker and Justin.”

  “Yes. I think the dogs are going to make a huge difference.” He took another gulp of the coffee and then blew out a breath. “They tracked down the driver of the Mercedes. Linc called to tell me that too.”

  “No kidding? Did they talk to him?”

  “Yes. His name is Gerald Atkinson. Said he was just asking our guy in the garage for directions. He’d never seen him before.”

  “Linc believed him?”

  “No reason not to.”

  “What did his background check say?”

  He smiled. “Don’t miss a trick, do you?” She raised a brow and Blake said, “He checked out clean. Worked an IT gig for ten years before he jumped ship and started his own software company. His net worth is staggering, but there’s nothing about him that sets off any need-to-investigate alarms.”

  She frowned. “Great.”

  “Yeah. Unfortunately. So . . . are you ready to do this?”

  “Ready when you are.”

  Together, they walked into the shop that had just opened ten minutes earlier and Blake pulled his picture out of his pocket. Five minutes later, they walked back out with a negative on anyone recognizing the man in the picture. “How’s Jo?” she asked.

  “Doing okay. I talked to her this morning. She’s got a cracked rib and some real sore muscles, but she’s going to be okay. Better than taking a bullet in the flesh.”

  “Absolutely.”

  A long hour later, Blake pulled the picture of their “art man” out of his pocket. “How many times have we shown this picture to someone? Five hundred?”

  “Probably only ten or twelve times.”

  “Right.” But with each negative reaction to the photo, his hopes dropped lower and lower. “This is ridiculous.”

  “This is good old-fashioned police work, my friend.”