tinge of orange on the horizon. It would be dark soon.
“Cole!” A worried-looking John Brennan stood waving behind the police barricade. “You ready to go, man?”
Cole stepped forward, then caught sight of the detective. The urgency rose up once again. Signaling for his cousin to wait, he called out, “Detective Parker.”
His hands grew sweaty as the man changed directions. Too late to back out now.
“Mr. Leighton. You have some more information?” The officer’s voice remained gruff, but Cole thought he heard a hint of hope. Or was it annoyance at being disturbed? Probably the former. The annoyance would come after Parker heard what he had to say.
“Just a theory, sir.” Another deep breath. “I think the gunmen could be acting out the plot of a novel. Obsession by Warren Flint.” It sounded even more foolish out loud than it did in his head, and he had to force himself to maintain eye contact. “What if the robbery wasn’t their main purpose for being there—the girl was? I had just started reading the book when I got on the bus, and it was like Flint was there with us, writing down everything he saw.” Gray seats, two gunmen, one hostage from the front…who looked just like the cover model.
“Maybe the bus scenario was just a coincidence—maybe that’s where the similarities will end,” Cole said. “But…I don’t believe in coincidences. So I read farther, and in the book the heroine was taken hostage and dumped in a boathouse. It’s just a crazy idea, but…what if that’s where they hid her?”
Parker stared him down before saying, “Mr. Leighton, how about we talk more about this at the station. Do you need a ride?”
He willed away the mental image of being driven, handcuffed, to some psychiatric ward. Wouldn’t that look good on his résumé…. “No. Thanks.” He gestured toward John. “My cousin just got here.”
“Fine. I’m about to wrap up here. Why don’t you follow me in?”
Cole gave a short nod.
“I’ll be waiting. Hopefully this whole mess will be resolved soon.” Parker smiled, and in that smile was just a hint of wolf.
Cole walked toward John under Parker’s gaze. Maybe they’d listen. Maybe they’d be so desperate for a lead—any lead—that they’d check it out, just in case.
Or maybe they’d interview him for hours, check out everything, from his last job to his kindergarten report cards, and the hostage would die of hypothermia.
Cole jabbed his fingers into his hair, squeezed, then let go. He could be off his rocker. He could be right on. Either way, those boathouses were going to be checked. Tonight. He’d make sure of it.
Cold.
Wet.
Dark. So very dark.
Kenzie forced her eyes open, but the darkness remained, taking her breath away. She was surrounded by murky blackness below—the water lapping against her collarbone as her arms stretched up into the shadows. A whimper of fear slipped out, echoing back to her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Took a shuddering breath. Pain. Her head pulsed with it. Her arms, too. Her fingers…Had she fallen? Gotten trapped in a storm?
Where was her brother Mikey?
It came back, too suddenly. The devastating images from her ordeal, then from the past, rushed through her mind like the tornado from that day so long ago. Her brother was dead. And once again she was alone in a storm. She felt lost in the remnants of her past where darkness hovered, its thickness a cold blanket. She gulped in air as fast as she could, but it didn’t make it to her lungs. She was drowning…
No. Hyperventilating. Kenzie’s eyes slammed shut as her memory came back in a flood. She couldn’t do this in the inky blackness—couldn’t stay calm, couldn’t even think about anything but how dark it was.
Steady. Take it slow. If she could concentrate on her surroundings, maybe she could figure a way out of here. If she couldn’t—
She could. Concentrate.
They’d taken off her blindfold. Not that she could see much, but it was something, at least. Rope burned her wrists. They’d lashed her to something—metal chilled her fingertips. If she could get a grip on it, maybe she could pull herself up.
Her sore fingers flexed, then slid down the square bar. She couldn’t grip it, not the way her hands were tied together. She curled her hands around the rope instead. One. Two. Three. She pulled with her arms, kicked off with her legs. The water swirled around her navel for an instant, then back around her shoulders as she dropped with a grunt. Shivering, she stared upward, seeing the dim outline of the rope and her hands, then the outline of a small boat.
The metal was a lift. They’d dumped her in a boathouse. Why? It didn’t matter. Right now her biggest enemy was the water. It couldn’t be very deep, but how long had she been in it? Her clothing was soaked through, her arms ached and her body trembled. She had to get out. Had to get warm. Had to find a light.
She needed to do a chin-up. Hold steady. Fling her legs up and out till they hit the deck. Try to propel herself forward enough to hold her body above water. And then what?
She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. If she came to it. First she had to get her feet out of the water. A gust of wind rattled the windows, shaking her resolve. What if the water rose or a tornado ripped through?
The tremors grew stronger as she pressed her face into her extended arms, trying to block the sudden images—the ones that always came out along with storms and darkness. The one where she was trapped in the dark listening to the house turn to kindling, waiting in vain for her brother to come back for her.
She wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t, or she’d be dead. How long did it take for hypothermia to set in? It was a warm spring, but the water was still cold. So cold…
She had to get out of the water. Now.
She tightened her grip on the rope, breathed in and strained to lift her body clear of the water. Up. Up. Hold. One foot hit the underside of the deck, and she sank back down. Biting her lip against the explosion of pain in her ankle, Kenzie tried again. And again and again. The ropes cut deeper into her wrists. Her legs banged against wood and scraped against metal until tears flowed freely down her face. She couldn’t quit, but her arms were on fire. Her legs barely cleared the water.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Kenzie closed her eyes, envisioning each move. Maybe if she saw herself doing it, she’d believe it, and, believing, it would happen.
Sure. Then why didn’t she just “see” a rescuer burst through the door? Or maybe God’s hand gently scooping her up and transporting her back to her couch at home? When had believing ever worked for her?
A low rumble of thunder, then another, closer. Kenzie tried to swallow. Couldn’t. Her mouth tasted metallic. God, I don’t want to die here. In a storm, in the dark…like Mikey.
Maybe that’s why this was happening. Her punishment for putting her brother in danger. For letting him die in her place. He was the darling child, after all. The beloved son.
She opened her eyes and caught a fleeting image. Mikey. Staring at her—his own eyes unseeing and lifeless. No, just a hallucination, but still the scream came, catching in her throat, then pushing its way through. Loud, long. Ending in a gasping sob. She screamed again. Wind rattled the walls, but no one came. Another scream.
But no one heard.
FIVE
“This is unreal, man,” John said as Cole slid into the truck. “I didn’t think they were going to let you go.”
Cole caught his cousin’s sidelong glance, and his face heated. “I didn’t think you’d come back after what I told you on the way in.”
“It’s weird, but I believe you. I think.