She had actually called. Lance respected her for her caution.
“Do you know Ms. Cruz?” he asked.
From inside the house, Lance could hear children’s voices and the thuds of running feet.
Mrs. Brown stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “I know her enough to wave. That’s all. I didn’t even know her name until you told me.” She flushed. “We’ve lived here for a year, but we don’t know many of the neighbors.”
“Have you seen her around the neighborhood in the past few days?”
Her face lit with alarm. “Why? Has something happened to her?”
“Olivia missed an appointment today. We hope it’s just a misunderstanding, but her mother is worried and asked us to look into it.”
Mrs. Brown clutched the edges of her sweater together. Shoeless, she propped one pink-socked foot against the opposite leg like a stork. “I think we saw her over the weekend.” She pursed her lips. “Yes. On Sunday. My husband and I were raking leaves. She was doing the same. I work part-time, and I have three boys who play travel soccer. During soccer season it feels like we are never home.” She checked her watch. “In fact, I have a pickup in about ten minutes. I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful.” She started to turn away.
“A white van was seen in front of your house over the past couple of weeks. Did it belong to one of your contractors?”
“No.” She frowned. “Our renovations were finished a month ago. No one has been working here. I really do have to go. I hope you find Ms. Cruz.”
Mrs. Brown went back inside, and Lance walked away from the house. He talked to the remaining neighbors on the street. None had seen Olivia for several days. Two had noticed the white van, but like Bob, they had ignored it. No one on the street had hired a contractor recently.
So why had a white van been parked across the street from Olivia’s house?
Lance walked back toward his Jeep. He pulled up short as a JBT News van turned the corner and stopped in front of Olivia’s house. A camera crew climbed out and began to set up on the sidewalk. A man in a suit applied powder to his face.
A reporter. Already?
Irritated, Lance made a beeline for his vehicle. He was in no mood.
“You’re Lance Kruger,” the suit said.
Lance took a deep breath and let it out. He stopped. “And you are?”
The man handed his face powder to one of his crew. His tanned skin and dark hair were too . . . perfect. A crewmember handed him a microphone that he, in turn, extended toward Lance. “Are you working the Olivia Cruz case?”
Lance crossed his arms. As far as he knew, Olivia’s disappearance wasn’t public knowledge yet, but the Scarlet Falls PD had a long-standing problem with information being leaked to the press. Morgan had called Stella on her cell phone. They hadn’t used the police dispatch. Had the call somehow gone out over the police scanner? “How do you know Ms. Cruz?”
The reporter met Lance’s gaze. He blinked, then lowered the mic and switched it off. “Look, I have a contact who says Olivia was reported missing. Is that true?”
Lance couldn’t decide if it would be beneficial to use the media this early in the investigation. He needed to discuss the situation with Morgan and Sharp.
“No comment.” Lance brushed past the reporter and strode to his Jeep.
“I’ll find out,” the reporter called after him. “I have other sources.”
Lance had no doubt that he did.
Chapter Eight
Olivia opened her eyes to blurry dimness. She squeezed them shut again. Confusion flooded her.
What happened? Where am I?
She lay curled on her side. The kidnapping rushed back to her in a kaleidoscope of images and sensations. Her eyes flew open. Blinking, she cleared her vision, but all she could see was a dark surface about a foot from her face. She reached out and touched it. Her fingertips brushed cold, rough stone.
She rolled to her back. A single dim light cast just enough brightness that she could see her surroundings. She lay on a floor of packed earth. Stone walls formed a ten-by-ten space. The low ceiling was constructed of heavy wooden beams. There were no windows. Empty wooden shelves covered the far wall. On the other side of the space, near the source of the tiny light, a set of narrow, steep stairs led upward.
A root cellar?
She was underground.
Horror raced through her. Adrenaline sharpened her senses and tasted coppery in her mouth. Her heartbeat surged, thudding like a drumbeat in her head.
On the bright side, her hands and feet were no longer bound, and the rope had been removed from around her neck. Her lungs tightened, as if a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around her torso. Her breathing became rapid and shallow.
Not enough air.
Lack of oxygen—and fear—made her almost giddy.
Breathe.
She had to think straight.
Panicking will not help.
Air stirred over her face. There must be some sort of ventilation. She should not run out of oxygen.
Her shortness of breath must be a product of her anxiety. But knowing this and controlling her fear were two completely different things. She counted, again hearing Lincoln’s words in her mind as she fought to regulate her breathing and the claustrophobia that threatened to lead her straight into a major anxiety attack. Even in her imagination, his deep, soothing voice calmed her. Her tongue stuck to the cotton-dry roof of her mouth, a likely side effect of whatever drug she’d been administered.
Several minutes passed as she focused on breath control. Once her light-headedness had passed, and her heart rate slowed, she became aware of pain throbbing in her face and her foot.
She assessed her overall physical condition. The air was chilly and damp. She was still dressed in her flannel pajama bottoms, sweatshirt, and thick socks. Her cotton throw was draped over her and tucked around her feet, but it wasn’t enough to ward off the dampness. A chill radiated from the stone wall, as if she were lying next to a block of ice.
She probed her cheek with one hand. A goose egg had formed over the bone, but she doubted it was broken. Her foot was a different matter. She tried to wiggle it, and pain surged. The entire front half of her foot was swollen and hot to the touch. In hindsight, kicking him while only wearing socks hadn’t been a good idea.
Even if she escaped, she wouldn’t be running away anytime soon. Maybe there was a vehicle she could steal. She rolled to her hands and knees, then stood and hobbled to the steps. Ignoring the pain, she crawled up the stairs. The wooden doors above were set on an angle in a frame of heavy timber, like bulkhead doors. Pressing her hands to the thick wood, she pushed. But there was no give, no looseness.
She felt the edges for hinges but found none. They must be on the outside. She pressed her shoulder to the doors, but nothing budged. She was not getting out that way. Turning around, she sat on the steps. Next to her face, the tiny light was a round disk attached to the wall about two inches in diameter and made of plastic. There were no wires, and it appeared to be battery operated. Not a good option for a weapon. She pressed the switch on the light, and it went out, leaving her in complete darkness.
No!
Panic surged inside her. She quickly pressed the light again. It brightened. Relief flooded her, leaving her light-headed once more.
Don’t do that again.
The air smelled organic, like earth and wet leaves. Straining her ears, she listened for any sounds that might give her a clue to her location. She heard a faint splash. She was near water.
Should she call out?
She wanted to, but fear dried up her throat. Swallowing, she mustered her courage, turned to the doors, and shouted, “Hello, is anyone out there?”
No one answered.
She faced her dungeon again. Two items she hadn’t noticed before caught her attention. In the far corner stood a chemical toilet, and a brown grocery bag sat in the shadows next to her blanket. She limped over to the bag and
opened it. Two six-packs of water sat beneath two protein bars—enough to keep her alive for a few days if she rationed.
Her lungs tightened again. She sat still and waited for the shortness of breath to pass.
There was no way out. She would have to wait until whoever kidnapped her opened the door. As much as she wanted to escape, what happened when her prison room was opened might be worse. The walls seemed to lean closer to her.
No. She must remain calm—or as calm as she could be under the circumstances. A man had gone to a lot of trouble to kidnap her. He’d left her provisions. That meant he wanted her to stay alive.
Right?
Who was he, and why had he kidnapped her? Had she made herself a target by asking questions about the two murder cases she’d been researching? She’d raised issues with each one. Maybe one of her theories had been too accurate. Maybe one of those convicted killers was innocent. Perhaps whoever had committed the crime didn’t want her to reveal the truth. But then, why hadn’t he simply killed her?
She glanced around the space. Had other women been kept prisoner here?
A slight burst of adrenaline bumped her pulse. Lincoln’s voice floated in her imagination, telling her to breathe.
Would she ever see him again?
For the past couple of months, they’d been dancing around making any sort of real commitment. They had recently exchanged keys and alarm codes, but that had been born of convenience, not real progress in their relationship. The sex was great. Neither one of them had any issues with physical intimacy. Emotional dependency seemed to be a bigger hurdle.
Both had been single and set in their ways for a very long time. Olivia had become comfortable living alone. The thought of having to make daily compromises, to alter her space, to change her structured life had seemed too disruptive.
Their arrangement over the past few months had stalled. They’d both been stubbornly careful not to leave personal possessions in each other’s spaces other than a toothbrush and deodorant, certainly nothing that would require a drawer and the level of commitment that would imply.
But now that she was shivering and alone in the dark, all their desperate maneuvers to maintain their independence felt stupid, and all the ways she’d actively avoided compromise seemed shallow.
There was a very good possibility her life would end soon. People were not taken from their homes in the middle of the night for innocuous reasons. Her kidnapper had some sort of dark plan in mind.
Her claustrophobia picked at her determination to remain calm. Her throat constricted, and her breathing accelerated.
She needed to keep busy or she’d go crazy. She hobbled around the perimeter. She would check every inch of her prison for a way out or a potential weapon.
How long would she be locked underground?
Chapter Nine
Lance drove toward home and dialed Sharp on speakerphone.
“Did you learn anything from the neighbors?” Sharp asked.
“Maybe.” Lance turned right. “The retired man who lives diagonal to Olivia saw a white utility van parked across the street multiple times over the past two weeks. He assumed it was a contractor working for the family down the street. I’ve spoken to all the neighbors. No one was having work done over the past couple of weeks. I plan to check with the township and utility and cable companies in the morning. There could very well be a legitimate source for the white van.”
Sharp paused, as if mulling over the information. “How reliable is this guy?”
“He’s probably in his eighties, but he seemed articulate and coherent. The same neighbor says he saw a tall blond man knock on Olivia’s door last evening around seven p.m. She didn’t answer, and he left. He was driving a 1971 Chevy Nova in black or dark blue.”
“A white van is too vague of a description to search vehicle registrations, although it could be good supporting evidence after we’ve located a suspect. But a black or dark-blue ’71 Nova is a very specific vehicle. We should be able to find out if any are registered in Randolph County.”
“I called my mom. She’s on it,” Lance said. “I’ll let you know if she gets a hit.”
“Thanks.” Sharp ended the call.
Just after six thirty, Lance opened the front door to be greeted by an avalanche of kids and dogs. When he’d first moved in with Morgan’s family, he’d been wary of the noise and activity level. Six months later, he embraced chaos.
Morgan’s youngest, Sophie, catapulted herself into his arms. Expecting the leap, he caught her and set her on his hip. She hugged him with all four of her spindly limbs. Ava, at seven, was normally more reserved, but tonight she flung her arms around his waist. Six-year-old Mia gave him a quick hug and hopped away like a rabbit.
“Let Lance get in the door.” Gianna stood at the rear of the pack, drying her hands on a dish towel. With a shiny brown ponytail and slender body, she looked younger than nineteen. The young woman was in much better health than when she’d first come to live with Morgan. Kidney disease and required dialysis treatments kept her thinner than she should be, but her smile was wide and her patience unending as she attempted to quiet the girls. “Did everyone use the bathroom and wash their hands?”
The girls turned and raced for the half bath down the hall.
“That should give you a minute.” Gianna laughed. “I made chicken parm. Do you want to eat now or when you get back from the store?”
He heard the toilet flushing and water running. They’d be back in seconds.
“I can wait,” Lance said.
Springs creaked, and Lance glanced into the family room, where Morgan’s grandfather, Art Dane, was levering his body out of his recliner.
Art used his cane to walk into the foyer. “The kids are a little excited.”
“I can see that.” Lance greeted the dogs at his feet. French bulldog Snoozer snuffled his shoes, while rescue dog Rocket leaned on his leg. He gave each dog an ear rub.
“Halloween,” Gianna explained with one word. She tossed the towel over one shoulder. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No. We’ll be fine.” Lance shook his head. Today was Friday. Gianna had had dialysis that morning. She’d be tired.
The girls returned at a run. Ava and Mia put on their sneakers. Mia’s tongue stuck out from between her teeth as she concentrated on tying her laces. Sophie shoved her feet into a pair of knee-high rubber rain boots. They were bright yellow and covered with red ladybugs, and she’d worn them everywhere for the last two weeks.
“Hurry up!” Sophie bounced on her toes as she waited for Mia to finish.
Mia looked up, fumbled the shoelace, and had to start over.
Sophie exhaled an exasperated breath through her nose. If she were a dragon, she would be breathing fire. “Let Lance do it. The store is gonna close.”
Mia frowned at her little sister. “I want to tie my shoes myself.”
“There’s no rush,” Lance said. “The store won’t close for hours.”
Sophie bounced to the front door, hopping on both feet like Tigger on his tail.
Mia tightened her final knot and grinned. “I did it.”
Lance stooped and high-fived her. Then he straightened and ushered the girls to the door. He said over his shoulder to Gianna, “We’ll be back in about an hour.”
“Good luck,” Gianna called.
As the kids bolted through the front door, a little voice in the back of his head warned him he might need it. He strapped the children into their car seats in Morgan’s minivan, and they chattered nonstop for the next fifteen minutes. In the parking lot of the Halloween store, he helped them out of the van. He took firm hold of Sophie’s hand. She was the runner of the bunch.
“Mia.” Lance held his free hand out, and she grabbed it. “Ava, hold Mia’s hand.”
Getting three small children across a parking lot safely took more precision and planning than executing an arrest warrant on a violent offender. A bell jingled as Lance opened the glass door and
herded the girls inside.
“I know exactly what I’m going to be.” Ava took off down the princess aisle.
“Hold on!” Lance picked up Sophie, grabbed Mia’s hand, and hurried after the oldest. Normally, Ava made a point of acting more mature than her younger sisters, especially in public. But Halloween costumes were too exciting.
Ava turned, her eyes huge as she scanned the high walls covered with colorful ruffles and tiaras. “I have to be Elsa. Where is she?”
“Elsa from Frozen?” Lance asked. Over the past six months, he’d seen every animated princess movie in existence.
“Yes.” Ava spun in a circle, her eyes widening and her voice rising in desperation. “I don’t see her!”
Proud that he could identify all the princesses on the wall, Lance pointed to a blue dress. “What about Cinderella?”
“Kaitlin is being Cinderella,” Ava said. “And Jessie is gonna be Belle. Kinsey picked Ariel.” She rattled off several more names. Her second-grade class was going to be a sea of princesses.
Lance spotted the shiny blue-green dress hanging high on the wall. “I see Elsa. Hold on. I’ll get it for you.” Lance set Sophie down and released Mia’s hand with a firm, “Don’t move.”
He reached up and tugged an Elsa costume from the hook. Turning, he handed it to Ava. “Here you go.”
“Yay!” Ava’s squeal could have ruptured an eardrum. She hugged the costume to her face.
Lance spun around. Shit!
Mia and Sophie weren’t in the aisle.
“Where are your sisters?” Panic sparked in Lance’s chest like a struck match. How far could they go?
Ava lowered the costume. “What?”
“Your sisters?” Lance took her by the hand and hurried to the end of the row. They went around the corner and looked up the next aisle. Relief stole his next breath when he spotted the two little girls about twenty feet away. He caught up with them and let go of Ava’s hand.
“Look what I got!” Ava thrust her shiny costume at her sisters.
“That’s the one I want!” Mia was jumping up and down and pointing to a white unicorn costume. It was a wearable stuffed animal with four dangling legs, a pink mane and tail, and a shiny silver horn. On her next jump, she caught a leg and yanked. A dozen costumes cascaded to the floor. Lance picked them up to replace them on their hangers, but all the legs were tangled. He gave up with a prickle of guilt.
Save Your Breath Page 6