Hostage Negotiation (15 page)

“Act? I don’t have to act. I
am
terrified.” Her eyes were wide, her face pale, emphasizing the truth of her words.

He gently stroked her hair, wishing he had the time to tell her how much he admired her, how courageous he thought she was, how she’d made him feel things he’d never expected to feel again after losing a piece of himself when Jo Lynne had died. But there wasn’t time for that, and little point. He knew the odds were against him in the fight to come. His injured leg was shaky, weak and it was taking all his strength to keep moving and not let Kaylee see that the cut was far worse than he’d been letting on. It might not be bleeding like it had been, but the damage was done, muscles cut. Add to that his cut shoulder, and side, and he was a mess. Together, continuing as they were, neither of them was going to make it. But if he went on the offensive, even if it meant sacrificing himself for her, then maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to escape. And that would make the sacrifice worth it.

“Then use that fear to your advantage,” he told her. “Let him see it, gloat over it. He’ll let his guard down, thinking he has you right where he wants you, too afraid to fight him. When he’s close, too close to use that rifle pressing against you, that’s when you feel behind you for the knife then drive it up into his belly. Shove it as hard as you can, with both hands, then rip the point of the knife up, toward his heart, from the inside. You’ll cut through a slew of vital organs. There’s no recovering from a gut wound like that.”

She shuddered with revulsion. “I could never do that.”

He firmly closed her hand around the hilt of the knife. “You can, and you will if you have to, to save your life.”

“What are you planning?” she demanded.

“You’re going to run, sticking close to the trees for cover, just like we’ve been doing. And I’m going to wait and hopefully ambush this creep.”

“He’s got a rifle. And you said yourself he may have other weapons, other tricks up his sleeve.”

He let out a deep breath. “Kaylee, we’re not going to make it the way we’re going. We’re tired, practically dragging. And he’s still pursuing us. I have to change the status quo to give us a chance.”

She glared up at him. “To give me a chance, don’t you mean? You’re sacrificing yourself for me. Admit it.”

“I didn’t say that.” He glanced around the edge of the tree, worried that he hadn’t heard footsteps in a while. “We don’t have time for this. You need to get moving.”

“No.”

He frowned. “No?”

She shook her head and slid the knife into his makeshift scabbard before grabbing her stick again. “If you leave me, I’ll follow you. We’re in this together. No one is dying to save the other.”

A footstep sounded behind them, close, but not as close as he’d feared. “Kaylee, you’re wasting time arguing with me.”

“No, you’re wasting time trying to figure out a way to get me to leave you. You might as well not bother.” Her face twisted in misery as the brave mask she’d been wearing seemed to crack. “Zack, Mary died after I left her. I couldn’t bear it if you died because you were trying to give me a better chance at escape. Please, don’t do this. Let’s stick together. There has to be another way to defeat him.”

He stared down at her then finally shook his head. “You’re incredibly stubborn, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

He listened to the sounds of pursuit getting closer, all the while racking his brain, trying to come up with a better plan, something Kaylee might not fight him about. Finally, he looked down at her. “It’s dangerous, and not much better than my original plan.”

“We’re already in danger,” she said. “Does this new plan involve us sticking together?”

“Yes and no.”

Her brows drew down.

He leaned around the tree again then jerked back. “All right. This is what we’re going to do.”

Chapter Sixteen

As plans went, it wasn’t much, Kaylee supposed. And it was scary, too, since it involved her staying on the ground while Zack perched in the tree above, ready to drop down onto their pursuer. But since she hadn’t been able to think of anything better, and she refused to let Zack run off without her to face the devil on his own, this is what it had come down to.

The only thing that Zack had insisted upon was that she keep herself tucked down against the trunk of the wide tree that he’d chosen for them to make their move. She wasn’t to look down the path behind them, so she didn’t offer herself as a target for that rifle. Her weapon of choice, if things went wrong, was her stick-bat since she didn’t want to bet her life, or his, on her ability to use the knife.

So here they were, her tucked against the base of the tree, partially hidden by thick bushes, and him, lying down across a branch about ten feet up with his knife at the ready, waiting.

And waiting.

Ten minutes passed, fifteen. At the twenty-minute mark, she risked a look up into the tree above her, only to see thick red drops of blood painting the side of the branch where Zack was lying, a reddish-brown stain spreading across the bark. It was the wound in his thigh, she realized. It must have started bleeding again. And the amount of blood that he’d lost was downright scary. She pulled herself to her feet, clutching her bat, while she stood on tiptoe looking up.

“Zack,” she whispered, trying not to be too loud. “Zack?”

Nothing. His head was turned away from her. She couldn’t tell if he was even conscious.

Dread curled in her stomach. She looked around then very carefully edged to the other side of the tree, trying to use the bushes at the base to stay as concealed as possible.

“Zack,” she called, a little louder. His eyes were closed, she realized. Was he even breathing? Oh, no. What had she done by insisting on this plan? She shouldn’t have second-guessed his first plan. She reached up with the stick and pushed on his left leg.

He groaned but didn’t open his eyes. He shifted on the branch and suddenly pitched out of the tree. He landed, hard, on a group of bushes and then rolled out onto the ground, on his stomach, his head twisted to the side at an uncomfortable-looking angle.

Kaylee ran and sank to her knees beside him. His eyes were still closed. She wanted to straighten his head but was afraid she’d hurt his neck.

“Zack,” she whispered in his ear as she carefully felt for a pulse along his carotid. There, a steady beat beneath her fingertips. Thank God. “Zack?” she whispered again. Still nothing. She ran her hand along the back of his head, across his scalp. There, a golf ball–sized lump on the side of his head. Had he hit it against the branch while up in the tree? Is that why he was unconscious? She’d thought the bushes had broken his fall, kept his head from slamming against the ground. What if she was wrong? A fall from that high up, then hitting his head...he might never wake up from something like that.

Keep it together
, she admonished herself.
You can’t help him if you fall apart.

She scrabbled back and checked his thigh, surprised to see that, no, it wasn’t bleeding. Not much, anyway, certainly not enough to explain the amount of blood she’d seen on the tree branch. She ran her hands up and down both legs, his arms, then, desperate to find the source, she tried to roll him over. But he was too heavy. She leaned down to check his right side, shoving her hand beneath his body. It came out clean, no blood. She moved to his other side, and that was when she saw it.

An arrow, its evil-looking haft sticking out at an awkward angle, the point buried somewhere underneath him. Her breath left her in a rush. He’d been shot in the side, and his shirt was soaked in blood. But if he’d been shot, then that meant...she lunged for her makeshift bat just as footsteps sounded impossibly close.

“Drop it,” a harsh voice ordered from directly behind her as her fingers wrapped around the wood. “Now.”

Cold metal pressed against her temple. A gun.

She dropped the stick.

Handcuffs dangled in front of her face as he shook them out over her head.

“You know what to do, darlin’,” he taunted.

A sob welled up in her throat as she took the cuffs and snapped them onto her wrists.

* * *

D
IZZY
. H
OT
,
LIKE
a sauna. Zack groaned and started to roll onto his side, but piercing, sharp pain stopped him. He forced his heavy eyelids open and stared in confusion at the ground, just inches from his face. How did he get here? He should have been... He jerked his head up and looked around. Kaylee, where was Kaylee?

He pressed his hands against the ground, hissing in a breath at the pain in his side, the throbbing in his head, the tug of the cut on his shoulder and the burning in his thigh. He was a wreck. But he didn’t have time to worry about himself. If he was on the ground, instead of the tree branch where he’d planned to surprise their pursuer, and Kaylee wasn’t around, something had gone horribly wrong.

“Kaylee?” he called out, unsurprised when she didn’t answer. He cursed viciously. What had happened? He’d failed her, somehow. And where was she now? If that monster had her... He shook his head. Of course the monster had her, otherwise she’d be here, with him. More worried about him than herself. Too stubborn for her own good.

Ignoring the aches and pains in his body, he shoved to his knees. But the sharp tug on his left side couldn’t be ignored. He glanced down, shocked when he saw the haft of an arrow, of all things. He looked up at the tree above him, the one he’d climbed. Their pursuer must have had a bow and shot him. His version of play, of having fun? Had he used the bow so Zack would die slowly, rather than kill him outright by using the rifle? There was no telling what had gone through the twisted man’s mind. But Zack didn’t remember being shot. The throbbing in his head was probably a good indicator of why.

He felt along the back and found the goose egg. Either he’d raised his head when he’d been shot with the arrow and slammed it against the branch directly above him, or he’d hit his head falling out of the tree. Either way, the memory of the event was gone.

He felt the skin around the haft and lifted his shirt. The business end of the arrow had gone completely through his side and protruded out from beside his navel. The wooden shaft formed a hard ridge. It appeared to have missed everything vital and had passed only through the outer layer of skin. For once, he’d gotten lucky. He hoped that streak held, because he’d need all the luck he could get to find and rescue Kaylee.

Gritting his teeth, he shoved himself to his feet and searched once again for the knife he’d been holding while up in the tree. There it was, at the base of the bush that was half-flattened from his fall. Two good things in a row. Maybe lady luck really was on his side.

Holding the arrow steady, he sawed through the shaft then grabbed the haft and yanked it out. It made a sickening, sucking sound and fresh blood welled up immediately. He pressed his hand against his side to staunch the bleeding while holding the knife in his other hand and eyeing the ground. There, footprints, and not his either. He tried to read what may have happened based on the way the two sets of prints slid at one point, stepped over each other at another spot.

And what he saw had him swearing all over again. The best he could tell, Kaylee had rushed over to him, the twin impressions of her knees clearly visible in the dirt. And then, the man who’d shot that arrow, the man who’d captured her and tortured her for months, had stepped behind her, surprising her. They’d left together, his shoeprints and her bare footprints going off in what appeared to be an easterly direction.

Eyeing the tree he’d been in earlier, he hurried over to it and started climbing.

A few minutes later he had an excellent view of a large portion of those two and a half million acres of swampland stretching out endlessly around him in every direction. He also saw something else—a road, a two-lane honest-to-goodness dirt and gravel road. It dead-ended about a half mile east at the beginning of a stretch of endless, golden saw grass that marked the beginning of a series of canals.

The road also extended for miles in the opposite direction. It had to lead to civilization eventually. Wait, what did he see way down the road? It had to be... He jerked back to the left as something came into his line of vision. He stiffened, watching with growing dread as a small pickup pulled out of the woods near that dead end and turned west on the road. It was too far away for him to make out faces, but he could pick Kaylee’s petite, curvy form out anywhere. She was the passenger, and the driver was wearing a mask.

He jerked his head to the right, studying the many curves in the road, curves that wound around the marsh and canals and groups of cypress trees...curves that would force the truck to go slow to stay on the road. He made a mental calculation, picking a path through the woods that would act as a shortcut, hopefully placing him at one of those curves before the truck passed that way.

And then he was half sliding, half falling down the tree as fast as he could go. He jumped from the lowest branch, landing in one of the half-flattened bushes, flattening the rest of it. Then he was running once again, going as fast as he could in his odd-hitched gait, favoring his right thigh, arms and legs pumping.

* * *

T
HE
SMALL
TRUCK
bumped and slid on the dirt and gravel road, forcing Kaylee’s captor to drive much slower than he probably wanted to, especially around the sharp, deadly curves. She blinked to clear her vision, but it kept going double, probably because he’d slammed his pistol against the side of her head before tossing her into the passenger seat. He’d then looped the seat belt around the chain between her cuffs before securing it, effectively immobilizing her at an awkward angle with her hands trapped against the seat.

He’d wanted to do a lot more than that when he’d forced her to leave Zack lying unconscious on the path and had brought her to where he’d parked his truck just inside the woods. He’d already taken a few swipes at her with a knife before they’d gotten to the truck, leaving bloody gashes on her arms. His full collection of knives and chains had been lying in the back, along with his rifle and bow. But just as he’d bent down to lift her onto the tailgate, no doubt to make her lie down in the back so he could do his worst, the two-way radio in his cab had crackled to life.

Lieutenant Drew Shlafer’s voice had rung out on some police frequency, letting the searchers know they’d found a damaged, abandoned white cargo van that matched the description given by witnesses at the rest stop. And that they had a lead on a pickup that had been stolen not far from where the van was found, leaving them to believe that if they located the pickup, they’d find Chief Scott and Miss Brighton. And then Drew had mentioned a particular area and the name of a road to be searched next. That was when her captor had stiffened and slammed the tailgate closed. He’d dragged her to the cab, where he’d taken out his frustration by coldcocking her on the side of the head with his pistol before shoving her inside.

After sliding into the driver’s seat, he’d turned his eerie mask her way, his dark eyes flashing their hatred. “Don’t think for one second that you’re going to survive this. If I go down, so do you.” He’d patted the pistol on his hip, so close and yet so impossible for her to grab with her hands trapped the way they were.

“The only reason I’m not killing you right now is because I may need a hostage.” He’d leaned toward her. “And once I get out of here with my hostage, that’s when your usefulness ends.” He’d fingered her hair for a moment then flicked it. “I wanted more fun with you, more...quality time. Who knows, maybe it’ll still work out and we’ll get to spend many more pleasurable hours together, after all.”

She had shivered with revulsion and he laughed. Then he’d started the engine and the little truck took off down the gravel road. That had been ten minutes ago, and so far they hadn’t seen anyone. No sign of any cops or searchers. No sirens. Maybe she’d misunderstood what the lieutenant had said, and her captor’s reaction. Maybe the road he’d mentioned had nothing to do with this one.

She closed her eyes briefly, fighting the urge to cry, or just scream at the man whose sick, twisted desires had been inflicted on her and others. There was no humanity left in him, if indeed there had ever been. He didn’t have a conscience or care in any way about the people whose lives he destroyed.

Like Zack’s.

Her throat tightened with grief. Zack had suffered so much, all because he’d wanted to protect her. He was so noble, strong and yet so gentle with her. She’d never met anyone like him. It had been his quiet strength that had pulled her through those first agonizing, overwhelming days at the hospital. And every time since then, when she’d despaired of ever feeling normal or going through a single day without fear, it had been memories of his deep voice, his hand on her hand, that had bolstered her courage.

Please let him be okay. Please let him recover from his injuries and go on. He deserves to find someone to love, who’ll love him just as fiercely as he once loved his fiancée, Jo Lynne.

Yes, he would be okay. She had to think that. The alternative was too devastating to contemplate.

The truck slowed again at the approach to another curve with a road sign showing a zigzag curve up ahead.

An object flew at the truck from the side of the road, flashing in the sunlight.
Boom!
The tire blew out. Beside her, the masked man swore and wrestled with the wheel as the truck skidded across the gravel, out of control. Kaylee had a quick glimpse of someone limping toward them from the cover of trees. Zack? Could it be? The truck twisted again, then its right wheels slipped over the edge of the road. Kaylee gasped and threw herself back against the seat as the pickup slammed into the side of a tree with a sickening crunch.