She Can Scream Page 26

  Haley grabbed her phone and purse. She tiptoed down the hall. Her brother was playing a video game in the living room. Digitized gunfire and explosions boomed in the small space. Chris didn’t notice as she slipped past him and out the apartment door. Down the hall, she smacked the elevator call button with a quick prayer that her dad wouldn’t be back for a while. In the mirrored wall of the elevator, she smoothed her hair and wiped a smudge of mascara from beneath her eye.

  Ugh. Why hadn’t she stopped in the bathroom to check her makeup?

  The elevator binged and opened at the lobby floor. Haley hung a quick left, breezed past the security guard, and strode for the Twentieth Street exit. She squinted through the glass door, but she didn’t see him.

  “Excuse me.”

  She startled. A gray-haired man about her dad’s age stood behind her. He smiled and nodded toward the door. Haley stepped away from the door so he could exit. “Sorry.”

  Cool air rushed in as he left. The door closed with the soft sucking sound of the rubber weather seal. Cupping her hand over her eyes against the brighter light inside, she squinted at the dark street. Where was Brandon? She opened the door a few inches and called his name through the crack.

  Nothing.

  She pushed the door wider and stepped through the opening. Guilt and her father’s words nagged at her. She’d only be outside for a minute. On the sidewalk, she shivered. It had been warm when she was out this afternoon. Now that the sun had disappeared, the air had turned cold.

  She hugged her arms. “Brandon?”

  The street was dark, the glow from streetlights obscured by trees and buildings and signs. She took a few more steps. “Brandon?” If he didn’t come out in two more seconds…

  A figure in a hoodie stepped out from under a tree.

  She beamed at him. “There you are.”

  Her face froze. It wasn’t Brandon. A chill sprinted through her veins. He sprang toward her. Hoping to startle him, as she turned away she lifted her phone and pressed the camera button, but the flash had no effect. Her boots dug into the pavement. She lunged for the building. Too late. Pain burst through her head. Her phone clattered across the pavement, and the world went black.

  Haley’s stomach heaved at the memory.

  What had she done?

  She breathed through her nose and willed her gut to settle. Vomit would not improve the air under her mask.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  It hadn’t been Brandon messaging her. It had been the man who was waiting for her in the dark, and she’d walked right to him.

  Tears burned her eyes. Visions of her parents and the mean things she’d said to them over the past few days played out in her head, an endless loop of selfishness. Would her angry, hateful words be their last memory of her?

  Fresh sickness swept over her. She was going to die.

  She tried to remember her mom’s lectures. Keep calm. Think. Never give up. What would Mom do? Just because Haley was smaller and weaker didn’t mean she was completely helpless. But drugged and bound, she felt pretty defenseless.

  The car stopped, and Haley held her breath.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Luke tamped down his spinning thoughts and focused on the computer screen. The best way for him to find Brooke was to figure out who had taken her. The only clues to her disappearance were her cell phone, the tire tracks by the garage, and the Internet trail of two teenagers. Mike was scrolling through Brooke’s phone, and two police officers were outside casting the tire tracks. That left the Internet for Luke.

  Mike gestured with Brooke’s phone. “The call that Brooke received at 9:03 p.m. came from an unregistered cell phone.”

  Luke ripped his attention from his laptop. “Unregistered meaning a disposable cell?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you can’t trace the call.” Which was not a surprise.

  “Right.” Mike set the phone down. “Do you have anything?”

  “I’ve gone through dozens of profiles connected to both Natalie and Maddie. But this one raises the most suspicion. Jeremy Brent, age nineteen, graduated from Coopersfield High School last year.” Luke switched to his Internet browser, where he’d loaded the profile. “His account has all the earmarks of a fake profile. There’s only one photo of him, and zero mention of any family members. None of his online friends seem to know him. There are too many “Thanks for the friendship. Do I know you?” comments on his page. He doesn’t post updates, except for the initial activity when he set up his page. He almost exclusively interacts with young women.”

  “Any evidence of cyber-stalking?”

  “No,” Luke admitted. “This is more cyber-lurking.”

  Mike frowned. “Maddie didn’t receive any harassing e-mails or online requests for personal information. If this guy is following her through social media, he got her address somewhere else.”

  Luke shrugged. “Frankly, both Maddie and Natalie gave out so much personal information, he wouldn’t have to dig very deep. They both publically listed their places of employment. Hell, Maddie “checked in” at dozens of locations all over town. Anyone could have found her. All a predator would need to do is read her posts. Until she was attacked, I could tell you exactly where she was at almost any given time.”

  “Nothing illegal about reading public posts.”

  “No.” Luke rubbed his forehead. “But I hacked into the Coopersfield High School alumni site.”

  Mike’s mouth flattened to razor blade thin. “Officially, I didn’t hear that, but go on.”

  “I can’t find any record of him ever attending the school. I found a number of Jeremy Brents via Google, but none are in this area. You might not want to officially hear the rest of this either.” Luke pointed at the screen. “The next site I hacked was one of his social media sites to obtain the IP, or Internet protocol, address his computer was using when he interacted with these girls.”

  The chief pinched the bridge of his crooked nose. “But that won’t give us his actual physical address.”

  “That’s right. The IP address is the numerical code that identifies a particular computer on the Internet. IP addresses are assigned by the Internet Service Provider. For most people, that’s their cable or phone company.”

  Mike slapped the table. The phone jumped. “Shit. Getting his physical address from them will take a court order.”

  Luke went back to his keyboard. “You can wait for a court order. I’m going right to the source.”

  “You can hack into it?” Mike leaned closer, his interest and gaze narrowing.

  “Actually, that’s what I do for a living. I’m an ethical hacker. The first thing I do with every new client is hack their system and find out where they’re vulnerable. Then I figure out how to protect their system and sell them our company’s services. With fraud and identity theft so prevalent, client data security is a vital part of any business.”

  “Illegally obtained evidence won’t be admissible in court.”

  “Admissibility won’t mean much if we don’t find her fast. She’ll be dead.” Luke’s gut clenched as images of Sherry flashed through his mind. He couldn’t fail Brooke the way he’d failed his assistant. “By the time you get a court order, it’ll be too late for Brooke.”

  Brooke’s phone buzzed. Mike looked at the display then at Luke. “Do you know who Ian is?”

  “Her ex-husband.” Luke’s stomach steamrolled at the thought of telling Chris and Haley—and Wade—that Brooke was missing.

  Mike answered the call and identified himself. His grim expression went grimmer. He took the phone into the dining room. Luke turned back to his computer. Mike came back into the room. His body leaned heavily into his crutches as if the news he’d received had taken a toll.

  Luke’s fingers froze. “What is it?”

  The chief’s jaw sawed. “Brooke’s daughter disappeared.”

  “She’s two hours away from here. We took her to Ian’s to keep her safe.”

 
“The Philadelphia police haven’t confirmed any foul play yet. Brooke’s ex ran to his office. He left the kids in his apartment. When he came back, Haley was gone. His son was playing video games. Chris thought Haley was still in her room. Building security saw her walking through the lobby a few hours ago. She was headed toward a rear exit.” Mike started toward the door. “Philadelphia police have issued an alert for Haley, and we have every cop in the county looking for Brooke. Why don’t you come back to the station? Jack is fielding calls there now.”

  “I can’t stop in the middle of this.” Luke pinned his attention back on his computer.

  Mike gave him a pointed look. “Let me know as soon as you have the address.”

  “I’ll call it in as an anonymous tip.”

  The stale air stank of carpet, rubber, and fear. Curled on her side, Brooke shivered. A piece of plastic sheeting crinkled beneath her. No doubt to prevent trace evidence from being transferred to the vehicle. Brooke combed through her hair for a few long strands. She tucked them in the rear of the trunk, beneath the sheeting.

  A midsize sedan equaled a midsize trunk. She had a few inches of space around her body to maneuver. In the dark, she searched for an emergency trunk-release lever. The car looked fairly new, so it should have a glow-in-the-dark release of some sort. She didn’t see anything. But then, if a man made a habit out of putting women into his trunk, he’d likely removed the mechanism to open it from the inside.

  Where was the compartment that contained the tire changing tools? Wiggling until her back was wedged into the rear of the trunk, she pushed the plastic back and felt for the carpet edges. Her hand slid underneath and found the compartment lid. Her fingers pried it up. She stuck a hand inside and felt the hard rubber of the spare tire, but the well around it was empty. No tire iron. No jack.

  Disappointment washed through her, and hope slid from her grasp like a handful of rain.

  Jack was right. This guy was a pro. He’d planned this down to the smallest detail.

  If she lived in a city, she could have pushed or kicked out the plastic taillight covering. She could have stuck her hand out and signaled to a passing motorist for help. But most of Westbury was rural. There was a good chance there wouldn’t be a car in sight to help her. And she couldn’t take the chance that her daughter would die because of her trick.

  All of her training was based on self-preservation, but Brooke’s one and only concern was her daughter. How could she protect Haley if they were separated? Was her daughter still in the car? Was she still alive? Brooke shut down that line of thought. She couldn’t function if she even considered that possibility.

  The car lurched to a stop.

  In the darkness, she tensed, waiting. Were they at a stop sign? Over the sound of her own labored breathing, she heard a muffled rumble and a metallic squeal. Garage door? The car rolled forward. Metal groaned and slammed. A car door opened. The vehicle rocked gently as the driver got out. Another door opened.

  Haley.

  He was getting her out of the back seat. Tears slid down Brooke’s cheeks. Helplessness and horror gripped her insides and squeezed. She held her breath and strained her ears for more sounds. What was he doing?

  The car rocked. There was a scuffle and a slap. “You bitch!”

  Brooke’s chest compressed as if the vehicle was parked on it. Then everything went quiet, except for her heartbeat thudding in her ears and the labored sound of her next painful inhale. She repositioned herself so her feet were between her and him. If he leaned over, a solid kick to the face or head could knock him out.

  Brooke pulled her right knee to her chest. Shoes scraped on concrete, and the trunk sprung open.

  Luke stared at the screen. Every drop of blood in his body turned to ice water. He grabbed the phone and dialed Mike. As soon as the chief answered, Luke gave him the name and Westbury address of the account holder.

  Mike was silent for two long seconds. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, shit.” Luke gave the police chief extra points for not wasting time with a round of I-don’t-believe-its.

  Luke plugged the address into his GPS. Christ, it was only four miles from Brooke’s house. The bastard could’ve walked over any time.

  “Luke.” Mike’s voice went stern. “Don’t go out there. He’ll be armed.”

  So will I. And Luke was closer. “Since I got all this information illegally, an anonymous tip will be coming in as soon as we hang up.”

  Commotion sounded over the connection.

  “Wait,” Mike yelled. “I just got word that Haley’s phone was found. She managed to snap a blurry picture of her kidnapper as he grabbed her. Cars are on the way to his residence now.”

  Luke ended the call and collected Brooke’s shotgun from the den. Still loaded. Upstairs, he went into her closet, opened her gun safe, and filled his pockets with shells. His jeans were dark enough, but he tugged a black hooded sweatshirt over his light-colored T. In the car, he set the shotgun on the passenger seat.

  Luke was no hero. If the police got there first, great. But if not, Luke wasn’t waiting. He’d already failed to keep Brooke safe from this monster. He’d save her or die trying. Otherwise, he doubted he could live with himself. Even ten seconds could mean the difference between life and death.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Luke killed the lights as the GPS told him he was approaching the address. The last house he’d passed had been nearly two miles back. A yellow glow appeared ahead. He pulled his car onto the shoulder and stared at the ordinary house fifty yards away. Two stories, two-car attached garage. What, no picket fence?

  He double-checked the address. This was it.

  Luke turned off the interior dome light before slipping out of the car. The shotgun was a welcome weight in his hands as he started across the grass.

  Brooke blinked in the harsh light of the garage’s bare bulb.

  He was standing well back, away from any chance of her catching him with a kick. An unconscious Haley was draped over his right shoulder. His arm wrapped around her legs to hold her in place. His sleeve was pushed up, revealing a bruised and swollen wrist.

  Her vision cleared, and shock shut down her brain.

  “Out.” Through a blood-smeared face, Officer Kent’s mouth spread in an evil, “Heeere’s Johnny” smile.

  Kent? How could it be?

  “You look surprised.”

  Brooke spit out a single word. “Why?”

  “Why?” Kent sneered. “That’s a stupid question.”

  Brooke sat up, pins and needles shooting through her limbs. “Why my daughter?”

  “Because she’s yours. She needs to learn some manners.” He wiped blood from his face with the back of his hand, and then raised his handgun awkwardly over his shoulder with his left hand. He pressed the muzzle into Haley’s lower back. “And so do you.”

  Brooke climbed out of the trunk. Her stiff, freezing legs protested. She put a hand on the vehicle to steady her balance.

  “Turn around and walk.” Kent nodded toward an interior door.

  On trembling legs, Brooke stumbled across the cement slab and went into the house. The decor was shockingly normal.

  “Keep moving.”

  A tidy kitchen opened to a living room outfitted with comfortable furniture and a flat-screen TV.

  “The basement door is just ahead.”

  Brooke had a feeling the cellar wouldn’t be so ordinary. She opened the door. Wooden stairs descended into darkness. A killer’s dungeon. A strange detachment spread through her. This was it. Time was running out.

  “Light switch is on the right.”

  She flipped it and illuminated the end of the staircase. Nothing was visible but concrete.

  “Downstairs. Now.”

  Her sneakers made little sound on the wood treads. He stayed several steps above her, well out of reach of a back kick. She stepped down. A wall divided the room. In the center was a door. This half of the space contained a washer, dryer, some shelving, and
a weight bench. Perfectly normal basement equipment.

  “Step to the side. Over by the laundry basket.”

  Brooke moved five steps to the right. He opened the door with a key and turned on the lights. She needed him to put Haley down and lower the gun, just for a few seconds. Kent had injured his right wrist. She was pretty sure that was his dominant hand. His coordination seemed off. The injury just might give her a chance.

  He backed away. “You first.”

  She walked through the opening.

  He dumped Haley on a worktable. Equal parts fear and fury pulsed through Brooke’s head. She could barely think. Haley was unconscious. Brooke squinted. Haley’s chest rose and fell much too slowly. Terror spread through her belly in a heavy wave. “What did you give her?”

  “Just a little Special K to make her more cooperative,” he said. “She must weigh less than I estimated.”

  Special K, also known as ketamine, was a veterinary anesthetic and date rape drug. An overdose could cause respiratory depression or central nervous system damage.

  The worktable was fitted with chains and other restraints. The skin of Haley’s forehead was red and smeared with blood. But Brooke could see no break in the skin. She glanced back at Kent.

  He wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve. Rage glittered in his eyes, the blue going cold and dead as a shark’s. Haley had broken his nose with a head butt.

  Haley’s hands were bound in front of her body. One handed, he lifted her arms over her head. They flopped, limp and pale as dead fish, onto the table. He secured her binds to the table with a pair of handcuffs, his movements slowed by the use of his non-dominant hand. “There, now she isn’t going anywhere.”

  He turned his focus to Brooke.

  She was only going to get one shot at him. One debilitating blow or she and Haley were both dead. He walked closer.

  Brooke clasped her bound hands together in front of her face, as if she were begging. “Please. Please don’t hurt my daughter. I’ll do whatever you say.”