Sarcasm dripped from Noah’s lips. “Yeah, because someone who kidnaps girls would never register a vehicle under a false name.” And Travelers don’t lie about their names. Noah heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”
“Here’s the address. Let’s go.”
“Fine,” Noah said, “but let me drive.”
****
Scuffed square-toed boots and faded blue jeans with tattered hems poked out from under the meticulously restored muscle car parked haphazardly in the driveway. Rhyden stormed over to the car, grabbed the boots, and yanked. A lanky, sandy-haired teenager with a sunburned face and laying on a red mechanic’s creeper rolled free of the vehicle.
“What the fuck, old man?” The boy glowered up at Rhyden, blinking against the sudden sunlight. He clutched a box-end wrench loosely in his fist.
Noah let out a quiet sigh of relief. Not Patrick Collum. “Fred Durham?”
The sullen teen clambered to his feet, tapping the wrench against his thigh. “Who wants to know?”
Rhyden grabbed two fistfuls of the boy’s shirt, twisting it tightly around the kid’s throat. He lifted the boy from his feet and slammed him against the door of the vehicle. The wrench clattered as it fell to the pavement.
Noah stepped in and murmured, “Hey, easy.”
His partner snarled over his shoulder at Noah. “What? I’m lifting with my knees.” He turned back to the frightened teenager, using the grip on the T-shirt to keep the boy balanced on his tippy toes. He gave the boy a sharp shake. “Where is she?”
The young man trembled in fear. “Wh-wh-who?” he stammered.
“My. Daughter.” Rhyden punctuated each word with a slam of the boy’s head against the side of the car. “What have you done with her?”
Tears formed in the corners of Fred’s eyes. He tried to shake his head. “Dude,” the boy choked, “I don’t know who your daughter is.”
Switching to a one-handed grip on the teen, Rhyden jerked his pistol free from its holster. He held the gun tightly against the boy’s temple. “Aubree Trammell,” he said. “Do you know who she is now?”
“Whoa, buddy. Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Noah grabbed Rhyden’s gun hand. “Back down.”
The distraught father turned wild eyes on Noah. “Fuck off.”
“Sir,” the teenager squeaked. “Isn’t Bree at school?”
Rhyden dropped his gun back into its holster and released the boy with a shove. “If she was at school, would I be here?”
“I haven’t heard from her since this morning, sir.” Fred rubbed a hand across his throat. He swallowed audibly. “She snuck out, and we spent the night here.” He raised his hands quickly. “Nothing happened, sir. I promise. Nothing at all. My parents were here. We fell asleep in the living room watching movies. When I woke up, she was gone. I tried calling her a few times, but her phone went straight to voicemail. I figured either she didn’t answer because she didn’t recognize my number or that you caught her sneaking back in and had confiscated her phone.”
“Text her. Now.”
Fred hung his head. “I can’t. I lost my cell phone. That’s why I’ve been calling her from my parents’ landline.”
Rhyden climbed back into the passenger seat of Noah’s pickup. “Fuck!” He slammed his hands against the dash repeatedly. He turned to his best friend, anguish painted on his features. “Now what?”
Noah put the truck in gear. “Let’s check out the dilapidated barn behind the paving company. I tried to see what was in it when we were there the other day, but that weird kid was holed up in it. Something’s off about that place.”
****
Rhyden and Noah arrived at the paving company shortly before sunset. Heavy equipment ringed the parking lot, interspersed with work trucks loaded down with tools. Deepening shadows ratcheted up the eerie factor. They parked as far away from the office as possible just in case someone lingered inside. The darkened hulk of the barn was barely visible in the gloom. No lights or signs of life could be seen.
Anxiety battled utter exhaustion as Noah reached for his door handle. Before he could open it, the radio screeched to life. Shit! He lunged forward to silence the radio but paused when Officer Lopez’s voice, an octave higher than usual, blared over the airwaves speaking so fast he was hard to understand. State troopers and county patrol deputies were in pursuit of an oilfield tanker truck. Just before he shut off the radio, he heard the officer tell dispatch the truck hit the spikes and crashed through a fence, rolling over in the field. The officer was requesting an ambulance just as Rhyden and Noah exited the truck.
Shadows deepened as the sun slipped from the sky. Hands resting on their weapons, they waded through the thigh-high grass leading to the barn. They paused frequently to make sure no one spotted them. As they approached, Noah signaled for Rhyden to go around to the back.
He crept to the front of the building, keeping a low profile. He tried to peer through a cracked window, but once again the spray-painted black glass defeated him. He rattled the doorknob. Unlocked. Cautiously, he opened the door a sliver. Stifling air rushed out. The smell of rotting flesh and old blood slapped him in the face.
Please, God, no.
A rustling in the brush to his right caused him to slip his cocked and locked 1911 from its holster. Easing the door closed, he stepped back against the building, hiding in the shadows. A twig cracked. He tightened his grip on his weapon. Stepping into the fading light, he said, “Hold it right there.”
Rhyden popped out of the brush. “It’s just me. No entrances anywhere on the building but here.”
Noah exhaled. Tension eased from his body. He stepped back and re-holstered his weapon. He remembered the odor from the barn. “Wait here.”
“Bullshit. I’m not waiting anywhere. If my daughter is in there, I’m going in to get her.”
“Rhy, please. Just let me check it out first. I’m begging you.”
Trammell ignored him and jerked the door open. Fetid air rushed out. He paled and shoved Noah out of the way before charging into the darkened interior.
A crash followed by the sound of breaking glass and cursing pulled Noah through the doorway. He flicked on his flashlight. The intense blue-white beam cut through the dismal murkiness. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Someone’s watching me.
He whipped the light up. All around him, glittering glass eyes leered from the walls. A shiver tore through him. “You okay?”
“Yeah, knocked over some kind of aquarium. Freaking bugs went everywhere.” Rhyden slid his own LED beam around the space. Roach-like insects burrowed into the sawdust shavings scattered among pieces of broken glass. Several beetles crawled out of a partially decomposed hog’s head.
Noah played his light over the hog’s head. Long and yellow, wickedly sharp tusks shone in the beam of his flashlight. Bits and pieces of rotting flesh and hide clung to the skull.
As the partners advanced deeper into the building, the stench of old blood grew stronger. A trickle of sweat rolled between Noah’s shoulder blades and puddled beneath the waistband of his jeans. The flashlight illuminated dried spatters and puddles of blood. A glint of silver flashed.
“No!” Rhyden fell to his knees. He scooped something off the floor. Fists clenched, he pounded the floor. Tears tracked down his cheeks.
“Stop.” Noah reached for him. “We don’t know that’s Bree’s blood. We don’t know if it’s human.”
Desperation painted on his features, Rhyden raised his head. “It’s human.” Torment colored his voice. He opened his fist to show Noah a silver locket drenched in blood.
Noah’s breath caught in his throat. Please, Lord, no. “Still doesn’t mean it’s Bree’s.”
Hopelessness deepened the shadows in Rhyden’s eyes. “The boyfriend gave her one just like it a few days ago.”
Noah’s cell phone shrilled before he could respond. “Morgan here.” The back of his throat began to ache, a feeling similar to his reaction to the bee sting. He turned awa
y from Rhyden and lowered his voice. A sour taste filled his mouth. “Are you sure?” A pause. Cold fingers punched through his chest and squeezed his heart. “On my way.”
Rhyden leaped to his feet. “What?”
“We’ve got to go.”
“What’s wrong?” Rhyden grabbed Noah by the shoulder. Turned him to face him. “What the fuck is wrong? Did they find her? Did something happen to Sam? Maddie? I can’t lose any more of my girls.”
Noah shrugged out of Rhyden’s grip. He stalked toward the truck, shoulders stiff, fists clenching and unclenching. “Please. Just get in the truck.”
“Not until you tell me what that telephone call was about.”
Cracking his knuckles, he said, “When the tanker they were chasing crashed out, it flipped. The top hatch popped open.” He swallowed hard, shook his head, and continued walking to the truck.
Rhyden’s glare hardened. He crossed his arms over his chest and stepped in front of Noah. “And?”
Noah slumped forward. His shoulders dropped. Arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen, he looked anywhere but at Rhyden. The words fell from his mouth. “And a body fell out. Soaked in oil, no identification, no clear description. It—it could be anyone.” Guilt flattened his voice. “All they can tell is that the body was small in stature…”
He choked on his grief. “…and female.”
Chapter Seventeen
Noah grabbed for Rhyden as he jumped from the truck, but he wasn’t fast enough. Rings of flashing red-and-blue lights surrounded the overturned tanker. A motor whined as the wrecker driver struggled to winch the eighteen-wheeler back onto its wheels. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze.
A man, arms cuffed behind his back, sat against the rear wheel of a marked Bennett County patrol unit. His sweat-stained ball cap and mirrored sunglasses lay on the ground beside him. A large, purple-blue bruised knot covered the right side of his forehead.
Rhyden fought his way past the crime scene perimeter with Noah tight on his heels. “Where is she? Where’s my daughter?”
He shoved through the circle of officers standing over a body. A photographer snapped images of the girl’s body. Rhyden knocked him out of the way. He kneeled next to the girl. Hands shaking, he gently rolled her face up. Wiped the oil residue from her slack features. He inhaled sharply. He pressed a hand to his mouth. Blinking up at Noah, he said, “It’s not her. It’s not my Bree.”
Noah sagged in relief.
Rhyden stormed up to the man on the ground. Grabbing him by the throat, he jerked the suspect to his feet. “Where is she? What did you do with her?”
“I—I—I—uh…” the man stammered, his voice heavy and filled with smoker’s phlegm.
He slammed the man against the side of the sheriff’s department’s vehicle. “Where. Is. My. Daughter?” The enraged ranger emphasized each word with a sharp jab to the driver’s stomach. He released his hold on the man.
The driver doubled over and collapsed to the ground. He curled into a protective ball, wheezing for air. “I don’t know anything. They just put her in the tank and made me leave.”
Rhyden reached down and jerked the man back to his feet. He drew his fist back again.
Noah grabbed his wrist. “Whoa, man. He can’t talk if you knock him unconscious.”
Rhyden shoved the man away, spun, and jerked his arm from Noah’s grasp. His eyes narrowed on his partner’s face. Noah tensed, bracing for the punch he could see coming.
With trembling hands, Rhyden grasped Noah’s shoulders. “It’s not Bree. I have to find her.”
Noah drew him into a hug. “That’s a good thing, brother.” The men clung together for a brief moment before he released his grip. “Bree’s tough. She’s smart. She’s alive. And she’s going to stay that way. We’ll find her. You have my word.”
Rhyden stumbled back a step. He nodded his head, bleak pain filling his eyes. He pleaded, “We have to, man, we have to.”
The partners turned to the driver. Noah opened the back door of the marked unit and helped the man inside. “His daughter is missing. Most likely taken by the same people who gave you that girl.” He gestured toward the body now inside a black bag and being rolled on a stretcher to the waiting hearse. “If you don’t want me to turn him loose on you again, you better start talking. Fast.”
The driver swallowed convulsively. Sweat poured down his face, dripping into his eyes. He blinked rapidly. “I-I-I have nothing to say.”
“Choice is yours, buddy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted you to suck start a pistol.” Noah started to step away from the vehicle. Rhyden advanced, eyes narrowed, hands fisted at his sides.
He scooted backward over the vehicle seat away from the door. The tendons on his neck stood out, his rapid pulse visible. He shook uncontrollably. “Wait,” he croaked, his voice laden with alarm, “I can tell you where I picked up the girl, but they won’t be there. They were already moving out.” He dropped his head. His voice lowered to a whisper. “What else do you want to know?”
Noah grabbed Rhyden by the shirt sleeve, tugging him toward the pickup truck. “Come on. Let’s go see where the driver picked up the body.”
A text notice chimed from Rhyden’s phone. One glance at the screen buckled his knees. The phone slipped from his hands.
Noah caught it before it hit the ground. He read the screen and swore viciously.
—Did you find my driver? Did you like his present? Tick-tock, rangers, tick-tock—
Seamus was taunting him again.
****
Her eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. Bree forced her eyes to open, but they simply didn’t want to remain that way. She fought to compel the world into focus. And lost. Her eyes drifted closed. Too tired to breathe.
“Five more minutes, Dad,” she mumbled. “Just five more minutes.” She rolled onto her side. The room spun. She flung an arm out to stop it. Her arm wouldn’t move. The room continued to whirl.
“Daddy…” She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Her stomach clenched. Spikes of nausea stabbed her abdomen. She tried to pull her knees up, to curl into a fetal position. Her legs were slow to respond, but they did shift.
Heat flashed on the back of her neck. Bile flooded her throat. She gagged. She gulped air in an attempt to keep her stomach contents on the inside where they belonged. An overwhelming odor of urine and feces overlaid with sour gas slapped her in the face. Sweat dripped from the ends of her hair. She squeezed her eyes even tighter as her stomach heaved.
Please, I don’t want to throw up. Not again.
Pained whimpers crept into her consciousness. I’m not alone. “Who’s there?”
Ever so slowly, she cracked her eyes open. Gloom surrounded her. Everything appeared blurred, distorted. Black lines caged her in. Bars? She narrowed her eyes, focusing. She tilted her head and scanned the space surrounding her. She bit her lip. Fear tightened her dry throat, squeezed her chest. Hazy, nonsensical images danced at the back of her mind. Bars did indeed surround her. Where am I?
She wriggled her toes. Lifted her arms. Slowly, she regained control of her limbs. She lay on a plywood floor. She sat up. Her head swam. A whimper escaped her lips. She pressed her hand to her mouth, silencing herself. Dried blood, too much blood, coated her clothing. Clung beneath her fingernails. She clutched her throat. Straightened her back. Whimpered. A quick inventory of her body parts reassured her the blood wasn’t her own. She sagged in momentary relief.
Memories of the shooting and consequent kidnapping rushed into her consciousness. For a moment, she was back in the classroom. She could hear bullets pounding against the doorframe. A shiver of fear raced through her as she remembered the feel of Mr. Routh’s cold flesh against her fingertips. She remembered Richard’s blood coating her hands, still hot, pulsing, slipping through her fingers as she fought to save her classmate. Shoving a fist in her mouth and biting down, she choked back her sobs.
Breathe, two, three. Inhale, exhale.
She slowed
her breathing. Regaining a semblance of control, she took in her surroundings. Welded metal bars formed the walls of the hog trap confining her. It resembled an oversized dog kennel but made with thicker metal. It reminded her of the traps her hog-hunting buddies used. She peered into the darkened space surrounding her. All around her sat similar cages, each except one containing a young child or teenager—girls and boys, both.
Tiny shafts of light beamed in from ventilation holes in the ceiling, adding to the gloom rather than illuminating her surroundings. At the far end of the narrow, corrugated steel box, a slim seam of light outlined the place where two doors met. The other end was bathed in darkness. The light dimmed.
The sun is setting. How long have I been here?
“Hey,” she called out, her voice scratchy and barely audible. She swallowed, clearing her throat. Fear gnawed at her like a coyote chewing on bones. “Where are we? What’s happening?”
“Shh.” A tremulous voice tinged with dread from the depths of the hot, humid blackness called out. “They’ll hear you and come back.”
“Hello?” She shook the walls of the trap, trying to escape. Must get out of here. Can’t breathe. “How do we get out of here? What’s going on? Why are we here? Who are they?”
No answer.
She tried again. “Who are you?”
Still no answer.
Her eyes darted around the cage, searching for anything to use as a tool to escape. A keyed padlock held the door closed. Two bottles of lukewarm water and an empty bucket rested in the corner near the lock. Her eyes lingered on the bucket in disgust.
She shook the bars harder. Nothing gave. Trapped. Bree drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them. Tears pooled in her eyes. The tops of her boots dug into the backs of her thighs. She shifted uncomfortably. Boots. Knife. Oh please, God, please. Holding her breath, she slid her hand into her right boot. Her fingertips scraped the tip of her pocketknife.
Thank you, Jesus. She exhaled in relief. She scrambled over to the door of the hog trap. She inserted the blade of her knife into the keyhole of the padlock and tried wiggling it around.
Broken Toys Page 17