After Shock Page 4

  “Break the glass,” she ordered. It emerged as a whisper. She wasn’t even sure he’d heard her over the noise of the truck idling a dozen feet away. “Get me out of here.”

  They turned away, talking among themselves.

  One of them, probably the truck driver, older and stouter than the two boys, climbed up to yank on the driver’s side door. He got it open, the entire vehicle shaking and shuddering. Cold air rushed inside, chilling parts of Lucy’s body that had finally just thawed.

  The clock on the dashboard blinked and changed its reading. 6:01. No time to waste.

  The dog snarled and growled at the man. His eyes went wide as he looked behind Lucy to the rear compartment. “That dog safe?”

  “No. He’s not.” She felt like snarling herself. It took all her strength to twist her head to look at him, given that she was hanging on her side, only the seat belt digging into her flesh to keep her from falling. “I’m FBI Special Agent Lucy Guardino. I need to use your phone.”

  Damn, she could barely hear herself. The harder she tried to shout or yell, the more muffled her voice.

  “You hurt? Look pretty banged up. What’s all that blood on your shirt?”

  “Just give me the damn phone!”

  “Hold on, the rescue squad’s on their way.” He vanished from sight.

  “I don’t need the rescue squad, I need a phone,” she cried out in frustration. The last words vanished into the night, inaudible gasps mingled with tears.

  At least he left the door open so she could freeze to death. She’d just have to get out of here herself. She grabbed the edge of the doorframe with her good hand and gritted her teeth. This was going to hurt like hell.

  She unbuckled her seat belt, letting gravity have its way with her. Bracing her good foot against the center console, she pushed her shoulders and head through the door.

  Plan worked too well. She hadn’t realized the Jeep wasn’t only resting on its passenger side, it also was lying on an incline angled back end down. First rule of close-quarters combat: wherever the head goes, the body follows.

  Gravity, the fickle bitch, knew that rule all too well. As soon as Lucy’s shoulders cleared the car, she slid headfirst out and over the side, landing in a wave of pain so intense everything went black.

  Then

  11:43 a.m.

  Lucy scrambled back down to the floor of the concrete tank and carefully repositioned the cinder block directly beneath the hatch. She climbed back up, found the septic tank’s lid again, and explored it with her fingers.

  It felt like resin—good, it wouldn’t be as heavy as a metal cover. No hinges on this side; it appeared to rely on gravity to keep it in place. Gravity and anything her captor had placed on top of the tank. For all she knew there could be a dozen feet of dirt or several inches of concrete sealing her inside.

  No, she thought with determination. He wasn’t done with her yet, so he wouldn’t have cut off any chance of his reaching her. She hoped.

  She pushed against one edge of the cover. Was rewarded as it gave way. A thrill of anticipation fueled her efforts, and she pushed harder. All she needed was to lift the cover above the rim so she could slide it aside.

  It can’t be this easy. The devil’s advocate inside her head sounded a warning. It must be a trap, some kind of trick.

  Lucy ignored the voice, excited as she tilted the cover up far enough to catch on the top of the tank, releasing a narrow crescent of light into her prison.

  She shifted her fingers to the opposite side of the hatch, sliding them into the small gap she’d created, and pushed the cover away from the opening. A few minutes later she was staring into the pale winter sun almost directly overhead. The blue sky surrounding it and cotton-puff clouds floating past were welcome sights.

  Okay, now for the fun. Time to see if all those Pilates and core workouts were worth it. She reached through the opening and grabbed onto the rim. It was about two feet wide, plenty of room. Abandoning the security of the cinder block, she swung her legs up to brace against the nearest wall. Then she pulled with her arms as she pushed with her legs, leveraging herself up and out of the black pit.

  Sweat covered her, leaving her instantly chilled by the colder temperatures outside. She rolled onto the septic tank’s concrete roof and took a moment to blink at the sky, listen to the birds in the distance, and breathe in the crisp, sharp scent of winter.

  A shiver rocked her to her feet as she took in her surroundings. She stood in the middle of an empty snow-covered field. Trees surrounded the field on all sides, the closest at least a quarter mile away. The only sign of civilization, other than the septic tank, was a Quonset hut–style barn about a hundred yards away. The barn was large enough to block any view beyond it, but she guessed that out of her sight, on the far side, there would be a road or some kind of drive leading up to it. Which meant civilization.

  Her suit jacket lay crumpled at the edge of the packed snow surrounding the buried septic tank. No signs of her parka or bag, but below the jacket she found her socks jumbled up with Megan’s Paracord bracelet. She sat, put the jacket on, shoved Megan’s bracelet into a pocket, then worked the socks on to her numb feet. Immediately felt better.

  She took a step into the snow where the sun glinted off something bright. Her wedding ring, which she slipped on with a kiss to the cold gold—her good-luck ritual—but no signs of her necklace or earrings or boots. No bag, no watch, no phone, no belt, no weapons.

  She pictured her takedown—at least how she imagined it had happened. Grab her, inject her with fast-acting sedative, remove any weapons, restrain her, dump her in the trunk of her own car. Less than two minutes’ work if you knew what you were doing.

  Drive the car to a place where it wouldn’t be found, exchange it for another vehicle, drive here.

  Yes, there were the tire tracks in the snow leading from the barn to the buried tank. Looked like an SUV or truck. Boot prints and snow packed down—where he must have dumped her while he removed the restraints and did a more thorough search, taking her jewelry, jacket, and socks before replacing the restraints and lowering her into the pit.

  Those eyehooks secured to the tank’s ceiling—crude pulley system? Maybe it was just one man behind this after all.

  She catalogued all the evidence in her mind’s eye, but her feet were already protesting the cold, so she sped up to a jog, heading toward the barn. Rolling hills filled the horizon, no signs of a cell tower, no sounds of traffic or civilization. The barn and whatever lay beyond it were her only hope.

  A phone. All she needed was a working phone. She had to call Walden, her second-in-command. He’d take it from there. Walden, a wizard of efficiency, would mobilize the local police and get her family into a secure location.

  Once they were safe, she could put her energy into finding her captor or captors and figuring out what the hell this was all about. She smiled at the thought, the fresh air and taste of freedom exhilarating. Man of his word, her ass. He dared threaten her family? When she got her hands on him…

  Her fantasy was interrupted by barking. She spun, trying to place the sound, fantasizing for one brief moment that it was Megan’s puppy, Zeke. Then another thought clicked. Zeke wasn’t sick; he’d probably been poisoned by her captor. Clearing the way for the attack on her this morning.

  The dog barked again. Dogs came with owners, and owners came with cell phones—or vehicles.

  Hope fueled her pulse, and she ran faster. She’d escaped her prison, thwarted her captor, would save her family, and then catch the bastard. Be home for dinner early, if she was lucky.

  The dog’s barking faded into the distance before Lucy could pinpoint its location. It could have belonged to her captor, she knew that, but she was totally exposed and vulnerable here in the field, so she had no choice but to head to the barn.

  Besides, if he had a dog keeping guard on her prison, wouldn’t he have left it chained near the entrance to the septic tank? Prevent her from escaping in the firs
t place?

  Nothing her captor had done made sense. Despite Lucy’s joy at escaping, that realization was an itch she couldn’t scratch, irritating every nerve ending and leaving the hair at the back of her neck standing upright.

  Or maybe that was the cold. Her entire body burned with it, her steps faltering despite her urgency. The barn waited patiently, its galvanized-steel surface a solid, dull presence that promised salvation.

  She was only twenty yards from it, close enough to make out its large sliding door and the patches of rust hugging the curve of its roof. The wind was in her face, but she felt, more than heard, a rush coming from behind her.

  Just as she turned to look over her shoulder, a large brown dog, mouth bared to reveal all of its teeth, pounced.

  Now

  6:06 p.m.

  Lucy was dying. It was taking much too long, this shredding of body and soul, pain ripping through her from every direction, tearing at her mind, raging through her limbs.

  Should never have fought so hard to escape, a contrarian voice echoed through her brain. Drowning or hanging would have been much faster and less painful.

  Something tugged at her mauled foot and ankle. Despite the blaze of pain, all she felt was cold.

  That’s what you get, the voice continued. Just because you can never take the easy way out. Now it’s too late. Might as well just give up, let go… stop fighting.

  Cold, she was so cold. Letting go would be so easy…

  Never quit the fight. Her father had lived by those words—died by them as well. Lucy remembered how his death had devastated her mother. The void it had left in her life—she’d been Megan’s age.

  Megan. Her brain stuttered for one infinite moment, putting a face to the name. More than a face, everything. The smell of No More Tears shampoo, the sting of being on the receiving end of a well-rehearsed adolescent eye roll, the pain of every scrape, bruise, illness, vaccine shot… everything that was her daughter flooded through Lucy.

  With Megan came Nick. God, Nick… What had she done? He would approve, she knew, he would forgive her, but how could she have sent that monster after him?

  What choice did she have? At least Nick had a fighting chance. More than Lucy’s mother or Megan.

  She’d killed one man, but who knew how many might still be out there? She had to help her family. Had to reach them. Or at least be at their side to fight. She couldn’t abandon them, couldn’t give up, had to save them.

  Pain like lightning shot through the frozen numbness that gripped her body and mind. Lucy’s eyes popped open as she flailed her arms, trying to lunge at an unseen force. Strong hands and stronger bands crisscrossing her chest held her down. Her foot and ankle raged with fire, pain so intense she struggled to hold onto consciousness, her vision blazing black and red and white. The wailing shriek of a wild animal howled in time with the pulses of agony.

  “Stop!” she cried out, not knowing who or what she was fighting against. Her voice emerged fainter than a whisper. “How long?”

  “Easy now,” a man’s voice, calm, authoritative, told her. A paramedic. Trying to help. “What’s your name?”

  “Phone. Get me a phone.” Lucy strained to be heard.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll take good care of you. Are you allergic to anything?”

  Lucy shook her head, but large foam blocks held it still. The paramedic adjusted a stiff plastic collar around her neck. It held her chin up and rubbed against her already raw jaw. Time, what time was it?

  “I need a phone.”

  He was close enough to hear that. “We’ll get you one as soon as we can. Any medical problems?”

  “No. Get me a phone.”

  He turned away, leaving her powerless, strapped to a board. “Splint in place?”

  “Good to go.”

  “On three.”

  Lucy was jerked off the ground. The medic’s face came into sight, then bounced away again. More men, two near her head, one at her feet. She tried to sit up, but the straps circled her chest and belly as well as her arms and legs. Trapped, she was trapped.

  “Let me go, I need to go.” She wanted to shout, thought she was shouting—how else to get their attention over the roar of pain and the beast howling in harmony? But instead her voice emerged thinner than the night wind. “Let me go.”

  A bump as they set her down, her foot jostling, releasing another lightning strike. A gasp tore from her.

  “We’ll get you something for that in just a minute, sweetheart,” the man nearest her head assured her. “Just got to get you into the ambulance and call med control.”

  “Phone,” she begged. “There’s no time.” Her voice barely reached her own ears.

  The man gave no sign of hearing her. He was busy looking over his shoulder, talking to someone Lucy couldn’t see. It was so hard to think with all this damn noise inside and outside her head. She had to focus. She needed to… Someone needed her, she wasn’t supposed to be here, she needed to…

  “Give me a phone!” She mustered every bit of energy. “Now.”

  They bounced her into the back of an ambulance, one of the men jumping up inside with her, her words swallowed by the noise of the engine and a beeping by her side. One of the doors at her feet slammed shut. The other started to close, then swung open again, another man sticking his head inside.

  “That’s Lloyd Cramer’s Jeep,” he said, his voice loud enough to make Lucy close her eyes in an attempt to lessen the blow. “And one of his damn dogs in the back. Any sign of him?”

  “Nope. Just her. No ID. Must be in the Jeep.”

  Lucy opened her eyes to tell them who she was. Her vision swam, and nausea made her swallow twice before she could find her voice. It still wasn’t normal, every word scraped out in a harsh whisper. “I’m Lucy Guardino. FBI. I need a phone.”

  The door slammed shut before she could finish. The man beside her was leaning over, talking to the driver beyond her vision. If he’d heard her, he gave no sign of it.

  Then they were moving, siren wailing, the man busy talking on a radio, reaching across Lucy, adjusting IV tubing running into her arm, inflating the blood-pressure cuff until it felt like a tourniquet, touching her foot and releasing another wave of pain, clamping an oxygen mask over her face, further muffling her attempts to make herself heard.

  It was as if he were everywhere at once, the way he used the tight confines of the ambulance, moving with ease like a sailor accustomed to choppy waters. He never stopped, seemed to always have something more to attend to, even once brushing her hair out of her eyes so she could see.

  Time, she had no time. How long had she been out? She couldn’t move her eyes far enough to see if there was a clock, and the medic moved too fast for her to see his watch. How much time was left before her captor’s deadline? Seven o’clock. She had to reach her family before seven.

  Lucy fought to speak, to tell him about Nick and Megan and the man out there, hunting for them. She wanted to beg for his help, for a phone, for just one call to send help, but the toll of her injuries and the exhaustion that flowed through her now that adrenaline had evaporated made it impossible for her to form the words coherently in her mind, much less push them past her bruised vocal cords and out her lips.

  No words escaped as she fought the pain and lost. Her eyes fluttered shut once more, her only cry for help the release of a single tear.

  Then

  11:57 a.m.

  The copper taste of terror filled Lucy’s mouth as the world around her slowed into a multisensory freeze-frame. The air billowed with smoke from the dog’s hot breath. This beast was nothing like Megan’s playful puppy. This was a killer, its eyes wild and furious.

  Snow crunched beneath its paws as it launched itself at her. Lucy’s heart raced so fast the beats blurred into a blitz that thrummed through her entire body.

  She pivoted to present a smaller target. Powered an elbow into the dog’s rib cage. Their momentum threw them to the ground. The dog’s teeth
snapped in the air beside her ear as she ducked her head down, protecting her neck, relying on primal instincts to keep her alive. Saliva sprayed her as claws dug into her back, ripping through her jacket.

  Survival lay in not giving the animal time to clamp its powerful jaws on her. Lucy twisted her body beneath the dog’s weight, struggling to protect her head while also aiming blows at the dog’s vulnerable spots. It shook off another elbow to its rib cage and snarled as her fingers impacted its eyes. Then she landed a hard knee to its genitals, followed by another kick as she threw the dog off her.

  It howled in fury. She scrambled to her feet. Her breath came in gasps. The entire universe had shrunk to a small circle, target-sized: Lucy and the dog. The beast outweighed her, was more powerful. She couldn’t win this fight, leaving flight as her only option. No way she could outrun the animal, not for long, but if she could find a weapon, reach the shelter of the barn… She’d just planted her right foot when pain tore through her left calf as the dog clamped down with its teeth.

  Lucy kicked with all her might. The dog’s grip loosened enough for her to slide her calf free, but then it regained a purchase, biting down hard on her foot where it met her ankle. She felt the crunch of bones giving way, the pain so sudden and shocking she fell facedown into the snow.

  Lucy cried out in anguish as the animal dragged her closer. She clawed at the ground, found nothing but snow, twisted her body faceup, fighting to sit up and strike at the animal.

  The dog held on, not releasing her no matter how she struggled, its baleful gaze fixed upon her, unblinking. Then it tore at her leg with its front claws, her blood billowing into the air, spraying the snow crimson.

  Suddenly the blue sky was blotted out by shadow, followed by a man’s smiling face.

  “Hold,” he told the dog. The dog stopped clawing at Lucy but held onto her mangled leg, its jaws a pair of vise-grips. “Good dog.” He crouched down beside Lucy.

  “Who are you?” Lucy gasped. “What do you want?”

  The man was dressed in khakis and a fleece jacket. He had brown hair, brown eyes, nothing to distinguish him at all except his smile. It was a smile in name only: lips curled in the right direction, a few teeth showing, eyes wrinkled in delight. But unlike most smiles, it didn’t promise pleasure or happiness. Instead, it was filled with false regret. As if Lucy were a wayward child who’d broken the rules and now faced punishment.