Finding Sarah

by Terry Odell

  “No, Sarah. No fighting. You’re not a bad girl, remember.”

  Bad girls. Don’t fight him.

  Sarah closed her eyes and went limp.

  * * * * *

  “Go,” Randy said to Colleen. “I’m not going anywhere, and you don’t want to be late for morning briefing.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t look so good.”

  “Mac, leave me alone.” Embarrassed by the way his voice broke, he swallowed hard. “Please.”

  She backed out the door, the look of compassion dumping another bucketload of acid into his stomach.

  Get your act together, Detweiler. Do your damn job.

  He pulled two more Tums from the bottle. He’d blown this case from the beginning. Laughlin would have him helping kids cross the street, or checking parking meters. Jackhammers pounded in his head and his stomach twisted. He stumbled out to the men’s room and leaned on the sink, fighting the nausea. Holding his wrists under a flow of cold water, some of the turmoil left his system. The wild-eyed stranger in the mirror frightened him. He splashed huge handfuls of water onto his face.

  He was useless in this condition. Furious with himself, he dug deeper, searching for the strength to disassociate himself, the way Kovak had, the way he always had been able to before Sarah. He pushed the damp hair out of his face and went in search of Kovak.

  He found him in Communications, phone to his ear, nodding and taking notes. Randy fisted his hands in his pockets. Finally, Kovak hung up and turned around. “Let’s go to the office,” he said.

  Randy held his tongue until they’d gone inside and closed the door. “What did you find out?”

  “Deschutes is familiar with Falcon Lake. It’s off the main road a good five miles, lots of cabins, mostly vacation or summer use. A couple of year-round residents. Dirt roads, very rustic.”

  “Do they know if Chris is there? Have they seen Sarah?”

  Kovak sat down at his computer and pulled up a map. “Slow down. Here’s Bend.” He pointed to a spot a few inches away. “Here’s Falcon Lake. There’s a sheriff’s station at Terrebone about ten miles away as the crow flies, but on these roads, it’ll be at least half an hour before anyone can get there.” He raised his eyes to Randy’s. “And, because of the terrain, there’s very little communication in there. They hit dead zones all the time. But they’re rolling, and they’ll let us know as soon as they get there. I faxed them her picture.”

  “I need to be there. I want that bastard.”

  “Yes, you do, but you need to wait thirty minutes.”

  “I—”

  “Listen and think. Do the math. It’s going to take you three hours minimum to get there. And what if she’s not there? You raced off after Scofield and what did that get you? What’s more important? Making the collar yourself or getting the job done?”

  Chagrined, Randy ran the timetables through his head. “I’d bet my life she’s there.”

  Kovak put a hand on Randy’s shoulder. “Hey. I’m with you on this one. But if you don’t mind some friendly advice, why don’t you grab a shower, clean up a little. Sarah would run for cover if she saw you like this—and, big guy, she’d smell you coming at fifty yards. I’ll go sweet-talk the judge into signing the papers. By the time everything’s ready, we should know something.”

  Randy stood under the hot spray in the locker room shower, wishing he could scrub away his anxiety the way he washed off the sweat. Another half hour before he could find out anything. But Kovak was right. Wait for an update. Make sure he had all the data, that everything connected.

  Waiting sucked.

  He dried off and pulled on the change of clothes he kept in his locker. Waves of self-recrimination at not finding the property sooner sent tremors of fury through him as he attempted to shave. He braced himself against the sink, forcing his hands to follow the contours of his face without shaking. Swearing when his aftershave seeped into a nick, he was grateful that he hadn’t done more damage.

  Kovak wasn’t back with the warrant yet. Randy wandered down to Dispatch. Maybe the planets were aligned just right, or there was some fluke in the atmosphere and he’d be able to receive the Deschutes radio frequency. Right. Like he still believed in Santa Claus and the Easter bunny. He asked the operator to switch frequencies. Static. He hadn’t expected otherwise. He got the phone number for Deschutes Dispatch and trudged to his office.

  He tested his voice to make sure he could keep it steady and called Deschutes. “I understand you’ve got communication holes, but I’d appreciate being in the loop whenever possible. This one’s personal.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll let the deputies know we need frequent updates.”

  “Thanks.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. When he looked up, Laughlin had entered his office, a white paper bag in his hands. The chief set the bag on Randy’s desk, gave him a nod, and left.

  Randy opened the bag to find two bagels with fixings and a large orange juice. God, was he so pathetic that the chief was bringing him food? He pried the top off the juice and took a long swig. He pulled out a bagel, smeared it with some of the cream cheese and bit off a small piece. It went down easily enough and he devoured the rest almost without thinking.

  The phone rang. Randy stared at it, afraid to answer. What if the worst had happened? Sweat trickled down his back. He picked up the receiver. “Detweiler.”

  “I’ve got an update for you.” The voice was the calm, detached voice of an experienced dispatcher. “The deputies found your suspect, Mr. Westmoreland, at the property.”

  “What about Sarah—Ms. Tucker? Was she there?”

  “Detective, normally I wouldn’t have called with such sparse information, but you said it was personal. All I have is that they found your suspect. No woman.”

  A knife stabbed through Randy’s chest. “Are you sure?”

  “Detective, I’m not there. However, the deputies found female attire in the cabin, as well as a photo album containing pictures that match the one you faxed. They believe she was there. Some bruising on the suspect indicates some kind of a struggle. In addition, there was a torn wedding dress on the bedroom floor.”

  “Wedding dress?” His words were a hoarse croak.

  “The suspect claims he’s on his honeymoon and his wife is out for a walk.”

  “That’s a damn lie. He kidnapped her.”

  “Detective, I’m relaying the information I have.”

  Randy was beyond being calmed by the dispatcher’s soothing tones. “Dammit, what are they doing?”

  “Please hold and I’ll see if I can get more for you.”

  Kovak came in, waving the warrant. “What do you have?”

  “Deschutes Dispatch. He’s—Chris—is there—” The dispatcher came back on the line and Randy raised a finger. Kovak stepped around the desk and put the call on speaker.

  The dispatcher continued. “Detective, we’ve lost the signal, but they are taking the suspect into custody. The deputies are going to do a search for the woman and they’ve requested scent dogs. I’ll have more details once they get onto the highway.”

  Randy gave the dispatcher his cell phone number. “I’m on my way.” He opened his desk drawer and extracted his badge and weapon. “I’m going to find her. And then I’m going to deal with Chris.”

  “Work the logistics, big guy. We’ll send a uniform to Bend. You’re in no condition to drive for three hours and then go tromping through the woods. Give me your keys.”

  “I’ve pulled all-nighters before. I can drive.”

  “Not with me in the passenger seat, you can’t. You may be willing to gamble with your own life, but I’m not letting you risk mine. You can play with the radio.”

  Randy begrudgingly acknowledged his partner’s logic and handed him his keys. Fifteen minutes onto the highway, Randy knew he probably owed Kovak his life. Nerves or not, he’d dropped off twice already. He glanced at Kovak, who seemed to be making a point of not looking at him.


  “If you’re waiting for me to say, ‘I told you so,’ you’ll have a long wait,” Kovak said, his eyes never leaving the road.

  Chapter Thirty

  Aside from her racing heart, Sarah remained motionless. Chris continued his seduction efforts, although she couldn’t detect any arousal. Was she safe, or just safe until he recharged?

  “We’re married now, Sarah. There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing. Touch me.”

  When she ignored him, his ministrations grew rougher. Fingers that had stroked became hands that gripped. She clenched her teeth, determined to remain submissive. Chris’ mouth smashed over hers, jammed her lips against her teeth, until she tasted blood. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to slow her breathing.

  “Kiss me.” His voice was gruff, menacing. His tongue probed and she jerked her head away. Fists grabbed her hair, pulled her face back toward his. “Kiss me.”

  “Never.”

  He gave a guttural laugh. “Ah, that’s better. A little action. What else do you need? This?” He mashed her breast with his hand, then grabbed her nipple and pinched.

  “You’re hurting me, Chris. I’m not a bad girl, remember? You don’t need to hurt me.” To her horror, she felt him growing erect against her thigh. She stopped struggling.

  “Of course not. You’re my wife.” He released her breast. “Wives help.” He took her hand in his, moved it to his barely erect penis and began stimulating himself, guiding her hand. “We’re both tired, and you were so cold. It won’t always be like this. It can’t always be like this.”

  She heard his voice start to break and gambled with her reply. “Like what? Like, you can’t perform? Like you’re not a man, Chris?” Felt him soften. “We’re not really married, are we, Chris? You haven’t done your marital duty yet, have you?”

  “Don’t you dare say that. We are married. You’re my wife and you’ve got marital duties to perform.” He was crying softly, lying on top of her, his head buried between her breasts.

  Sarah stroked his hair. “Let me go. You know this isn’t right.”

  He tensed and Sarah feared she’d made a terrible mistake. His eyes were feral now, and he gripped her arms, pinning them to her sides. “Maybe it’s going to take a while. I want you to need me, but I’m willing to wait.” His knees shoved her legs apart and he yanked one arm, then the other, above her head. “Meanwhile, I want you. Now.”

  He hovered above her, on his knees. His breath, hot and sour on her face, turned her stomach. She felt him rubbing against her belly. His grip shifted so he had both her wrists in one hand and his other slapped her cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she struggled to free her hands. Chris merely tightened his hold and slapped her again.

  Abandoning any hope that being submissive was going to keep Chris from hurting her, whether or not he raped her, Sarah fought back. Gouged, scraped. Twisted, squirmed, did everything she could to free her legs so she could do some damage. Screamed. Begged. Cried. He drew strength from her thrashing. His fingers were everywhere, squeezing. Became fists, pounding. Drawing from some reserve she wasn’t aware she had, Sarah wrenched free enough to drive a knee into his crotch.

  Air exploded from his lungs. He screamed, then collapsed, doubled over, beside her. Leaping from the bed, she grabbed the sheet and darted away.

  Sarah locked the bedroom door and rushed to Chris’s room, searched for something to restrain him. Rope? Tape? Anything? He should be immobilized for a while, shouldn’t he? In too much pain to move?

  No, that’s what got her into trouble last time. Running without thinking. The ether bottle sat on top of the dresser. She opened a drawer, found a t-shirt and saturated it with the liquid, turning her head to avoid inhaling the fumes.

  She crept to the bedroom, put her ear to the door. A soft moan. She twisted the doorknob as quietly as she could and peered into the room. Chris lay on the floor, curled in a ball, his back to her, breathing in short gasps. Holding the cloth in front of her, she tiptoed to his inert form, watching for any movement. Nothing. Then a groan. Her heart jumped to her throat. The instinct to flee surged through her and she fought it long enough to take two huge paces to Chris and slap the ether-soaked shirt over his face. He twitched and then went limp.

  Hurrying back to his room, she tried to think. She allowed herself one deep breath, then grabbed a pair of his jeans and a sweatshirt and tugged them on over her sweat-slicked body. Shoes this time, she told herself. And a jacket. She found her sneakers in his closet. She jammed her feet into them, wanting to get away, as far away as she could, before Chris recovered enough to chase after her.

  She pulled his belt from the jeans she wore, and went back to the bedroom, where Chris lay motionless on the floor. After using the belt to bind his hands, she relocked the bedroom door behind her, then raced through the living room, out the front door toward what she hoped was the main road. Find another cabin. This time, she could see where she was going.

  Chris’ jeans rode down her hips. Hiking them up with one hand, she stumbled along the path, the relief of escape purging the adrenaline from her system. And as the adrenaline left, the throbbing in her knee returned. Fatigue and pain slowed her pace to a limping jog, then a hobbling walk.

  Sunlight filtered through the trees and the scent of pine permeated the air. The forest was less frightening by daylight, but she was no closer to her goal than she had been last night. Was it only one night? Time had no meaning. She could have been walking for fifteen minutes or an hour, and she had yet to see evidence of civilization.

  Was that a cabin ahead? She ignored her knee and pushed on, dizzy with relief when she reached the small wooden structure. Her voice trembled, a hoarse croak. “Hello. Is someone there?” She struggled up the two wooden steps to the small entry and pounded on the door. “Help me, please.” She noticed the padlock and the layer of dirt and grime. Nobody had been here in a long time.

  Deflated, she sank to the rough wood planks.

  * * * * *

  Someone called Randy’s name. He jerked awake. Sunlight streamed into the window and he rubbed his eyes. “Where are we?” He fished his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on.

  “Hitting the Terrebone station. Westmoreland is in Bend. Hamilton’s starting the extradition paperwork. He’ll wait for me and we’ll escort the prisoner back.”

  Randy grunted, still trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain and the cotton from his mouth. “Kick Westmoreland for me, will you?”

  Kovak laughed. “I talked to the deputies while you were out. Apparently, your Sarah did a pretty good job of that. Westmoreland’ll be walking funny for a while.”

  For the first time in what seemed like forever, Randy managed a laugh. “And she won’t lose her job for it, either.” He sobered. “Have they found her?”

  “Sorry.” They pulled into a small parking area in front of a single-story brick and wood building. Before Randy could get out of the truck, a deputy came out to meet them.

  “Kovak and Detweiler. Pine Hills, right? I’m Al Yeager. Which one of you gets the ride back to Bend?”

  “That would be me,” Kovak said. “At your convenience. Our guy isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Now is good,” Yeager said. “I’ve got an appointment there in about an hour.” He turned to Randy. “They’re still looking. An extra man can’t hurt—there’s a lot of terrain to cover.”

  “Tell me where,” Randy said.

  “I’ll get you a map.”

  Kovak handed Randy the keys. “If you want, I can stick around here—help you search for a while.”

  “No need for both of us to piss off Laughlin. You do your job.”

  Kovak slapped Randy’s shoulder. “You take care, big guy.”

  Yeager came back with the map and showed Randy where the search team had set up. “It’s close enough to the main road so we can stay in contact. This area has no cell signals and the radios only work half the time. Underhill is in charge.�
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  “Thanks.” Randy grabbed the map and got in his truck. He readjusted the seat and peeled out of the parking lot.

  Twenty minutes later, he found a van and a cruiser half a mile off the main road. He parked and jumped out. “I’m looking for Deputy Underhill.”

  “You found her.” A young blonde, her hair ponytailed through a brown Deschutes County Sheriff’s Office baseball cap, strode out to meet him. “Kari Underhill.”

  Randy shook her extended hand. A warm, firm grip. Up close, Randy reassessed her age as mid-forties. “What can I do?”

  She pulled out a map with a series of circles, some with Xs drawn through them. “These are the cabins in the area. We’re doing a door-to-door, but most of them are empty. This time of year, it’s mostly weekenders if anyone uses them at all. We started at Westmoreland’s and are working outward.”

  “You’ve eliminated the X’s?”

  “Right.”

  “How many deputies do you have working?’

  The deputy gave him a wry smile. “Counting me—three. You make four.” She must have noticed Randy’s look of skepticism. “Budget. We’re spread pretty thin through this area—not a large population, so not a lot of personnel.”

  “Where do you want me to start?”

  She pointed to a cluster of circles. “Take these three—they’re fairly close together.”

  “Can I drive in?”

  “Partway. But there are dozens of hiking and walking trails where your F-150 is useless. You’ll have to hoof a lot of it if you want to cover all the possibilities.” She drew an X on the map. “Park here. She could be unconscious a few feet off the path and you’d walk right past her. But that’s why we have Ginger.”

  “Ginger?”

  “Best scent hound in three counties. She got here about half an hour ago.”

  “I’m on my way.” Randy checked the map and walked toward his truck.

  “Wait,” Underhill trotted up and handed him a radio. “We’re on five. As long as you’re not too far away from the rest of the crew, you should be able to keep in touch.”