Grave christmas secrets, p.12
Grave Christmas Secrets, page 12
No time to whine, but the injury compromised her speed.
She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, aiming for the trees.
“Hey!”
She didn’t dare turn around as she dodged between the foliage.
“Come back here now!”
The truck loomed just a few feet ahead.
A pop sounded behind her.
Taya screamed but the tape muffled the cry.
Without her hands, she couldn’t open the truck door, much less drive away. She’d run for the road. Maybe someone would stop and help her.
She took off, feet pounding the cold ground.
“Dr. McGill, you’re making this harder than it has to be.”
Taya reached a round wood rail fence with logs two feet apart. Too high to jump, too low to crawl under with bound hands. She ducked to squeeze between the logs and got her first leg through, just as a pinch impaled her side.
The hesitation provided Folze the chance to catch up. He yanked her backward, and her chin whacked against a log.
The world grew fuzzy but Taya fought to maintain consciousness. If she passed out, it would be over. He dragged her closer.
She wriggled, screamed and kicked, but Folze was stronger. He bound her ankles with plastic zip ties, then hoisted her over his shoulder. His arms tightened on her legs.
He hauled her back to the root cellar, and she watched in horror as he unlocked the door. The drugs coursed through her system, blurring her vision.
Folze lifted her and descended into the abyss. He flopped Taya onto the cold, hard earth.
She looked up. Three Folzes swayed before her.
Once he closed those doors, she’d be enveloped in darkness. But her body wouldn’t move.
He laughed and secured her ankles and wrists to a shelf in the cellar. “Nighty night.”
He ascended the stairs, each footstep more foreboding and terrifying than the last.
Please, don’t do this. Taya whimpered against the tape over her mouth.
The door slammed shut above, engulfing her in the musty cavern black as pitch.
Were her eyes open or closed? She couldn’t tell.
Taya shivered, battling to stay conscious, but cold spread through her body and dug deep into her bones. She returned to the place where her imagination had flown freely to Keegan. She focused on his strong jaw and soulful eyes.
Lord, please be with him, wherever he is. Please let him be okay.
A thud outside. She twitched. The tranquilizer made its way through her system, reminding her of the thick liquid inside a lava lamp. The room rocked and her eyes grew heavy.
Please. One word.
A prayer.
A plea.
An apology.
NINE
Frantic to find Taya, Keegan was crawling out of his skin by the time he reached Orchard. His unending prayers for her protection, combined with gratitude for finding Bear in time, were countered with his nonstop pondering of the evidence.
Sadness and fury warred within him. He’d failed her.
Just like Patrice.
No. There would be plenty of time for self-loathing after he found Taya—alive. Whatever it cost, he’d make sure her life didn’t end the way Patrice’s had. He wouldn’t lose another woman he cared about.
Taya had grown on him in a way he hadn’t expected. Her intelligence combined with a sweet naivete was refreshing. Not that he’d pursue her, or that she’d want anything more than friendship with him.
How many times had he heard women didn’t want the uncertainty of their spouse coming home safely every night? He’d made the choice a long time ago to devote his life to the ATF and shied from relationships.
But Keegan reasoned that romance wasn’t what intrigued him about Taya. It was the duty to demonstrate all LEOs men weren’t like her dirtbag ex, Jeremy.
Although Folze’s kidnapping reinforced her beliefs about backstabbing cops.
Keegan had to restore her faith in law enforcement and prove that cowards like Folze and Jeremy weren’t the norm, but the exception. Redirecting his energy, he evaluated the facts.
Brando had lured Keegan away from the schoolhouse with the agreement to meet at the Camp, counting on his cronies to kill Keegan. He faced an army. One man against Brando’s mob made for impossible odds. But if his team was compromised, he’d be on his own anyway. Unable to reconcile whether it was safe to contact Hawk, Keegan held off.
He’d continue the mission alone.
For now.
His internal vows carried him the remaining distance. Folze’s home was located at the end of a dirt road on the corner of an immense cornfield. He approached slowly, turning off his headlight, and prepared for reconnaissance. Double-checking the address, Keegan confirmed he was in the correct—albeit rundown—place and parked behind the shelterbelt of trees on the north side.
With one last survey, he grabbed a flashlight from the console, slid from behind the wheel and crept around the pickup. No interior lights glowed from the house, and no vehicles were parked outside.
He stepped back, eyeing the dingy chipped siding in desperate need of replacement. The single garage door was missing, covered by wooden boards in varying shades of stain. Dead, overgrown weeds surrounded the walkway and climbed up the structure where missing shingles and haphazard storm drains gave the home a deserted appearance.
Keegan started with the closest of the three Quonset buildings.
Gun in hand, he made his way toward the metal structure, using shadows as cover. Frigid temperatures maintained remnants of packed down snow. Tire tracks led to the house and the dirt road peeked through sparse melted patches, indicating Folze had returned here sometime after the last snowstorm.
Keegan cleared the first two buildings—vacant minus aged farm equipment, blocks of hay, and a herd of feral cats—but a large padlock prevented entrance to the last. He located a crowbar in the second building and broke off the lock, hope building.
Taya had to be inside.
Scratch that. The locked Quonset held a pristine, fire-engine-red sports car. An unusual possession, considering Folze’s dump of a house.
Keegan located a vehicle registration card inside the glove box, complete with a South Dakota address. Please let Taya be there.
He shoved the registration into his pocket and walked out of the Quonset. Relieved Brando’s army wasn’t waiting to attack him, he couldn’t shake his frustration at Folze and Taya’s absence. Was he overlooking something? Was she being held prisoner in the house?
Quiet echoed over the miles of surrounding cornfields—devoid of barking dogs, passing vehicles and the villainous game and parks officer—and the cold wind whistled against his ears. He sized up the ranch, surrounded by towering trees with sparse branches peeking in every direction—creating privacy and adding to the creepiness.
Dirty and neglected, it was evident Folze didn’t care about this place. So why leave his sports car here?
Keegan crossed to the house and attempted to peer inside. Broken blinds covered the window and the front door was locked. He followed the cracked cement path, with varying degrees of vegetation sprouting through, and caught a glimpse of a partial footprint.
Pace quickening, he tromped over the snow-packed ground. His grip tightened around the weapon, and he trained it on the ajar back door.
He entered the kitchen. Fast-food wrappers were scattered over the table, floor and counter. A stack of dishes consumed the sink. Open drawers and cabinets completed the disaster, indicating an obvious search. Had Brando’s men beat him here? Did they have Taya?
Keegan continued clearing the home, anxiety ratcheting up with each step.
Folze didn’t lack for junk. Clothes and shoes lay all over the living room floor and knickknacks filled the small bookshelf containing everything except books. A bulletin board covered with pictures of a cabin and the same red sports car hung over an old desk.
He studied the newer build of the house in the photo, a beautiful riverfront log cabin. Idyllic and serene. Some place Folze dreamed about going, or did he own it?
He ripped off the cabin photo, noting the immense cement bridge in the distance and familiar landmark sign. Chief Standing Bear Bridge crossed the Missouri River, connecting Nebraska and South Dakota. It was an easy commute back and forth across the river, so it wasn’t inconceivable that Folze owned a cabin there. And locals joked the taxes were cheaper in South Dakota.
Taxes! He glanced again at the picture. Maybe Folze had left a paper trail.
Keegan rummaged through the mess in the desk.
Nothing.
“Come on!” He kicked the drawer and it rolled over, revealing a pink scrap taped underneath with three sets of double digits written in a scrawl. A safe combination code?
Keegan pocketed the paper and searched the house for anything resembling a safe or lockbox but found nothing. Discouraged, he exited the house, heading toward the pickup.
Muted clanging halted him. He swept the light over the ground, spotting a small smoke stack peeking from a snow drift and a door with white chipped paint.
A root cellar. Not uncommon for homes in the area.
He glanced around again. Would Folze have left Taya here? Unattended? The hair rose on his neck and he turned on his heel.
Not a sound. Yet instinct told him something was wrong. Very wrong.
Keegan rushed toward the door, slipping on the icy ground, hope increasing with each step. The snow hadn’t melted naturally with the other patchy areas. Rather, it had been cleared off, exposing the aging brick, rock and cement blocks beneath. Long-rotted wood planks gave the door frame the appearance of a coffin. A shiver coursed through him, adding fuel to his suspicions that the cave-like prison held Taya. A latch and a second padlock. But his gaze froze at the rust-colored splotches.
Blood.
A second muffled thud emitted from below.
“Taya!”
* * *
Taya lay on her side tugging against the restraints where Folze had bound her to one of the cellar’s wooden shelf legs. The structure rocked slightly, encouraging her to pull harder.
She yanked with all her might, and the heavy planks rained down on her. Unable to shield her face, she closed her eyes and waited for the wooden shower to stop.
With a slam, the last plank landed, and her wrists broke loose from the shelf but remained bound. Folze had put two sets of zip ties around her wrists and ankles and both remained tight against her skin. Wriggling into a sitting position, she focused on her memory of the cellar layout. She had to get to the stairs.
Scratching and pounding above from the cellar door froze her in place.
Help or Folze returning to kill her?
“Taya?”
Was she losing her mind? Keegan?
A creak above wafted in cold fresh air, but everything remained dark.
Taya’s plea for help stuck in the tape.
A light appeared, moving toward her. She blinked against the sudden brightness, desperate to make out the form descending.
Keegan. Her eyes blurred with tears.
He skidded to her side, pulling her into his arms. “Thank God, you’re alive!”
“You came for me,” she attempted to say, but the mumbled garble made no sense to her own ears.
“What?” He leaned back and winced. “No wonder you didn’t answer me. Hang on, this is gonna burn.”
She braced, and he ripped off the tape. Her mouth and cheeks stung, and she sucked in a breath, filling her lungs.
“I don’t know if Folze will return. Let’s get out of here and then we’ll talk.” He gently brushed her hair from her face.
“He bound my ankles and wrists to the shelves. I pulled them down, but the zip ties didn’t break.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the heap of wood.
Keegan examined the restraints. “So that was the crash I heard. Brilliant! I’ll carry you out and then we’ll remove them. I don’t know how much time we have.”
“Okay.”
He turned off the flashlight and tucked his gun into his waistband. Of course, he couldn’t carry the light, the gun and her.
He lifted and cradled her against his powerful chest. She inhaled the mingling scents of wood, earth and his leather jacket. He stood and walked toward the stairs.
“Thank you, Agent Stryker, for being as predictable as Brando said you’d be.”
Keegan paused, and Taya turned toward the voice, though she didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who’d spoken.
Folze eclipsed the door. Gun aimed at them.
This nightmare never ended.
“Get out of my way,” Keegan growled.
They were trapped.
Keegan’s hold on her meant he couldn’t reach his gun. And her bindings prevented her from helping.
Folze guffawed. “A shame you both have to die.” The threat hung thick with intent, and he hefted the gun higher.
Taya stiffened, screamed and ducked her head.
Keegan sprang off the steps, jumping to the side.
A blast echoed in the confined space.
Folze fired several more rounds.
Taya prepared to die.
Keegan shielded her body with his, pressing her against the opposite brick wall.
The gunfire stopped, and the overhead door slammed shut, plunging them again into blackness.
“Are you okay?” Keegan asked, his breath warm against her forehead.
She nodded, then realizing he couldn’t see her, squeaked, “Yes.”
“I’m going to set you down.” He placed her on her feet, steadied her, then stepped back.
Submerged in the inkiness, Taya fought her rising panic. Unable to see her hand in front of her face—not that the restraints allowed for it—she focused her other senses.
He moved around, shuffling for something.
The pressure built and before she could control it, Taya cried out, “Keegan!”
She hated the weak childlike screech, but rationale blew away in the crushing darkness. Terror returned, smothering her, compounded by her bound wrists and ankles.
Keegan’s strong hand gripped her shoulder, his tone gentle and reassuring. “I’m here.”
Two words that soothed her heart and comforted her soul.
A hiccup escaped, adding to her pitifulness.
He turned on the flashlight, and a soft glow filled the room. “Sorry it took me so long. I dropped it when I jumped.”
She was the one who should be apologizing. Taya inhaled and exhaled a few more times, calming herself. She sniffled, embarrassed. Humiliated. What must he think of her? “Forgive me. The dark is just—”
“Another thing you’re not a fan of, huh?”
A smile tugged at her lips, but she didn’t have the strength to follow through. She recalled he’d said the same thing about her attitude toward law enforcement.
She still felt that way—Folze was proof corrupt cops existed. Except she couldn’t deny Keegan infiltrated her rock-solid point of view. Unlike anyone she’d ever known.
Nothing like Jeremy.
Nothing like Folze.
Keegan was...different.
“Fears aren’t rational. Helps to talk about them, though.”
Taya swallowed. He shifted the light and she caught sight of blood on his hand. Dripping from his shoulder. “You’re hurt!”
“Just a bullet grazing, thanks to my stealthy moves,” he teased, glancing at the wound.
The sound of heavy thuds against the door interrupted him.
“He’s barricading us in,” Taya guessed.
“Sounds like it,” Keegan replied, facing the door. He rushed up the stairs and with a guttural sound, tackled the door. He turned and, using his back, continued to slam against it, producing sickening thuds, but it didn’t budge.
Each thrust added to Taya’s overwhelming headache.
An engine fired up, then faded into the distance.
“He’s gone.” Her interpretation of the obvious snapped Keegan from his war with the door.
He gave the barricade one last thud before descending the stairs. “I should’ve charged through him before he closed the door.”
“I don’t doubt your abilities, but maybe take a short break from ramming the door.”
Sweat streaked his face and hairline. “I just need a minute.”
“He’d have killed you.”
“Nah. His shooting is less than accurate considering he missed all four times,” Keegan grunted with a lopsided grin. “Maybe I should’ve gone for the kinder, gentler approach.”
That brought a smile to her lips. “Somehow, I don’t think that would’ve mattered.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who needs a hug and understanding.”
A chuckle escaped. “If you remove these zip ties, I’ll help you find something to break through the door.” Taya appreciated Keegan’s good-natured manner. Within a few minutes, he’d calmed her.
“Right. Sorry I got sidetracked.” In a single move, Keegan lifted her into his arms.
Taya didn’t miss the slight wince, though he carried her to the steps without complaint and gently set her down. She sat while he adjusted the flashlight, aiming it upward, then withdrew a small knife from inside his boot.
“Always prepared?”
“Yep, part of my childhood summer camp training.” He slipped the knife under the ankle zip tie and gave a tug, breaking it free. “One down. Now if you’ll twist around, I can get to the one on your wrist.”
