The Hunted Girls

by Jenna Kernan

  “Nadine. So good to hear your voice. Did you have a pleasant afternoon?”

  “I waited for you.”

  “But not alone. That was a condition. And a body double.” The pause stretched. “Disappointing.”

  “You weren’t going to show up in any case.”

  “True. I’m not an urban hunter.”

  “Then what was the point?”

  “To let your handlers know it won’t work. It has to be you. Only you.”

  “I want to speak to Jack.”

  “I’m sure,” he said and chuckled. “Unfortunately, I’m not addressing your desires but mine. You disappointed me. Jack will be paying for that disappointment.”

  “Don’t you hurt him.”

  “Or what? You are in no position to rescue him. You were, earlier today. But you decided to bring an army. Was all that FBI or did you also have locals? I’ve never seen so many sheriff’s vehicles in Ocala before.”

  “So you were there.”

  “Of course.”

  And yet, none of the agents had spotted him.

  “Where?”

  “Let’s just say when you are watching an eagle, you choose the second highest tree.”

  “Because the eagle takes the highest?”

  “Very good. Especially for someone who spends so little time out of doors.”

  Was she supposed to keep him talking? There had been no time for instructions.

  “Your fiancé is a strong man. I’ll give him that. But he won’t take much more. I don’t want us beginning on the wrong foot, so I’ll give you a last chance, Nadine. But you must come alone.”

  “Where? When?”

  “Tomorrow night. Eleven p.m. You’ll be in a kayak, alone on the St. Johns.”

  “There are gators in those waters. They are active at night.”

  “So stay in the kayak.”

  “I’ve never even been in a kayak.”

  “You have all morning to practice. Drift downriver from the marina where your mother worked. I’ll find you. I look forward to meeting you privately.”

  That scenario gave her a chill that wrapped right around her neck to her jaw.

  “I want Jack alive. No tricks.”

  “One more chance, Nadine. And no more body doubles. If you don’t show, I’ll kill him and send you his heart.”

  Nadine crawled into bed after midnight. The operation had moved to their field headquarters. After lengthy discussion, and over Demko’s objections, Nadine had agreed to go in person down the river, at night, in a kayak. She needed to practice kayaking in the dark.

  The FBI had obtained three kayaks and Juliette and a Navy SEAL had taken her out to practice on a portion of the river temporarily closed to all boat traffic.

  She had as much confidence in her ability to maneuver the watercraft as she did in her ability to walk on water. Chances were high that, despite the training, she’d likely flip over. She’d flipped it today and knew that once she went in the river, she was not climbing out onto a tippy, brightly colored, plastic log.

  The FBI had decided that “alone” would mean she made the journey by herself. But there would be Navy SEALs in the water and snipers in the trees from DeLand to Blue Hole State Park.

  Sore muscles and exhaustion did not help Nadine fall asleep. Demko’s objections and images of Jack Skogen undergoing torture kept flashing through her mind’s eye.

  When Demko had seen her on the verge of tears, he had ordered her to bed, promising to take up the argument in the morning.

  Nadine sat on the coverlet, flicked on the light on the nightstand and opened the velvet box. Then she went through her nightly ritual of slipping the engagement ring on her finger.

  Tomorrow, before they left for the river, she’d voice her concerns to Clint about what their child might become. If he still wanted her after that, she’d keep his ring and marry him.

  Something moved beneath the bed. Nadine yipped and scrabbled in the bedside drawer for the Mace. Now kneeling on the bed, she held the open container and prepared to scream for all she was worth when a furry arm darted out from beneath the coverlet and batted at her discarded socks, sending one skittering across the laminate flooring.

  “Muffin! You nearly gave me a stroke.”

  She put down the Mace and lifted the remaining sock. Then she crawled off the bed and dangled it just out of reach of the feline. Muffin’s paw appeared again, swiping at the moving target. Finally the cat darted out from beneath the bed.

  Nadine lifted the cat and held her against her chest. She stroked the soft fur and cooed.

  “How did you get in here?”

  Muffin rubbed her head against Nadine’s neck and purred.

  “You are a bad kitty, scaring me.”

  She smiled, closing her eyes as she held the comforting ball of fluff. Suddenly she understood why Tina allowed this unmanageable feline to have the run of the place.

  “You’re all right, Muffin,” she whispered and rocked back and forth. The cat draped over her chest and shoulder.

  Nadine spun in a slow circle and froze.

  Before her stood a man, dressed in black from his head to his feet with only his eyes showing. Black grease covered his face.

  Adrenaline flooded her system, speeding her heart rate and lifting the hairs on her head.

  “Nadine, I’ve so looked forward to our meeting,” he said, his voice low and holding the slightest foreign accent. He lifted some sort of straw to his lips and his cheeks puffed out.

  Nadine’s lungs and feet seemed to have switched off and she found herself frozen, unable to run or scream as terror lashed at her vocal cords. She threw the cat as she dove, rolling over the bed. She landed on the opposite side on the floor. Something stabbed at her neck, burning like a hornet’s sting.

  She lifted her hand, probing, and plucked out a dart. She stared at the thing. It had a red pom-pom on the end. But it was going blurry. She blinked, trying to focus.

  Someone had stamped on the brakes in her body. Her heart rate slowed. Her eyelids drooped. She needed to scream and filled her lungs to do so when he was there beside her, gloved hand pressed to her mouth. She inhaled the acrid smell of sweat and grease. Her muscles turned to jelly and she sagged. He drew back his hand.

  The familiar zipping sound of adhesive tape being torn preceded the tape being slapped across her mouth.

  He smiled and stroked her cheek with a gloved hand. “You rest now and I’ll get us home.”

  Nadine woke to discover she was on her side, trapped in a plastic container. From the jostling, she believed she was in a vehicle, traveling over rough road. How much time had passed?

  Nadine thrashed inside her tiny prison, howling through whatever covered her mouth. She banged back and forth against the enclosure. Was it a coffin?

  Not a coffin. She howled, the sound a sad mewling cry, muffled by the tape across her mouth. Tears leaked from her eyes, gliding down her sweat-damp cheeks. Back and forth she rocked, lifting her knees to crash against the walls of her enclosure.

  How long she raged and thrashed in the dark, she did not know. But exhaustion took her at last. The dryness in her throat and the throbbing at her temples told her dehydration had begun.

  She lay her head down on the hard floor of the container. She needed to think.

  Stop moving. Figure out what to do next.

  Did they even know she was missing?

  How had he gotten past the cameras, protective detail, and security system? How had he even found the safe house?

  Nadine’s heart slammed against her rib cage.

  They’d followed Agent Wynns or Juliette. Or Jack had told him. She was certain and knew that, under torture, she would have done the same.

  She struggled to control her breathing. Looking back wouldn’t help her. She needed to look forward.

  Gradually her senses reengaged.

  The air smelled of plastic and the temperature here was so hot and humid that sweat poured from her body and pudd
led beneath her.

  She thumped back and forth in her tiny cage and discovered several things. First, her wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape and secured together, placing her in an awkward position with her arms and legs tugged behind her so she was stretched like a bow. Second, she had both a gag in her mouth and tape across her face. And finally, someone had drilled airholes in the top of the container. By craning her neck, she could see the stars. She could also see that the holes were drilled in precise rows and columns as if punctured by machine or by a very orderly individual.

  She tried and failed to topple the container. Craning her neck again, she noted that some of the holes were obscured, suggesting some kind of a strap secured her container in place. Listening attentively, she determined that she was in the open rear section of a truck. The familiar hum told her they traveled over pavement. She could determine nothing from the stars. But she could discern when they were passed by a vehicle heading in the opposite direction from the momentary light that flooded into the top of the container. From this she saw the box was black and the top yellow.

  Some part of her brain recognized that this was useless information, since she could not pass any of it on to those who would be searching for her.

  How long of a head start would he have? She knew the shift change happened at 1 p.m. and 1 a.m. She would assume that the Huntsman made his entry during the brief time when the alarm was off for agents to leave and their relief to arrive. Entry sensors were also disabled when any of her team came and went or when one of the agents took Molly out.

  So her abductor could have arrived at 1 p.m. and waited in her room, or had entered at the same time that Wynns returned from the field office, or when Juliette returned from her autopsy, or when Demko left to pursue leads.

  Nadine’s heart sank. There were dozens of times during the day that the security entry systems were disabled.

  Security cameras were monitored both on-site and off-site so even if one of the agents was not at his computer monitoring the cameras, the off-site location should have registered motion and video of her abduction.

  She knew it was close to 1 a.m. when she’d been taken and that Demko had not returned to the safe house.

  Perhaps he would check on her and find her bed empty? But she feared this was not the case. Since she’d asked for time to consider his proposal, she and Demko had not shared a bed.

  She wiggled her fingers and felt the engagement ring. She blew away a breath, uncertain as to why this discovery brought her any measure of relief.

  If her capture had gone undetected, then it would likely be Tina who first noticed her absence sometime tomorrow morning after seven.

  Seven hours. How far could a man get in six hours?

  By truck, he’d be well out of the state. Somewhere in Georgia or Alabama by sunrise.

  He’d made her a promise. Then he’d broken into her bedroom and taken her. Had he released Jack?

  She might never know. But experience had taught her not to expect honesty from a psychopath.

  The vehicle slowed and Nadine’s heart hammered in her throat. But then she felt the motion of a turn and acceleration as the vehicle sped. The swerve and sound of a car horn told her that they were now on some highway.

  She glanced up in hopes of seeing streetlights. Instead she noted that the stars had disappeared. Was morning approaching?

  The answer came soon after with a flash of light followed by the familiar rumble of thunder. When the rain began, she tipped her head toward the holes, feeling the sweet relief of cool raindrops. The gag and tape prevented her from drinking any of the water.

  Lightning flashed, changing her world to brilliant white for just an instant. She knew from Arlo that if she slowly counted one Mississippi, two Mississippi, until she heard the thunder, she could gauge the distance of the strike. Four Mississippis for every mile.

  On the next flash of lightning she counted.

  One Mississippi… Crash!

  She closed her eyes and hunched. And quickly discovered she had a new problem. Already there was over an inch of rain in her plastic prison. The downpour continued to beat on the lid in a deafening drum and the water slowly dripped in.

  She could drown in here. Nadine began to kick and wiggle. Now if she rested her cheek on the container floor, her nose was underwater.

  Nadine screamed into the gag, craning her neck to keep her nose from the rising water.

  The rain that had once been a sweet respite from the heat and humidity now soaked her clothing and drenched her hair. The violent shivering began. Only the gag kept her teeth from chattering.

  She managed to roll to her back and inch her head up the side of the container enough that only her jaw was submerged. She blinked against the bite of the rain stinging her closed lids, trying to steady her breathing as the panic tore at her throat.

  Meanwhile, the voice in her head screeched.

  They’ll never find me in time.

  She was going to drown right here in this plastic tub.

  Twenty-Seven

  Tina tapped on the door to Nadine’s room. Her boss’s alarm had been sounding for twenty minutes. She tapped again, louder this time.

  “Dr. Finch? It’s past seven a.m.” She listened, ear pressed to the door, and thought she heard a scratching. “Nadine?”

  Tina eased open the door. Muffin slipped out of the crack and wove her way around her owner’s legs, making a racket.

  “Muffin!” She stooped to scoop up the cat. “How did you get in there?” Tina lifted the boneless feline and looked into her bright green eyes. The last time she had seen her cat was when she had let her out at 5 p.m. “You had me worried sick. I thought you were out all night.”

  Tina had called for Muffin from the front and back doors several times last evening. But Muffin did not reappear. It was the first occasion that her cat had gone missing and Tina was certain a coyote had gotten her.

  She eased Muffin to the floor and the cat trotted off toward the kitchen, sending an urgent meow back at her pet parent.

  “Muffin, if you could work that can opener, you’d have no use for me at all.” Tina peered back into the room and found Nadine’s bed empty and the covers dragged partially onto the floor. The first inklings of alarm sounded in her mind as she stepped into the room.

  “Dr. Finch?”

  She charged to the empty seating area, reversed course and ran to the master bath. The door lay open and the room vacant. Running now, she charged to the walk-in closet and then searched under the bed. Scrambling to her feet, she shouted.

  “Dr. Finch!”

  The pounding of footsteps preceded the arrival of the FBI security agent assigned to the morning detail.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s gone! Dr. Finch. I can’t find her.” Tina pressed a hand to her chest, gasping now for air as the panic gripped her heart.

  “Is she in the kitchen?”

  Tina locked her fists in her hair and shouted at the agent. “She’s gone! Do something!”

  The agent left her to search the bathroom, walk-in closet, and returned to look under the bed. Meanwhile, Tina had her phone out and was texting Demko, who was out walking Molly.

  The agent moved to the window and pulled back the venetian blind. His hand went to his service pistol.

  “Call Director Carter now.”

  As Tina placed the call, he yanked up the blind revealing a large square cut from the lower glass of the window, which now stood open. The matching pieces of the contact alarm, now detached from the wall, sat on the marble sill.

  “Director Carter? This is Tina Ruz. Nadine is missing. Someone broke into her room.”

  The front door banged open and Demko charged down the hall, pistol held out and down as he raced toward her. Tina had never seen this wide-eyed look of panic.

  “Where’s Nadine?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Special Agent Coleman as she stood in the backyard with Agent Wynns staring a
t the metal cable threading from the neighbor’s ancient oak to the roof of the safe house.

  “I’m not. He sailed right to the roof, over our perimeter alarm, on a zipline and used that second one to slip right back over. His cable is three feet above line of sight for the cameras.”

  “How’d he get from the roof to her window?”

  “Looks like he dropped down from the eave.”

  “I thought we had motion sensors.”

  “Inside, yes. Outside cameras, one agent on duty and motion on the top of the walls.”

  “Which he never touched.”

  “Correct,” said Wynns.

  “Entry sensors?”

  “Were off to let the dog out at ten-thirty p.m. and again at shift change. Looks like he cut a hole in the glass big enough to climb through, removed the contact alarm and then took her out the open window.”

  “One a.m.,” said Coleman. “How’d he find the safe house?”

  “We are working on that. Possibly he followed the ME back from one of the autopsies, or one of the agents from the press conference to the field office and from there back to this location.”

  “Or Skogen told him.”

  “Also a possibility.”

  “So she’s been missing for seven hours,” said Wynns.

  “Yes.”

  Nadine’s mouth barely breached the waterline as the rain now poured off something above her and cascaded into the container, trapping her under a waterfall. She’d finished thrashing but rejected her imminent end, focusing on her next breath. She was surviving this because each minute she kept her head above water was another minute they had to find her.

  He’d stop soon because he’d need to get to a safe location and buckle down while the FBI’s search ramped up. His only chance was to be off the roads before she was discovered missing.

  She had no idea what time it was. But she did know morning was closer with each breath. She had managed to work her hands from behind her back to behind her knees. This allowed her to roll to her back. She tucked her knees against her chest and scooted up until her head touched the lid. Further pushing did not dislodge the top. So she concentrated on holding her knees to her chest to preserve body heat and on keeping her nose out of the water.