Freefall (No)

by Jill Sorenson

  This new suspicion totally changed the game. Doug had a spotless reputation. He was a respected member of the community. No one would believe her.

  She didn’t know who to call.

  Her safest bet would be to contact the FBI, but she hesitated. She was familiar with agency procedure. Special Agent Ling would demand to talk to Faith again, maybe even charge her with obstructing justice. Getting a warrant to search the cabin would be difficult. Any investigation would proceed at a snail’s pace.

  In the meantime, Faith would be in danger. She admitted to Hope that she’d seen the faces of her captors. She could identify the inside of the cabin. If Hope brought forth her suspicions, they might try to eliminate Faith as a witness. These were hardened criminals. They could come after Hope, too.

  She needed proof before she called the FBI. If she went in empty-handed and no evidence turned up, she’d be putting her job and her sister at risk.

  That was unacceptable.

  Instead of driving to her shared unit in park housing, she turned on the deserted road that led to the ranger station at Mineral King. Owen Jackson had been filling in for her again. When she arrived, he was locking up for the day.

  “Ranger Banning,” he said, nodding hello.

  “Hope.”

  “Hope,” he repeated dutifully. “How’s your sister?”

  “She’s better.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  She studied him for a moment, disconcerted by his serious blue eyes. Even though she’d seen him shirtless, with ugly tattoos marring his lovely chest, she was the one who felt naked. “I need to get something inside my office.”

  “Sure,” he said, opening the door for her.

  She went straight to her desk and pulled out the top drawer. Her trembling fingers closed around a key, which she used to unlock a metal box she kept stashed in the utility closet. It housed a Glock 9 mm handgun. Her backup weapon.

  A girl had to be prepared.

  Hope tucked the gun into the waistband of her jeans, letting her jacket hide the telltale bulge.

  “Where are you going with that?”

  She turned to see him standing in the doorway. “Home.”

  He just stared at her. His mother must have taught him not to argue with women, because he didn’t say anything. There was a distinct possibility he’d call Sam, however. They were friends, and Owen had seen her kissing him.

  “Okay,” she said, as if he was badgering her. “I want to search Kruger’s cabin.”

  “Bill Kruger?”

  After a short hesitation, she decided to divulge all. The fact that Owen was an outsider made him more trustworthy. His brave, independent actions had won her over. “I think Kruger was involved in my sister’s kidnapping.”

  “Why?”

  Hope explained how she’d come to the conclusion. It was really just a hunch, and she doubted the FBI would be convinced by her reasoning. Owen had no trouble believing her. He’d worked with Kruger on forest maintenance, and probably had better insight about criminal behavior than most young men.

  “He always seemed shady to me,” Owen said.

  “I can’t go to Dixon with this.”

  “No,” he agreed.

  “Do you know anything about Meeks?”

  “Just that he’s drinking buddies with Kruger.”

  “Maybe I should drive by the lodge first.”

  “How are you going to get in the cabin?”

  “Dixon owns the place. He used to keep a key by the back door.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We went there several times when we were dating.”

  His brows shot up. “You dated Dixon?”

  She squinted, daring him to criticize.

  He didn’t. “What if the key isn’t there?”

  “I’ll have to break in.”

  Hope acknowledged that her proposal was unorthodox—and illegal. But she couldn’t continue to work in a dangerous, corrupt environment. If Kruger was caught up in a drug smuggling ring, she wanted to see him nailed to the wall. Any evidence they found could be rediscovered through an authorized search warrant. She wasn’t the first ranger to bend the rules, and she wouldn’t be the last.

  “I’ll come with you,” Owen said.

  Although she could use a lookout, she was reluctant to involve him. “Aren’t you on probation?”

  “Prison inmates get parole, not probation.”

  “You’re on parole, then?”

  “No. I just got off.”

  After a short pause, she accepted. If she had to smash a window, she’d make sure he stayed outside. At any rate, she didn’t plan on getting caught.

  By the time Owen dropped off his service vehicle at headquarters, it was early evening. He climbed into the passenger seat of Hope’s Jeep, and she cruised by the bar. Sure enough, Kruger’s black pickup truck was in the parking lot.

  They went to the cabin next. The windows were dark and quiet. “Okay,” she said, glancing at her navigation system. “I’ll park on Whispering Rock Avenue. We can approach from the back. It’s not fenced.”

  Owen nodded, tugging a beanie over his light hair.

  After she hid her Jeep behind some bushes at the side of the road, she pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt, covering most of her face. Then she pocketed a flashlight from the glove compartment.

  “Ready?” she whispered.

  “Ready.”

  They trudged through a copse of pines. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the path. When the back of the log cabin came into view, they stopped to study it. She noticed one new addition to the property. A pointy-eared shape was curled up in the corner of a chain-link enclosure.

  “There’s a dog,” he said.

  “It’s locked up.”

  “What do you think we’ll find in there?”

  “The drugs he stole, hopefully. Or some proof that my sister was there. Her clothes, hair, something.”

  “Her clothes?”

  “She was wrapped in a sheet when they found her.”

  Owen understood the implications of her nudity, and his mouth made a thin line of anger. He seemed as eager as Hope to bust Kruger. She wondered if he had some kind of personal vendetta against men who abused women.

  They crept forward. The dog began to bark furiously as she approached. Hope kept moving, disturbed by the sight of the Doberman’s glistening teeth, gnashing at the gate. A light came on when she reached the back door.

  She smothered a scream.

  Owen grasped her upper arm, ready to run.

  “It’s a motion detector,” she whispered.

  His grip relaxed, but his face stayed tense.

  She didn’t want to trigger an alarm by breaking in, so she prayed the key was still there. As she stepped closer, she noticed a pair of muddy hiking boots by the back door. They were about a size twelve. Kruger was a big man. Years of dissolute living had put some extra weight around his middle.

  Blood pounding in her ears, she picked up the boot and glanced at the tread. The zigzag pattern was unmistakable. She took a photo of it with her cell phone. After replacing the boot, she found the key under a skull-sized rock. She straightened, inserting the key and turning the knob. The door swung open with a faint creak. No sirens blared and no masked men rushed at them as they entered the residence.

  The interior looked the same. It was a cozy space with exposed ceiling beams. She’d spent several weekends here with Doug. His company had been pleasant. He wasn’t a challenge, like Sam. He hadn’t made her tremble with excitement, or feel half as vulnerable.

  Had their entire relationship been a lie? She couldn’t imagine him taking bribes from drug smugglers, but she also couldn’t imagine him being unaware of Kruger’s illegal activities, some of which were perpetrated in his own cabin.

  She headed to the basement first. Faith told her that she’d been kept in a room without windows.

  With Owen following close behind, she descended a dark stairwell, dra
wing the flashlight from her pocket. There were two doors to choose from. She opened the one on the left and glanced inside. Other than a rectangular table and a few chairs, the space was bare. It wasn’t the bedroom Faith had described.

  Moving on, she studied the second door. It appeared to lock from the outside. She passed the flashlight to Owen and brought out her phone. While he waited, his eyes darting toward the stairs, she snapped a photograph. Then she entered the room, taking more pictures of the interior. It was spotless, the bed stripped bare and the table wiped clean. She searched the corners for video equipment. Nothing.

  Her stomach twisted with distress as she pictured Faith here with her attacker. She looked under the bed and inside the bathroom. There were no dirty clothes on the floor, no blond hair in the drain. Every surface was immaculate.

  Hope’s spirits plummeted. A reverse lock wasn’t the smoking gun she needed. She had to find some concrete evidence.

  Owen glanced toward the exit, seeming agitated.

  She motioned for him to wait. Returning to the bathroom, she glanced at the toilet tank, struck by a sudden inspiration. Sticking her phone in her pocket, she lifted the porcelain tank cover and looked inside.

  Bingo.

  The bulb was floating loose, unattached. Parts were missing. Faith had used the rod to try to jimmy open the door!

  Heart racing, she set aside the cover and took photos of the toilet tank. This was too much of a coincidence to ignore. It might not convince anyone else, but Hope knew with complete certainty that her sister had been here.

  Before she had a chance to replace the tank cover, a mechanical hum started. It took her several seconds to place the sound as an automatic garage door.

  She pocketed her phone and fumbled with the tank cover. It was still askew when Owen grabbed her wrist, urging her out the door. As she raced down the hall, she could hear Kruger’s truck pull into the garage.

  What now?

  She looked at Owen, unsure if they should hide or flee.

  “Go,” he ordered, shoving her up the stairs. She took two at a time, trying not to trip, her adrenaline pumping. As they burst onto the main floor, Kruger entered the house from the garage. Instead of moving through the kitchen, he stopped to listen.

  Caught.

  She ran toward the back door with Owen on her heels.

  “Hey!”

  She prayed for a clean escape as they sailed outside. The Doberman snarled at the gate, thirsty for blood. Hope sprinted for the trees as fast as her legs could carry her. Owen kept pace beside her. They were lucky Kruger didn’t open fire. He could probably get away with shooting intruders on his property.

  As they darted across the short expanse, Kruger shouted obscenities. She knew they could outdistance a hard drinker. When they reached the copse of pines, she thought they were home free.

  She was wrong.

  Kruger released his hound.

  Hope ran faster, her lungs burning. She heard the Doberman gaining on them, its paws thundering against the ground. Owen stumbled over a root and lost his balance. He went down hard on his hands and knees.

  Skidding to a halt, she turned back to help him, but the dog was already there. In a blur of sharp teeth and glistening saliva, it attacked, tearing at his ankle. She pulled the 9 mm from her waistband, her chest tight with panic.

  She didn’t know where to shoot. The dog was all over the place, biting Owen’s thrashing arms and legs.

  “No,” she shouted, trying to dislodge the Doberman with a kick. “Bad dog!”

  Owen and the dog rolled across the pine-needle-strewn ground. For a moment, she thought he’d break free. Then Owen was underneath and the dog was on top, growling and snapping, its muzzle inches from his throat.

  Hope didn’t have a choice. She raised her gun, aimed for the animal’s barrel chest and squeezed off a shot. The boom thundered in her ears as the weapon jerked in her hands, filling the air with residue.

  With a sharp yip, the dog collapsed.

  She sobbed out loud as Owen shoved the animal’s body aside and scrambled to his feet. They started running again, worried that Kruger was closing in. Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled through the woods. When they arrived at her Jeep, she gestured for Owen to climb in first, pointing her weapon at the trees.

  Kruger didn’t emerge.

  Keeping her eyes peeled, she went around to the driver’s seat and got in, placing her weapon on the console. She fumbled for the keys and started the engine. Her tires kicked up dirt as she stepped on the gas.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked Owen.

  “I think I’m okay,” he said, but he sounded shaky. His jeans were ripped and blood snaked down his left forearm.

  “Put pressure on the wound.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  He didn’t have to say it twice. She drove away from the scene like a stuntwoman, barely breaking for curves. They both managed to secure their seat belts on a straight stretch of road. “I’m going to the hospital.”

  Owen pulled a ringing cell phone out of his pocket. “It’s Sam.”

  “Shit.”

  “Should I answer?”

  “Yes,” she said, distracted. “We’re lucky Kruger didn’t try to...”

  Headlights penetrated the rear window, illuminating the interior of the vehicle. The words follow us died in her throat.

  Kruger was coming after them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HOPE PUT HER foot on the gas, increasing her speed.

  The pickup truck’s front grill kissed her back bumper, causing the Jeep to lurch sideways, zigzagging across the road. With a cry of distress, she straightened the wheel, trying to regain control of the vehicle.

  “He’s coming again,” Owen warned.

  She drove faster, determined to put distance between them. The next thing she knew, the rear window shattered, sending safety glass flying through the cab. She screamed, ducking her head to avoid another bullet.

  Owen twisted in his seat, looking back. “Swerve! He’s got us in his sights.”

  Gritting her teeth, she cranked the wheel to the right. Her gun tumbled over the console, into Owen’s lap. Kruger’s next shot missed by a wide margin. They came upon a series of hairpin turns that required both drivers to focus on the terrain.

  “Just a second,” Owen said into the phone. Setting it aside, he picked up her gun.

  “You know how to use that?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Return fire.”

  “What should I go for, his tires?”

  “Hell no,” she said. Vehicle tires were difficult to hit in any situation. Unless he was a crack shot, which she doubted, he needed to pick an easier target. “Aim at his head. Shoot through the front windshield. Anything.”

  Face pale, he trained the gun on Kruger.

  Hope realized she was asking a lot from a convicted felon, but this was a clear case of self-defense. She jerked her attention forward, narrowly avoiding a collision with a parked car. She did her best to weave around. It was a difficult task at top speed on a lonely mountain road. Owen crouched in the passenger seat, ready to fire.

  Another bullet slammed into the tailgate.

  “Fuck!”

  Owen squeezed off several shots. She glanced in her rearview mirror, gasping as the truck’s front window exploded. Kruger slowed down, and Owen fired twice more. The noise was deafening. It ricocheted inside her ears, drowning out all other sound.

  “Did you hit him?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  She slammed on the brakes and hooked a right, heading away from town. Kruger might gather a posse from the sheriff’s department. Meeks could sic every patrol car in the area on them. They weren’t safe in the Sierras, and there was only one escape route. She had to take the twisty 198. It was a dangerous road on a good day. At night, with a madman trying to run them down in a high-speed chase, the chances of a serious accident were high.

  She p
ut the pedal to the metal, punching it on a straightaway. Owen tried, and failed, to incapacitate the pickup with her gunfire.

  Tires squealing, she merged onto the 198 northbound. The highway flanked the mighty Kern River, and rose several thousand feet in elevation before falling again. She wanted to lose the tail on the way up, rather than continuing the chase downhill.

  “Wait until he gets close again,” she said.

  Letting his gun arm drop, he picked up the phone again, shouting their location at Sam. “We just passed Cold Springs Road.”

  The hairpin turns made her stomach clench with fear, and the heights were dizzying. She anticipated death around every corner. The truck inched closer again. As they entered a tunnel, she could see Kruger’s deranged face in the rearview mirror.

  “Now!” she ordered.

  The last bullet connected. Kruger’s shoulder jerked from the impact, and he let go of the wheel. His passenger door scraped the tunnel wall, sending sparks into the air. He steered the truck back toward the center of the lane, but he couldn’t continue to shoot. The only weapon he had left was his vehicle.

  “He’s going to try to run me off the road,” she said, driving faster.

  She couldn’t believe the numbers on the speedometer. They were already traveling at a breakneck pace. Kruger rammed her bumper in a bone-jolting crash. She sideswiped the guardrail as they exited the tunnel. He struck again, tapping her bumper at an angle. The Jeep went into a sickening spin.

  She held her breath, expecting to fly over the cliff. Instead, she came to a grinding halt on the opposite side of the road, facing the other direction.

  “Go!” Owen shouted.

  Heart pounding, she stepped on the gas. Kruger turned around to continue his pursuit. She realized that she couldn’t outmaneuver him. Her vehicle was built for off-road treks and smooth freeway trips. The pickup could go faster and hit harder. But Kruger was injured, and he’d probably been drinking. She could outthink him.