Appalachian Abduction. Debbie Herbert

don’t have replacement hardware, but I can nail up this door and make do for tonight. That is, if you still want to stay here?”

      “You’ll let me stay?” Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

      “For now. Unless your safety becomes compromised. First thing in the morning, we’ll—”

      “We? I don’t need you to stay with me.”

      “You think I’d leave you alone out here?” He might be reluctant to get involved with people, but he always did the right thing. Or tried to. “As I was saying, at dawn, we’ll get my four-wheeler, and you can show me where you were shot at.”

      She slowly nodded. “Like I said, I don’t need your protection, but it’s your cabin, after all. As far as returning to that place, it’s a needle-in-a-haystack possibility, but if we can find those shell casings, it could be important down the road.”

      He set to work, quickly repairing the door. Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen with the cooler and put the water bottles in the fridge. The only thing edible in the refrigerator was a jar of peanut butter, and so James set the crackers and peanut butter on the table with two paper plates and a roll of paper towels.

      “Dinner’s served,” he announced. “Basic protein and carbs.”

      Charlotte took a seat. “I’m used to it. If we want to get really fancy, there are some granola bars and apples and such in my—I mean your—bedroom.”

      She started to rise, but he motioned her to stop. “I’ll get them.”

      It wasn’t fried chicken, but her contribution would add a little variety to the meal. In the bedroom, a plastic crate against the back wall was stuffed with dried foods. He lifted it, ready to carry it to the kitchen, when he spotted the laptop on her mattress. Stifling a twinge of guilt—there was a missing girl in danger, after all—he hit the space bar, hoping she hadn’t properly shut it down earlier.

      The screen lit and filled with images of scantily clad young girls. And by young, he noted that most didn’t even appear to be sixteen years old.

      “For the discerning customer,” he read.

      James closed the computer, lips curled in disgust. What possible connection did it have to Lavender Mountain? This was no simple kidnapping.

      Charlotte’s soft voice drifted down the hallway as he made his way back. “I’m doing everything I can, Tanya. I promise I won’t stop until I find her.” A slight pause, and then, “We’ll get her back. I know it’s killing you, but remember to let me call you. Not the other way around. Okay?”

      As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Charlotte spun around, cell phone at her ear, as James entered the room. “Gotta go, hon. Later.”

      “Sounds like this case is personal,” he observed, taking a seat across from her. “Who’s Tanya?”

      Charlotte laid the phone down and sighed. “Why do I have the feeling you’re going to pry every last detail from me?”

      “Because I am,” he said with a grin, spreading peanut butter on a cracker. But his amusement faded at the memory of the computer photos. “Is Tanya the mother of the missing Jenny?”

      “Yes. And my best friend.” Charlotte pushed away her plate. “You see why I can’t quit, don’t you? I mean, wouldn’t you do the same for your best friend?”

      He flashed back to that night in Bagram when he’d awakened in the barracks and realized the cot beside him was empty. He’d waited, figuring Steve might be in the bathroom, but the minutes had ticked by, and he knew something was wrong. Against orders, he’d sneaked out of the barracks and searched the compound until he’d found Steve—huddled behind the garbage dump, holding a gun next to his head.

      It still haunted James. Another minute and his friend would have committed suicide. He’d carefully taken Steve’s gun away and escorted him to the infirmary. To hell with alerting the sergeant first and following protocol for a missing soldier. He’d known in his gut that Steve was in danger. “You’re not the only one with a black mark on your record,” he admitted. “I understand that sometimes—”

      A shot rang out.

      James froze, his breathing labored. Had he imagined the sound? No, Charlotte’s hands gripped the edges of the table—she’d heard it, too. This was real and in the here-and-now.

      “They’ve found us,” she whispered.