Kidnapping cold case, p.1
Kidnapping Cold Case, page 1
“I don’t understand why we crashed.”
“I think someone tampered with the brake line, made a small hole in it. Can you move? We need to get out of here.”
Cash managed to pry his door open enough that he could get out. Then he ran around to her side, but it was no use. That part of the vehicle was up against the hill’s incline. He hurried back to the driver’s-side door. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to need to crawl out this way.”
Somehow, Jacy managed to lift herself up and over the center console, and finally out the door.
“Can you walk? The hotel isn’t far.”
“Of course.” She let out a soft moan as she pushed away from the vehicle.
He slipped his arm around her waist. “Lean on me.”
As they made their way back across the field, he raked his gaze over the area, searching for the perp who’d done this.
There was no sign of anyone, but he knew the assailant was out there somewhere.
And that person had just tried to kill them.
Laura Scott has always loved romance and read faith-based books by Grace Livingston Hill in her teenage years. She’s thrilled to have been given the opportunity to retire from thirty-eight years of nursing to become a full-time author. Laura has published over thirty books for Love Inspired Suspense. She has two adult children and lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with her husband of thirty-five years. Please visit Laura at laurascottbooks.com, as she loves to hear from her readers.
Books by Laura Scott
Love Inspired Suspense
Hiding in Plain Sight
Amish Holiday Vendetta
Deadly Amish Abduction
Tracked Through the Woods
Kidnapping Cold Case
Justice Seekers
Soldier’s Christmas Secrets
Guarded by the Soldier
Wyoming Mountain Escape
Hiding His Holiday Witness
Rocky Mountain Standoff
Fugitive Hunt
Pacific Northwest K-9 Unit
Shielding the Baby
Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com for more titles.
Kidnapping Cold Case
Laura Scott
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
—Psalms 23:4
This book is dedicated to my aunt Carolyn Wanke. I am so blessed to have you in my life!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Undercover Colorado Conspiracy by Jodie Bailey
ONE
Another teenage girl was missing!
Forensic artist Jacy Urban huddled in her winter coat, casting a furtive look over her shoulder as she walked the ten blocks from the police precinct to her apartment building. The young girl’s face that had been plastered all over the news in an Amber Alert was etched in her mind. Sixteen-year-old Suzanna Perry was pretty, athletic and blonde.
Just like Claire Simmons, who’d also gone missing three weeks ago.
Two young girls disappearing in the past month. This sort of thing didn’t generally happen in Appleton, Wisconsin. Yet the similarities in these cases to the way she’d been nearly taken ten years ago brought forth a slew of memories better left buried.
A decade was a long time. No reason to think the same man was responsible for these two new missing persons cases after all this time.
Still, she couldn’t help quickening her pace. As if the assailant who’d once grabbed her in Madison on her way home from choir practice had somehow known to find her here in Appleton.
Logical? Nope. But fear rarely made sense.
The attempted kidnapping and assault on her all those years ago had gotten her started in this path of being a forensic artist for the local police departments. She did freelance work for a dozen precincts within a hundred-mile radius, which kept her busy. She’d been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night or on weekends more times than she could count.
Truthfully, she didn’t mind. Anything she could do to help put the bad guys behind bars was worth the inconvenience.
This evening she’d been called in at seven thirty to assist with identifying a burglary suspect. Since her car was in the garage for repairs, she’d walked to the precinct. It was eight thirty now, not too late. Yet the January darkness made it seem much later.
She told herself there was nothing to worry about. For one thing, she was hardly a teenager anymore. Additionally, she’d purposefully led a low-key, somewhat reclusive life after relocating here seven years ago.
Yet she really wished the guy who’d tried to kidnap and assault her back when she was sixteen had been found and imprisoned. Especially after three other young girls had gone missing. But no one had been arrested, making her wonder if the assailant had left town. Or if he’d been tossed in jail for some other crime.
A thudding noise startled her. She spun around, raking her gaze across the familiar neighborhood. A car door? Probably. Seeing nothing alarming, she drew in a shaky breath and continued walking. Her apartment was part of a square four-family building, two apartments on the ground floor and two upper units. She’d requested a second-floor apartment to avoid the possibility of someone breaking a window and crawling through to get to her.
Yep, even after all this time, she instinctively took protective measures to avoid becoming a victim.
Why hadn’t she allowed Detective Vargas to drive her home? Pride had gotten in the way. That and her sheer determination not to act, think or behave like a victim.
When she saw her building, she let out a tiny sigh of relief and broke into a light jog, doing her best to avoid the scattered icy patches on the sidewalk.
Hurrying toward the front door, she frowned when she noticed the porch light had burned out. Making a mental note to let the manager know, she pulled out her keys.
Movement from the left caught the corner of her eye. She turned, instinctively falling into a fighting stance when she heard a spraying sound. It was so unexpected, she reacted too slowly to avoid the face full of pepper spray.
“No!” Fire burned in her eyes, making it impossible to see. Her throat closed, making her cough as tears rolled down her face. She waved her arms, hoping to strike the assailant as she screamed as loud as possible, which sounded more like a hoarse croak. “Help!”
“You’re mine now, Jacy.” The whisper sent shivers of fear down her spine. This wasn’t a random attack, it was personal! A hand grabbed her arm, fingers digging painfully into her despite the winter coat.
“No! Help me!” She struck out with all her might, her fist managing to connect with her attacker’s chin. She heard a muffled oomph, and struck again and again, desperate to get free.
The hand let go and stumbling sounds reached her ears, but she still couldn’t see. Couldn’t tell if her attacker was coming toward her again.
A frustrated sob rose in her throat. “Help! Please, help me!”
“Jacy!” A male voice reached her ears, different from the attacker’s. Or was it?
She didn’t know. “No, stay away! Help!” She shrieked as loud as she could, her burning eyes hampering her ability to get to safety. Being unable to see was horrifying, and she fully expected something hard to strike her at any moment.
“Jacy, I’m here.” She reared away from the hand on her shoulder. “It’s me, Cash Rawson. Do you remember me? I’m a police detective now, and I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe, Jacy.”
“C-Cash?” She plastered herself against the front door of the apartment building, desperately wishing she could see the man in front of her. Was it really the nineteen-year-old who’d come to her rescue ten years ago? How? Why? Becoming temporarily blind seemed to have scrambled her brain. Her coughing eased a bit, but she still had trouble pushing the words through her constricted throat. “Did you...see who...did this?”
“No, and normally I’d run off to find him, but I won’t leave you here alone.” His voice was firm. “Let’s get you inside. Are you okay?”
No, she wasn’t okay. Who had blinded her with pepper spray? Who had tried to grab her? And why? “Why are...you here?”
“I came to find you.” His voice was calm and soothing, much the way it had been when he’d found her at the bottom of a ravine ten years ago. “May I take your key? Help you inside? I promise you’re safe now.”
She swallowed hard, struggling to breathe normally. Her eyes burned worse than anything she’d ever imagined. No wonder so many cities had outlawed pepper spray. How long would it take for her vision to clear? Would the damage be permanent? She prayed not. How could she sketch if she couldn’t see?
“Here,” she said, holding the key up since she couldn’t make o ut where he was.
“Thank you.” She heard him unlock the front door and then put his hand beneath her arm. “Lean on me. I’ll guide you inside.”
Doing as he suggested, she allowed him to lead her. The burning in her throat was beginning to ease, but her eyes were still a mess. Shouldn’t the tears help wash the spray away? “I’m on the—second floor.” She turned toward the area where she was certain the stairs were located. Not that she could see anything but a dark blurry shape.
“Okay, easy now. We’ll take the steps one at a time.”
After helping her navigate the stairs, Cash used her keys to unlock her apartment. She felt along the hall then crossed to where her sofa should be. Shedding her coat, she tossed it aside and sat back on the cushion.
Without being asked, Cash set a box of tissues on her lap. She used several to blot at her face.
“You may want to shower,” Cash said. “Rinsing with water is the best treatment for pepper spray.”
“Did you do this?” she abruptly demanded.
“What? No, Jacy. I would never hurt you.”
She wanted to believe him, but the timing of his showing up so soon after the assault made her suspicious.
“I promise I didn’t do this,” he repeated. “I was at the police precinct, hoping to speak with you before you left. If you’d like to talk to Detective Vargas, he’ll verify my story.”
“Okay.” Peering through her watery eyes, she eyed the blurred dark blob that she assumed was him. “I should wash up.”
“Can you find the bathroom?” Cash asked.
“Yes.” Her apartment wasn’t that big. She blew her nose then stood and hesitantly made her way across the room. The full bathroom was next to her bedroom. She grabbed the discarded sweatshirt she’d been wearing earlier from the bed, taking it with her. Spray remnants stained her shirt and jacket.
As she gratefully washed away the aftermath of the pepper spray, her thoughts centered on Cash Rawson. Detective Cash Rawson.
Now that she was calmer, she knew Cash wouldn’t have hit her with pepper spray. He’d have no reason to do such a thing. She was grateful he’d arrived when he had, interrupting whatever fate had awaited her at the hands of the assailant. Yet Cash showing up was no accident. He hadn’t dropped in after all this time to check up on her.
No, she knew he’d come for one purpose.
To help find the missing teenage girls.
* * *
Who had attacked Jacy Urban? Cash paced the length of her apartment, peering out each of the windows to the street below. If he’d been even three minutes earlier, he might have caught the guy.
But leaving Jacy blinded and alone so he could search for the assailant had not been an option. Especially when there could have been more than one person involved.
The incident nagged at him for several reasons. The timing was the most suspicious. Two teenage girls had gone missing in the past three weeks.
And they were young, pretty and blonde. Just like Jacy.
Jacy had managed to escape her attacker ten years ago but had suffered a head injury as a result. He’d pulled over to the side of the road when he’d seen her running across the street and toward the woods. He’d jumped from the car and followed, finding her at the bottom of a steep ravine. At the time, she hadn’t known her name, much less what had happened. Her memory had soon returned to the point she knew who she was, but could tell the police nothing about the events leading up to or involving her attack.
Or her assailant.
At nineteen, Cash had just graduated high school and hadn’t been sure about his career path. A few days following Jacy’s attack, especially after he’d sat with her while the police asked questions, he’d enrolled in a criminal justice degree program.
He’d earned his gold shield three years ago, and felt good about the investigations he’d done, bringing justice to those who had been hurt.
The moment the Claire Simmons case had hit the news, he’d noticed the similarities between her disappearance and Jacy’s. Despite the decade time lapse between the attacks, he’d pulled the police investigation files about Jacy’s case, along with the other missing girls’ cases, poring over the details.
Then Suzanna Perry had gone missing.
And he’d had a very bad feeling the same thing was happening all over again. The same way it had ten years ago.
One small problem was that these recent disappearances happened in Appleton, not Madison, where he worked. Still there were three unsolved cases from ten years ago that he’d inherited when the detective who’d investigated them had retired. Three young girls who had disappeared after Jacy’s attack. His boss thought he was chasing shadows coming here to Appleton. That the long-ago attack on Jacy could not possibly be related to what was happening now.
But Cash knew following his gut instincts is how he’d become a good detective. Refusing to let his boss drag him down, he’d driven to Appleton to meet with Vargas, who was kind enough to let him look at the files on Claire and Suzanna, then to speak with Jacy.
Who had hit her with pepper spray? It didn’t feel like a teenage prank, but something sinister. As a way of hindering her ability to see her attacker.
Jacy finally emerged from the bathroom. Her chin-length blond hair was still damp, her eyes red and puffy from the irritant. But the way her green eyes zeroed in on him indicated she could see him. For the most part.
“How are you? Better?”
“You’re still blurry, but the pain is better.” She took a seat on the sofa. “Thanks for helping me.”
“I wish I’d been here sooner.” He sat on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving plenty of space between them. “I’m also sorry to drop in on you like this.”
“You really spoke to Detective Vargas?”
“Yes. He sang your praises, by the way. Said you were instrumental in helping to close several cases.”
She grimaced. “He’s being nice. You must know that many departments are using computer programs to create likenesses rather than live forensic sketch artists. I’m fortunate to have precincts around here willing to utilize my services.”
“Yeah, but those computer-generated models aren’t nearly as good as you are. That’s been showed time and time again. The ability of a sketch artist to work with the witness, tweaking small things, is worth every dime of your salary.”
“Thanks.” She twisted her fingers in the fleece of her sweatshirt, the only outward sign of her nervousness. Then she plucked more tissues from the box as her eyes were still watering a bit. “Okay, you may as well come clean, Cash. You didn’t drive all this way for a friendly visit.”
“No, I came because of the missing girls.” He didn’t add how much he’d thought about her over the years. How much he’d admired her. She’d come across as more mature than her sixteen years.
“I thought so.” She sniffled, blew her nose, then shrugged. “I’m not sure I can help you. For one thing, the most recent disappearances were from a local high school here in Appleton. Do you have a new witness from Madison that you’d like me to work with?”
“I wish,” he said with a heavy sigh. “No witness, other than you.”
“Me?” She stared at him, blinking as if to bring him into focus. “What are you talking about? You know very well that I don’t remember anything about the man who attacked me.”
“I know that you didn’t remember anything from ten years ago,” he admitted. “But I thought these new attacks may have spurred a memory.”
“Hearing about the missing girls has been devastating.” Her voice was low and she dropped her eyes to her lap, her fingers crumpling the tissues into a tight ball. “There are no witnesses here or Vargas would have asked me to help sketch them. But as far as what happened ten years ago? You must know that if I had remembered anything, I would have called the police.”
“I know.” He swallowed a sigh, knowing this wasn’t the time to ask what she did remember about the attack from ten years ago. He’d learned that sometimes victims remembered small details that they thought they’d already mentioned. “If you’re feeling better, I’ll drive you back to the police station so you can file a report about what happened here tonight. At the very least, they should increase police patrols to your neighborhood.”
