Safe At Hawk's Landing
Rita Herron
She’s sworn to protect her students—he’s sworn to protect herCharlotte Reacher is the only witness to a human-trafficking abduction and FBI agent Lucas Hawk will have his work cut out for him keeping her safe. But is it more than just work…
She’s sworn to protect her students—he’s sworn to protect her
Charlotte Reacher found her calling teaching art therapy to teens. But when her attempt to stop a kidnapping leaves her wounded and unable to see anything beyond trauma and fear, she’s hesitant to trust the stranger who promises to keep her safe.
FBI agent Lucas Hawk knows Charlotte’s the only witness to the human-trafficking abduction that shook his Texas hometown. Determined to find the victims, he must convince her to work with him—even while resisting his growing desire for her. Every hour is critical for the kidnapped girls. And every breath Charlotte takes could be her last.
Badge of Justice
Lucas stiffened. Something was wrong.
Charlotte gasped for a breath, her fingernails digging into his palm. “Help…”
He cradled her hand between both of his, soothing her. “You’re safe now, Charlotte. You’re in the hospital and you’re safe.” But those four teenagers weren’t.
She pushed at the sheets and grabbed the bed rail with her free hand. “I…can’t see,” she whispered between choked breaths. “I can’t see you. I can’t see anything.”
Lucas’s pulse clamored. “You mean you can’t see the shooter? You were in the studio, weren’t you? Or did you and the girls hide?”
“No…I was there,” she cried, her chest heaving. “They stormed in and took them. I tried to save them, but the big one shot me and hit me in the head.”
He leaned over the bed and stroked her arm. “Charlotte, it’s okay, I know it was terrifying and you wanted to save your students. Just tell me what you saw and we can still save them.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t see. Anything.”
Safe at Hawk’s
Landing
Rita Herron
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
USA TODAY bestselling author RITA HERRON wrote her first book when she was twelve but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. Rita lives in Georgia with her family. She loves to hear from readers, so please visit her website, ritaherron.com (http://www.ritaherron.com).
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Special Agent Lucas Hawk—He will do anything to stop the human-trafficking ring targeting Texas—and to protect Charlotte Reacher, the only surviving witness to the men’s crimes.
Charlotte Reacher—Blinded by the men who kidnapped four students in her therapeutic art class, she must accept Lucas’s help and his protection in order to save the girls. But can she resist the sizzling attraction she feels for Lucas?
Evie Cranton—She shot one of her foster fathers when he tried to molest her. Could he have sold her out to the trafficking ring to get revenge?
Herman Stanley—This banker has made a fortune off swindling people out of their property—has he also been selling and buying girls into sex slavery?
Stefan Ludwig—Is he the head of the trafficking ring?
Earl Ramus—Lucas killed him to protect Charlotte. But dead men can’t talk—can they?
Geoffrey Williams—Could this city councilman be involved in the human-trafficking ring?
Louise Summerton—Her parents thought she ran away with a boy she met online. Was the meeting a setup to lure her into the hands of the trafficking ring?
To my beautiful daughter Elizabeth—who works tirelessly to help victims of domestic violence and prevent human trafficking.
So proud of you!
Love you always, Mom
Contents
Cover (#uf6eb4163-d930-5202-8ab8-6cb2e8c01e63)
Back Cover Text (#ue4077c6a-05e6-5e7b-b4c3-bbe23ff0b481)
Introduction (#u50a15621-4732-5f56-a578-4f54339b10d7)
Title Page (#u51218fb9-f939-58aa-bb78-0e5c64f0df28)
About the Author (#uad3f1b46-f678-5ed2-a790-b0fa36d9732c)
Cast of Characters (#u3fcb1035-e970-53ec-81f0-876093aa715b)
Dedication (#u0d7f71b3-a253-53eb-afd6-4a6cbce5b267)
Chapter One (#u1dbf731a-21aa-5600-a11d-9d5f564d3be8)
Chapter Two (#u7c47778c-b577-5106-9886-ce6e4c9f978c)
Chapter Three (#ue8c0739f-1e91-5b54-80e9-84cea2aa3635)
Chapter Four (#u10fdfd0a-5a01-50e5-abde-b88008ca1a8b)
Chapter Five (#ue5571570-faa9-523b-8e74-30bd01c4b17b)
Chapter Six (#u4a0a0525-0efe-5a30-9d2c-0936e2a82784)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u879bc957-ee39-5475-897c-9277cac85550)
Charlotte Reacher knew what it was like to be alone. Without a home or family.
Unwanted. Unloved.
That loneliness had inspired her to start her art program for teenage girls in Tumbleweed, Texas. This particular group of four were all foster kids and needed reassurance and love.
She strolled through the studio smiling at the girls perched behind canvases that had once been blank slates, but now were being transformed. When they’d first organized the group six weeks ago, most of them had painted drab, colorless pictures, all grays and blacks, depicting the despair in their lives.
Not every girl had a bikini body, liked makeup and glamour magazines or cheerleading.
And not every girl had parents with the money to fix her flaws.
The confident ones knew how to socialize, make friends and express themselves, while others wilted on the inside, withdrew and suffered from low self-esteem. Cruel classmates complicated the situation with teasing and bullying, and caused the girls to die a little with every mean word said.
It had been the same for her, growing up in the system. Her port-wine birthmark had drawn cruel remarks and stares, killing her own confidence.
She brushed her fingers over her cheek. Thanks to a gifted and generous plastic surgeon, who’d offered her services to needy kids when Charlotte was eleven, the skin was smooth now, the birthmark gone.
Still, the internal scars remained. These girls had scars, too. Both physical and emotional.
But here—in her studio, Expressions—everyone was free to paint or draw whatever they wanted with no judgment.
She just hoped the small town of Tumbleweed embraced the teens. So far, the locals had been nice to her. She’d made friends with Honey Granger Hawk, the developer who’d built the small house she lived in. Honey appreciated her cause and had thrown in the studio renovation for next to nothing.
Now Charlotte had a home, a friend and a business. And hopefully a family in this town and her students...
She adjusted the volume of the music playing in the background. Early on, she’d discovered that music relaxed her and the students. Now she allowed the girls to select the CDs they wanted to listen to during their sessions. Today Evie had chosen an upbeat country song.
“Ms. Charlotte, what do you think?” Fifteen-year-old Mae Lynn looked up at her with a mixture of apprehension and hope. She was shy and the most fragile of all of them, but she’d begun to warm up.
“I like the way you’ve used the colors,” Charlotte said. It was obvious the sea of blues and grays represented her changing mood swings. Who could blame her, though? The poor kid had been in and out of more than ten homes in five years.
Two girls who were horse lovers, sixteen-year-old Agnes and her fourteen-year-old sister, Adrian, chatted softly about their portrayals of a big ranch where they hoped to live one day, while thirteen-year-old Evie splashed pinks and blues and purples in a whimsical pattern. Despite the fact that she’d ended up in a group home, Evie had a perpetually positive attitude.
Hopefully, her attitude would rub off on the others.
Suddenly, the front door to the studio opened, and Charlotte glanced up, hoping to see Sally, another foster child she’d invited to the class, but instead four tall masked men dressed in black stormed in, guns raised and aimed at the girls.
Charlotte froze, mentally assessing the situation. She had to protect her students no matter what. Pulse hammering, she stepped forward, placing herself between the men and girls.
The biggest man turned the gun on her. “Don’t move.”
She stared at the snake tattoo, then noticed a bolt of lightning tattooed on his neck.
Behind her, the girls screamed. Charlotte raised her hands in a submissive gesture. “Please don’t hurt them,” she said in a choked voice. “I don’t keep much money here, but you can take it all.”
“We don’t want your money,” the shortest guy shouted. “Get on the ground.”
A sob echoed behind her, then another scream.
“I said get down!” the one who seemed to be in charge barked.
Charlotte dropped to the floor, her gaze scanning the room for something to use as a weapon, but her art supplies and brushes wouldn’t do any good against these guns. Semiautomatics. They weren’t playing around.
Her phone was inside her purse in her office, too. She didn’t have a weapon or an alarm.
Boots clicked on the wood floor as the heaviest man strode to her. With one quick grunt, he slammed the butt of the gun against her head. Stars swam in front of her eyes as the world spun. More screams rent the air, shrill and piercing.
Panic shot through Charlotte. She had to do something. If the men didn’t want money, what did they want?
“Leave us alone!” Adrian cried.
“Don’t shoot!” Agnes said shakily.
A bullet pinged off the ceiling, silencing them all.
Evie ducked behind an easel while the sisters hunched together beneath a table. Mae Lynn pushed her easel over, paint splattering, and ran for the door, but one of the men grabbed her as if she weighed nothing.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Mae Lynn cried.
Charlotte pushed to her hands and knees, desperate. “Let her go. Take me if you want, but leave these kids alone.”
A bark of sarcastic laughter, sickening in its sound, filled the air as the brute slammed the gun against her head again, then jerked her arm and flung her against the wall. Pain ricocheted through her head and shoulder and, for a second, she thought she might pass out.
Then everything happened at once.
The men charged the girls. Agnes and Adrian kicked and fought. Mae Lynn was sobbing, trying to wrestle free, while Evie scrambled toward the back room to escape, throwing chairs and paintbrushes, whatever she could grasp hold of.
The man chasing Evie tossed the table aside, then snatched her up, laughing as she flailed and fought.
One of them muttered something, but she couldn’t understand the words.
Then the men dragged the girls toward the door to the outside. Charlotte couldn’t let them get away.
Ignoring the pain in her skull, she grabbed the wall and pulled herself up, then staggered forward.
A second later, a gunshot erupted, then pain seared her shoulder where the bullet had struck. Another bullet zinged by her head and skimmed her temple, and her legs gave way.
She collapsed on the floor, blood gushing from her shoulder. “Let them go!” She crawled after them, but another bullet pinged the floor in front of her, then the intruders dragged the girls through the door.
The biggest brute stood guard, his gun releasing more ammunition across the room to keep her at bay. Bullets pierced the walls and ripped at the canvases, sending paint tubes and containers spilling to the floor.
Her blood mingled with the paint, and the two blended together, the vibrant colors fading to a dull brown. The huge man strode to her and slammed the gun against her head one more time.
A sharp pain splintered her skull, then the world turned black as he disappeared out the door.
* * *
SPECIAL AGENT LUCAS HAWK studied the photographs of the missing girls from Waco and Abilene on the white board in the task-force meeting room.
Two kidnappings, two different cities in Texas. Both by a group of masked men who’d abducted teenagers. Female teenagers.
The men’s motive hadn’t been confirmed, but Lucas suspected what they were doing, and it made him sick to his stomach.
He’d lost his own sister when she was just a kid and he’d been fifteen, and understood the agony these families must be suffering.
“There are eleven victims in Texas so far,” Special Agent Tradd Hoover stated.
So far? Implying he believed there would be more.
“At this point, none of the victims have been found. We have no real lead as to where the men are holding the girls, either.” Agent Hoover paused, his expression grim. “Or for how long.”
The sheriff from Waco raised his hand. “You don’t think they’re killing them?”
Agent Hoover shook his head. “If they were, we would have found bodies. We believe this is a highly organized human-trafficking ring. They’re bold, aggressive, and the fact that they’re abducting groups of teens implies they have orders to fill.”
“Any witnesses?” Lucas asked.
“None that have survived,” Agent Hoover said. “The kidnappers come armed and dangerous, and have taken out anyone in their path.”
The door opened, and Deputy Director Henry Fredericks stepped into the room, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “Just got a call. Another group kidnapping. Four victims.” He flicked his pointer finger toward Lucas. “Your hometown, Hawk. Your brother called it in. He wants us there. Yesterday.”
A coldness swept over Lucas. The trafficking ring had struck Tumbleweed.
For God’s sake, they’d just finally closed the book on his sister’s disappearance and death.
With four teenagers from Tumbleweed missing, the town would be in an uproar.
“You hear me, Special Agent Hawk?” the deputy director said.
Lucas jerked himself to attention and stood. “Yes, sir, I’m on my way.”
The deputy director cleared his throat. “There’s something else. This time there’s a witness. She’s been shot and needs surgery. But if she makes it, we may have caught a break and she can tell us more about these sons of bitches.”
Lucas nodded. If she knew anything, he’d find out. Then hopefully they could stop this crew before they got too far away with the teens.
The wind whistled as he stepped outside. He jogged to his car and sped from the parking lot. The deputy director had said if the witness survived. He couldn’t waste time.
He pressed Harrison’s number as he drove, tension knotting his shoulders. His brother answered on the third ring.
“I’m on my way, Harrison. The deputy director said you have a witness.”
“Hopefully,” Harrison said. “She’s unconscious now. The medics are transporting her to the hospital.”
“How seriously is she hurt?”
“Took a bullet to the shoulder, lost a lot of blood. Looks like one of the jerks beat her in the head with the butt of a semi. Could be serious.” Harrison’s voice sounded gruff. “Her name’s Charlotte Reacher, Lucas. She’s a friend of Honey’s.”
Damn. “Where did it happen?”
“In town. Charlotte’s art studio, Expressions. She does art therapy with troubled kids and adolescents.”
The injustice of the situation made his blood boil. She sounded like a good woman. She sure as hell hadn’t deserved this.
“All four of the teens were foster kids.”
Lucas’s gut clenched. Most crews slipped in quietly and worked under the radar. These bastards were practically shoving their crimes in the faces of the residents and the law.
They probably thought a small-town sheriff couldn’t handle the challenge.
Big mistake. They didn’t know his brother.
“We have to find them, Lucas,” Harrison said. “This town is having a hard time with the recent arrest of one of our own. A violent attack like this is gonna hit hard.”
His brother was right. Lucas tightened his hands around the steering wheel and pressed the accelerator.
Every second the girls were missing gave the kidnappers more time to get away.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Lucas parked in front of Expressions. Crime-scene tape had already been erected in front of the building and along the sidewalk outside, looking ominous against the soothing pale blue of the studio’s exterior.
Harrison’s deputy, Mitchell Bronson, was working to keep the growing crowd from crossing the line, but hushed whispers and worried, shocked looks floated through the group.
“I’m going to canvass the neighboring businesses and locals,” Deputy Bronson said. “Sheriff said for you to go on in.”
Lucas visually swept the street signs and posts. “Surveillance cameras?”
“Afraid not.”
Damn, that would have helped. “Be sure to ask if anyone saw the getaway vehicle,” Lucas said.
The deputy nodded and addressed the onlookers, holding his hands up to calm the crowd.
Lucas paused in the doorway to analyze the scene. The room was decorated with color palettes and paintings most likely done by students. A brightly lit sign showcasing the name sparkled in deep purple and yellow letters, at odds with the violence that had happened here today.
Worse, the room had been turned upside down in a scene that could only be described as chaotic. Tables, chairs, canvases and paint supplies were scattered across the room. Bullet holes marred the walls and canvases, as if more than one shooter had fired randomly across the space, hitting everything in sight.
Paint tubes, bottles and containers had spilled, the paint running together, converging on the light wood floors in an ugly brown smear.
Footprints in different sizes that must belong to the girls tracked the paint across the floor, indicating the victims had fought back, and that at least one of them had been dragged.
A female’s cowboy boot lay in one corner, obviously lost during the struggle. Beads from a bracelet or necklace were scattered by a bin of paint smocks.
Bloody fingerprints dotted the floor and wall.
“Here’s what I think happened,” Harrison said. “According to the schedule posted in the teacher’s office, Charlotte was conducting a class. Four students.” Harrison gestured toward the door. “Looks like the kidnappers just walked in. No sign of forced entry. Door was probably unlocked.” He pointed toward the pool of blood on the floor. “Owner of the coffee shop/bookstore next door said Charlotte was giving, kind and dedicated to her students.” Harrison ran a hand through his hair, emotion thickening his voice. “Honey would agree to that. She liked what Charlotte was doing here so much that she renovated this space for her at cost.”
Lucas clenched his hands into fists. “Have you told Honey yet?”
Harrison shook his head. “No. I’m not looking forward to it, either.”
Lucas patted his brother’s arm. “She’s strong. Tough. She can handle it.”
“I know, but I...want to protect that woman from everything bad.”
The love in Harrison’s voice twisted Lucas’s insides. The Hawk brothers had all been loners. He’d never expected Harrison to marry. Then Honey came back to town...
Harrison gestured around the room. “Charlotte obviously tried to stop the men, but judging from the number of bullet holes, they were heavily armed and opened fire. While she was down, the men snatched the teenagers and kept firing to prevent Charlotte from following. She passed out on the floor in that pool of blood. My guess is they thought she was hit in the chest and would bleed to death.”
Lucas’s stomach squeezed at the sight of the bloody fingerprints where the woman had crawled to the door. Even injured, she’d tried to save the girls.
“Any specifics on the hostages?” Lucas asked.
“Not yet. We’re working on compiling that information.”
“What about Charlotte? Any family?”
“No. She was alone. That’s what drew her to Honey and these adolescents.”
Damn. Lucas didn’t know the woman, but he already admired her.
He just hoped she survived and could help them. Otherwise, the four teenagers might be lost forever.
Chapter Two (#u879bc957-ee39-5475-897c-9277cac85550)
Pain throbbed through Charlotte’s head and body. She tried to open her eyes, but a black void swirled around her and a heavy nothingness dragged her into its abyss.
Machines beeped. Low voices murmured. Metal clanged.
Where was she? What had happened?
“Got the bullet,” a man said. “Need to stop the bleeding.”
Charlotte searched her mind—she must be in surgery...but why?
A burning sensation seeped through her, followed by more darkness and quiet. Then a loud popping sound. Screams. Footsteps pounding. Her paints and canvases crashing.
Her studio, she was back there...the girls were painting, the music flowing, the door opened...
Terror seized her. Strange men stormed in. Men wearing masks. They were dressed in black.
And they had guns...
More screams. She had to save the girls...
The popping sound again. The bullet pierced her. Her head throbbed, colors bleeding together, fading.
Quiet again. Blissful quiet. Except for the voices. Someone touching her. A gentle hand.
“You’re going to make it, Ms. Reacher,” a woman said. “Just rest now.”
Rest? The world twirled, nausea flooded her, then that slow burn again. She tried to move, but her limbs were heavy. Weighted. Something was attached to her arm. An IV.
“The police want to talk to you, but they’ll have to wait. Sleep now.”
Sleep? Rest? How could she? There was something she had to do. Something important.
The screams echoed in her head again. Her students...they needed her.
Terror and despair flooded her. Adrian, Agnes, Mae Lynn...sweet Evie...they were crying, sobbing, begging for help.
* * *
LUCAS PACED THE waiting room, anxious to talk to Charlotte Reacher.
Meanwhile, he phoned Tradd Hoover.
“The art teacher is still in surgery,” he told Tradd. “The studio where the attack happened looked like a war zone. Bullet holes everywhere. My brother, Sheriff Harrison Hawk, is supervising the crime-scene unit.”
“All four girls were foster kids?”
“That’s right.”
“That sucks,” Tradd said. “As if their lives haven’t already been hard enough.” Tradd made a clicking sound with his teeth. “In the other two instances, the kidnappers didn’t leave a witness behind. First abduction took place at a dance camp. Shot the teacher in the back before she even saw what was coming. More bullets were lodged in the floor near the ballet bar where the girls stretched. Five girls were taken, ages twelve to fourteen.”
Good God. Twelve years old? She was just a baby. Innocent. A girl with no idea what the men had in store for her.
“Second attack was outside a Waco high school. Men snuck up on the cheerleading squad as they were walking to their cars after practice. This time they lay in waiting, snatched them one by one. No casualties. Science teacher was leaving about that time and saw the last of the six girls tossed into the back of a black van. Tinted windows. No tag. Driver raced away just as another girl ran around the corner. She was in the bathroom changing or she would have been taken, too.”
“Did she see any of the men well enough to make an ID?”
“Afraid not. She was pretty shook up. Said all she saw was a man’s back and the gun he was holding to her friend’s head.”
“You think we’re dealing with the same men or factions of a larger trafficking ring?”
“Hard to say at this point. Unfortunately there weren’t any surveillance cameras at the dance camp. There were two in the high-school parking lot, but the assailants shot them out.”
Of course they did. “None at the art studio, either,” Lucas said. Although he’d advise Ms. Reacher to install a security system if she reopened the studio. “How are the families holding up?”
“About like you’d expect,” Tradd said. “They’ve seen enough TV and news stories to speculate on what’s happening. None of it’s pretty.”
No, it wasn’t. Most likely they were being drugged and held somewhere until they could ship them out of the country or to perspective buyers. They probably had clients waiting.
His stomach knotted. Too many depraved people in the world, and men who’d pay for sex.
The girls who didn’t go to a buyer would suffer an equally harsh or worse fate. They’d be put in brothels, forced to work as prostitutes. Treated inhumanely. Beaten. Raped. Sometimes drugged, chained in a room so they couldn’t escape.
“Email me the files, crime-scene photos, information on the victims so I can compare.” Not that he thought the victims or their families had anything to do with this. This read like a professional hit. The ring targeted random groups that were vulnerable, easily accessible and fit a certain type and age range.
Otherwise, they would have also taken Charlotte Reacher.
Instead, they’d left her for dead.
* * *
THE GIRLS WERE SCREAMING. They needed her. She had to help them. Stop the bad men...
Charlotte blinked and tried to open her eyes, but she was so sleepy she couldn’t force them open. A few minutes ago, she’d heard someone talking. The nurse, she said her name was Haley. They were moving her to a room.
She’d been shot. Had a head injury. Had undergone surgery.
She was lucky, Haley said. She was alive.
But what about Evie, Adrian and Agnes, and Mae Lynn?
Tears seeped from her aching eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
A warm hand touched hers. Slid over it and squeezed.
She tensed, then realized it felt good. Comforting.
And she was cold. So cold inside...she shivered.
“Charlotte, my name is Special Agent Lucas Hawk.”
A man’s voice. Gruff. Almost tender. Another squeeze of her hand and she realized the hand belonged to the man speaking.
“I know you’ve been through hell today and you’re exhausted, but I need to talk to you. Need to ask you some questions.”
She blinked, wanting to see his face, but her eyelids slid closed again. The medication must be weighing her down, drawing her back to the darkness. She wanted to stay there, to be numb and forget, to silence the screams.
“I promise you I won’t stay long, but you were shot by some men who came into your art studio. They forced the students in your class to go with them.”
Her lungs squeezed for air. She suddenly couldn’t breathe. She clawed at the bedding, gasping. A machine beeped. Footsteps clattered, then a woman’s stern voice said:
“Sir, you’re upsetting her. You have to leave.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said in a gruff tone. “I won’t stay long, but we need her help. The men who shot her kidnapped four teenagers. Time is of the essence. The kidnappers might be moving the girls out of the country as we speak.”
The woman mumbled something Charlotte couldn’t understand, but the agent’s words taunted her.
She had to do what she could to help find her students.
She moaned and reached for his hand. He took it and stroked her palm. The contact gave her hope, and she forced her eyes open.
But the room was dark. Completely dark.
“I need you to tell me anything you remember,” Special Agent Lucas Hawk said. “Even the smallest details might help—”
His words became garbled as panic seized Charlotte. She blinked furiously, but a cloudy haze of gray and black shrouded her vision. She couldn’t see his face.
Couldn’t see anything but an ominous black.
* * *
LUCAS STIFFENED. Something was wrong.
Charlotte gasped for a breath, her fingernails digging into his palm. “Help...”
He cradled her hand between both of his, tried to soothe her. “You’re safe now, Charlotte. You’re in the hospital and you’re going to be okay.” But those four teenagers weren’t.
Dear God, he hated to push her, but they had to act quickly. The men could be halfway across the state by now.
She pushed at the sheets and grabbed the bed rail with her free hand. “I...can’t see,” she whispered between choked breaths. “I can’t see you. I can’t see anything.”
Lucas’s pulse clamored. “You mean you can’t see the shooter? You were in the studio, weren’t you? Or did you and the girls hide?”
“No... I was there,” she cried, her chest heaving. “They stormed in and took them. I tried to save them, but the big one shot me and hit me in the head.”
She jerked her hand from his and pressed it to her temple. She winced when she discovered the bandage. Her forehead was bruised and discolored, a knot at her hairline, and she had five stitches.
He leaned over the bed and stroked her arm. “Charlotte, it’s okay, I know it was terrifying and you wanted to save your students. Just tell me what you saw and we can still save them.”
A sob escaped her, painful and heartbreaking. “I couldn’t stop them. I tried to.”
“Shh, I know you did. I saw the studio, bullets were everywhere.”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, then stared up at him with terror-glazed eyes. “I did try, but I failed and they’re gone.”
“I’m sorry, that’s why I’m here. I need your help, though.”
“But I can’t see,” she cried again. “I can’t see anything.”
“You mean you didn’t get a good look at the men?”
She shook her head wildly. “No, I mean my vision is gone. I can’t see you or anything in the room.”
A cold chill swept over him. She’d suffered a head injury. The doctor hadn’t mentioned anything about her eyes, but it was possible...
“I’ll get help.” He rushed from the room and spotted the nurse. “Get the doctor. Now.”
His commanding tone made the woman’s eyes widen, then she raced to the nurses station. A second later, a page sounded over the intercom, then she hurried back toward him. He met her in the doorway.
Her disapproving look speared him. “I told you not to upset her.”
“It wasn’t me,” Lucas said between gritted teeth. “She says she lost her vision.”
Alarm flashed on the nurse’s face, and she rushed into the room. Charlotte was lying so still that it sent a bolt of fear through him.
The nurse gently touched Charlotte’s arm. “It’s Haley, your nurse, Ms. Reacher. The doctor is on his way.”
Charlotte turned her head toward the nurse, but the glazed expression in her eyes remained.
Then silent tears began to slide down her cheeks.
* * *
THE VAN THE men had put them in bounced over the ruts in the road and threw Evie against the side of the interior.
She bit back a groan of pain, blinked to stem the dizziness then wrestled with the zip ties around her wrists, but they wouldn’t budge. Hands bound behind their backs, Adrian and Agnes were curled together in the dark corner. Agnes was sobbing while Adrian talked in low whispers to comfort her. Mae Lynn was lying on her side, her eyes glazed in shock.
When those nasty men had thrown them in the van, Mae Lynn had been screaming. One of them had jammed a gun in her face and threatened to kill her. Mae Lynn had gone quiet and hadn’t moved or spoken since.
Terror gripped Evie’s chest in a vise, squeezing her lungs. Ms. Charlotte had been shot. Was she dead?
Tears crowded her throat. No... She couldn’t be. Ms. Charlotte was the only person in the world who cared about them. She helped Evie see that she might have a future. That bright colors and light existed. That she could paint beautiful pictures and express herself through art.
And that she was beautiful even though no family had wanted her as their child.
Agnes’s sobs bounced off the dark walls of the van, drawing Evie back to the situation. She had to stay tough. Do something to get them out of here.
But what?
There were four men, and they were all huge. She barely weighed ninety pounds.
And they had guns.
If she could grab one of those guns, she might be able to force them to release her and the others.
She knew how to shoot. That, she’d learned early on.
Everyone thought she was a weakling. But they were wrong.
She’d survived one foster home after another because she studied people. She didn’t know what these men wanted with them, but she had an idea.
A shudder coursed through her, and she squashed the thought.
She’d wait for the right moment, then she’d grab one of their guns. No one knew it, but she’d shot a man once. Foster daddy number five.
She’d had to, or be his bitch. That’s what he’d called it when he took the other fosters to bed.
She wasn’t going to be anybody’s bitch. She’d kill whoever tried to make her into one just like she’d shot that bastard, foster five.
Chapter Three (#u879bc957-ee39-5475-897c-9277cac85550)
Lucas gritted his teeth as the nurse shoved him from the hospital room into the hallway. A doctor rushed in, and the nurse joined him, leaving Lucas watching through the small window in the door.
The nurse took Charlotte’s vitals while the doctor shined a light in Charlotte’s eyes. Silent sobs wracked the petite woman’s body, her fear palpable.
Was it possible the only witness to this damn trafficking had been blinded in the attack?
“Lucas?”
His brother’s voice dragged him from his somber thoughts.
“What happened? Is she all right?”
“I don’t know.” Lucas exhaled sharply. “She just woke up from surgery.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“I was trying to, but she got upset and the nurse made me leave.”
“She’s in shock,” Harrison said.
Lucas’s stomach knotted as the doctor tried to calm Charlotte. The nurse injected something into her IV. Probably a sedative.
Lucas folded his arms. “The head injury may have caused her to lose her vision.”
Harrison cursed. “What did the doctor say?”
“He’s examining her now,” Lucas said. “Before then she was pretty groggy. She didn’t say much except that she tried to save the girls, but the men opened fire.”
Damn, he didn’t like the picture that painted.
“I asked my deputy to notify the foster parents in person and to see if they’d noticed anyone suspicious hanging around their houses. Someone stalking the girls.”
“Good idea,” Lucas said. “Also, ask him if one of the foster parents seemed suspicious. We had a case once where a stepfather actually sold a girl for money to buy drugs.”
“Good God,” Harrison said. “What did the mother say when she found out?”
Lucas grimaced. “Hell, she was too strung out to even notice the girl was gone.” Lucas and his brothers were damn lucky to have had the family they’d grown up in. In spite of their troubles and trauma over losing Chrissy, his mother had hung in there. If only his father had...
“Find out if any of the girls had computers at their foster homes. If so, confiscate them and send them to the lab. It’s possible our kidnappers contacted the girls online. There, they can find out personal information about them, who their friends are, if they belong to a club or group, what their schedules are...”
“So they may be cyberstalking their victims, looking for groups to target?” Harrison said.
Lucas nodded. “Social media has opened up a new hunting ground for predators. People pretending to be someone they aren’t. Scam artists. Pedophiles.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
The doctor walked to the door, his expression concerned.
“How is she, Doctor?” Lucas asked.
The older man narrowed his eyes. “Are you family?”
“No.” Lucas flashed his FBI credentials and Harrison indicated his sheriff’s badge. “We’re investigating the shooting that put Ms. Reacher in here,” Lucas said.
Harrison cleared his throat. “We’re also trying to find the four girls abducted from Ms. Reacher’s studio. If she saw something, it’s imperative we speak to her ASAP.”
The doctor ran a hand through his thick gray hair. “I understand the situation, but under the circumstances, my patient needs rest. We have to run tests to determine the extent of her injuries. I’m calling in a specialist, ordering a CAT scan, MRI and full neurological.”
Lucas glanced through the window and saw Charlotte roll over in the bed to face the door. Compassion for her filled him. She’d obviously been traumatized and needed time to heal.
But every minute that passed meant the trafficking ring could be getting farther and farther away from Tumbleweed. And that any chance of rescuing Charlotte’s students would be lost.
* * *
CHARLOTTE FOUGHT DESPAIR as she lay in the dark. She needed to do something to help find her students, but she was so groggy from the medication they’d pumped through her that she could barely function.
The doctor said her blindness could be temporary.
Which meant it could also be permanent.
No, she had to hold out hope that she would see again. Even if she didn’t, she had to pull herself together and talk to that FBI agent. He wanted to find Evie and Mae Lynn and Agnes and Adrian.
She needed his help to do it more than she’d ever needed anyone in her life.
She hated being needy.
But the girls’ lives depended on her swallowing her pride, not wallowing in self-pity and fear.
Still, she was so tired she drifted to sleep. Sometime later, she woke up and realized she was in the midst of an MRI. She drifted in and out of consciousness through that procedure and the CAT scan, but couldn’t keep her eyes open as they wheeled her down the hall.
The nightmares of the day plagued her. The bullets pinging off the floor and wall around her. The girls’ terrified screams...
That group was the closest thing to family she’d had in a long time.
She had to fight her way back so she could find them. If she didn’t, she’d never forgive herself.
* * *
WHILE LUCAS AND Harrison waited on Charlotte to undergo tests, Lucas brought Harrison up-to-date on the abductions in Abilene and Waco.
“Sounds like the same group,” Harrison said. “Were the other victims foster kids?”
“No,” Lucas said. “One case involved dance students at a ballet camp, the other, cheerleaders from a high school. The ballet instructor was shot and died instantly. No witnesses. Girls at the ballet camp were from various parts of Texas.”
“So these guys aren’t targeting a specific type, just females between the ages of twelve and eighteen.”
Lucas nodded.
“Sick,” Harrison muttered.
“Definitely,” Lucas agreed. “Human trafficking is a widespread problem and has touched every major city in the US.” Although Tumbleweed was just a small town...
Harrison spread pictures of the missing girls on the table in the waiting room. “These photographs correspond with the names of the girls in the class scheduled at that time, but we should confirm with Charlotte that they were in fact the ones abducted.”
Lucas’s heart hammered as he studied the pictures. All young and vulnerable, mere teens.
Prime targets for predators.
Lucas noticed the nurse slip Charlotte back into her room. He walked over and peered through the window again. Charlotte was agitated, waving her hands.
The nurse rushed to the door, and Lucas braced himself for her to tell him to leave her alone. Instead, she motioned for him to come in.
“She wants to see you. I told her she should rest, but she insists it’s important.”
Lucas’s pulse jumped. Maybe she had a clue to help them find these bastards.
* * *
CHARLOTTE WAS SO exhausted that all she wanted to do was fade back into sleep and forget the horror that had happened today. Forget that four of her students were missing, and that she was blind.
The doctor said she needed time for the swelling to go down. The possibility she might need surgery existed, but they wouldn’t discuss that yet.
Footsteps sounded and the door to her room squeaked shut. Her lungs tightened.
“Haley? Doctor?”
“No, Charlotte, it’s me. Agent Lucas Hawk, Harrison’s brother.” The footsteps again, soft, as if he was controlling the sound, working to be quiet. “But you can call me Lucas.”
Call him Lucas? She didn’t even know him. Although she’d seen pictures of all the Hawk men, and Lucas was the most virile, handsome one of the bunch. He was also the most intimidating.
But his gruff voice was soothing, caring...almost sensual.
She thumbed her hand through her hair, self-conscious when what her fingers connected with was sticky, matted. Blood from her head wound must have soaked the strands. She probably looked a mess.
Not that she should care. But she had the sudden urge to see herself in a mirror, to know just how deep the injury was. To know if she’d have a bad scar.
A dark chuckle bubbled in her chest as she realized she might never be able to look in a mirror again.
Footsteps again, then the scent of the agent’s masculine aftershave wafted toward her. A musky odor that was pleasant, sensual, like his voice.
“You told the nurse that you wanted to see me? That it was important.” He paused. “What is it, Charlotte?”
“I’m sorry about earlier,” she whispered.
His hand gently brushed her shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal today. I hate to bother you, but the longer we wait, the more time it gives these bastards to escape.”
“I know,” Charlotte said, battling tears. “They could be out of the country. We can’t let that happen.”
“No, we can’t,” Lucas said. “Can you tell me the names of the girls they abducted?”
Charlotte twisted the sheets in her hands. “Evie, she’s thirteen. Mae Lynn is fifteen. Agnes and Adrian are sisters. Agnes is sixteen and Adrian fourteen.” Her voice cracked with emotion.
“All right,” he said quietly. “Just take your time and describe what happened. What you saw and heard.”
Charlotte sniffed. “We were in the middle of class. I should have had the door locked.” Guilt sucker punched her. “But it was midafternoon so I thought we were safe.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. This was not your fault. Tumbleweed is a small town. Most businesses don’t lock their doors during work hours,” Lucas said.
Charlotte latched on to his words. “But if I had—”
“Stop,” the agent said more firmly. “Again, it wasn’t your fault. Playing the what-if game won’t help. Let’s just focus on what the men looked like, anything they said. There were four of them?”
She stiffened. “How did you know that?”
“Because we believe they’re the same group who struck in Abilene and Waco. Could be different hired men, but connected.”
The implications he suggested sank in. “It’s an organized group?”
“Yes, they’re professionals,” Lucas said. “Four armed and masked men strike, and kidnap teenage girls. So far they haven’t left any witnesses behind.”
A chill of foreboding washed over Charlotte. She was lucky to have survived.
They’d probably thought she was dead.
“Can you describe any of the men?”
Charlotte swallowed back bile. The pain was making her nauseous.
He continued in a gruff voice. “Were they tall? Short? Big? Small?”
She struggled to see the men in her mind’s eye. “One was a big guy, tall, heavy, he seemed to be the leader. It happened so fast—we were painting, then the men rushed in. The leader ordered us not to move, then I realized they all had guns. I offered them money—”
“They didn’t want money,” Lucas said bluntly.
She shook her head. “The big one slammed his gun against my head. I fell and was dizzy, then the others started snatching the girls. They’re young, but they’ve been through hell and they’re tough.” Maybe that toughness would help them survive. “They screamed and fought, and tried to escape. I tried to stop them but...” Her voice trailed off, her throat clogging with tears.
“But they shot you,” Lucas said.
She nodded, swiping angrily at the tears that fell. “Then the leader hit me in the head again, and the others dragged the girls out the door. I crawled after them, but I was too late.”
* * *
THE IMAGE OF Charlotte’s bloody handprints on the floor taunted Lucas. She was a petite woman, but she’d made it to the door. Anger shot through him. He wanted to hurt these guys bad.
“You said you crawled to the door,” Lucas said. “Did you see what kind of vehicle they were driving?”
Charlotte inhaled a deep breath as if struggling to piece her memory together.
“Was it a car? An SUV? A van?”
“A van,” she whispered. “Black. Tinted windows.”
Lucas’s pulse jumped. The teacher in Waco had also mentioned a black van. “A minivan or full-size?”
“Cargo,” Charlotte said in a pained voice.
“That’s good, Charlotte. How about a license plate?”
Her brows furrowed together, the bandage on her forehead stark against her ivory skin. “I didn’t see a tag.”
“Was there any writing or a logo on the side?”
“I don’t think so.” Her face crumpled. “It happened so fast...”
“You did good, Charlotte.” Hopefully she’d remember more as time passed. “Think about the men now. Did any of them have any distinguishing marks? A mustache or goatee? Scar? Tattoo?”
This time she pressed both hands over her face and rubbed her eyes. “The big one, the leader, had a tattoo on his hand. A snake.” She paused. “His face was covered with a mask, but I think there was some kind of tattoo on his neck, too. It looked like a bolt of lightning.”
“Good work, Charlotte. These details could be helpful.”
He quickly texted the analyst at the Bureau the information. Keenan Hart was thirty, smart, and obsessive about details.
She quickly responded with a return text.
Black van reported in the Waco kidnapping. Authorities already on the look for it. Researching tattoos now.
When he looked up, Charlotte’s eyes were closing. Sensing she was about to fade again, he hurried to ask his last question. “One more thing, Charlotte.”
She moaned softly. “Hmm?”
“Did all of the men speak English or did one of them speak another language?”
She twisted her head toward him as if she could see him, but the blankness glazed her eyes again. “The leader was really the only one who talked. He spoke English.”
“Did he have an accent?”
She frowned. “I don’t think so. Why? Do you think they’re foreign?”
His gut tightened. He’d suspected Columbian or Eastern European. But without witnesses to the other kidnappings, that was a guess.
His phone beeped with a text. Harrison.
Black cargo van spotted outside Tumbleweed at an abandoned warehouse. Meet me downstairs and we’ll check it out.
Hope made Lucas’s adrenaline spike, and he placed his hand over Charlotte’s. Her hand was small and delicate, and her skin felt soft, feminine.
Thankfully, she was tougher than she looked.
“Charlotte, I may have a lead on that van. Harrison and I are going to check it out. Get some rest.”
She nodded weakly although she was already drifting asleep.
He smiled at her, then sadly realized that even if she was awake, she couldn’t see him. The thought bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
All the more reason he’d track down these sons of bitches and put them away.
Determination kicking in, he hurried to the elevator, rode to the lobby and rushed outside to meet his brother.
Harrison was talking to Honey on the phone. When he hung up, emotions clouded his face. “I broke the news to Honey. She’s going to pick up some flowers, then visit Charlotte in a little while.”
They hurried to his brother’s SUV, and Harrison sped from the hospital parking lot. “Any more word on Charlotte’s condition?”
“No. She’s trying to be strong, but she’s hurting and scared.” Lucas tensed. “Doc says the blindness might be temporary. They have to wait on the swelling to go down. That might take a while. Days. Maybe weeks.”
Harrison’s expression turned grim, and they fell into silence as his brother maneuvered through town then veered onto the road leading to Dead Man’s Bluff.
This place held bad memories for them both.
“Those warehouses have been abandoned for so long I’d forgotten about them,” Harrison said.
Lucas nodded agreement.
But they would be the perfect place to hold the girls until they could move them to the buyers.
* * *
CHARLOTTE’S SHOULDER THROBBED, the pain intensifying as images of the kidnappers flashed through her mind. They had stolen the girls she was in charge of, girls she loved. Girls she was supposed to help.
The door squeaked. Her eyes flew open, but the black nothingness filled her vision.
Then a footstep. And another. So soft that she had to lie perfectly still to hear it.
“Lucas?”
A hushed sound. Breathing. Deep breathing. But no voice.
Terror seized her. “Agent Hawk? Harrison?”
No answer.
She reached for the call button, fumbling along the bed to find it.
The acrid odor of cigarettes wafted toward her.
Dear God, the leader of the kidnappers had smelled like cigarettes.
Had he come back to kill her?
Chapter Four (#u879bc957-ee39-5475-897c-9277cac85550)
Cold fear pressed against Charlotte’s chest. Lucas said that the men who’d taken her students had struck before and had never left a witness behind.
Had one of them come here to finish the job he’d begun?
She was stone-still and held her breath, hoping whoever was in the room would think she was unconscious and leave. If not for the scent of cigarette smoke and the fact that he hadn’t said anything, she might think it was a doctor.
But doctors identified themselves.
Footsteps padded softly. Every cell in her body tensed with anticipation. Her left arm was hooked to an IV. All he had to do was inject her with a drug that would seep into her system and she’d drift into oblivion. No one would ever be the wiser.
She did not want to die.
Another footstep. The tray table made a noise as he pushed it away from her.
His breath punctuated the silence. The bed jarred as he bumped it.
She finally found the call button and pressed it, praying the nurse or a staff member would come quickly.
Her lungs ached for air. She slowly released her breath, straining not to make a sound or rustle the covers.
“Ms. Reacher,” a deep voice murmured. “Are you awake?”
She lay perfectly still, careful not to flinch or even bat an eye.
“I hate to disturb you, but my name is Gerald Ingram, I’m with the police. I need to ask you some questions about what happened at your art studio.”
He was a cop?
She slowly released a breath. But questions nagged at her. If he was investigating, why hadn’t he been with Harrison or Lucas?
In spite of her efforts at control, her breath wheezed out, shaky and rattling in the tense silence.
Being in the dark heightened her other senses. If she could see his face, she might be able to tell if he was lying or out to hurt her.
“Ms. Reacher, I know you were injured and underwent surgery, but the men who shot you kidnapped four of your students. Can you describe them?”
Tears burned the backs of her eyelids, desperate to escape. In her mind, she pictured Adrian and Agnes, and Mae Lynn and sweet Evie. What was happening to them?
If the men planned to sell them as sex slaves, hopefully they wouldn’t hurt them, at least not physically. That would mess up their product.
But the girls must be terrified.
Another nudge from the man’s hand. “Ma’am, I need a statement about what happened. Did any of the men call each other by name?”
She searched her memory. Had one of them spoken a name?
“You’re the only one who can help,” the man said again. “Please talk to me. You do want to help find those girls before something bad happens to them, don’t you?”
Anger shot through her, and she opened her eyes. Darkness. Not even a sliver of light.
“So you are awake?” he said with a hint of sarcasm to his tone. “Now, what—”
“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice echoed from across the room, and Charlotte realized the door had opened. The nurse. Finally.
“Sir, you aren’t supposed to be in here,” Haley said.
“If Ms. Reacher can identify the men who kidnapped her students, she needs to speak up.”
Rustling of clothes and footsteps sounded as Haley approached. “Ms. Reacher has cooperated with the sheriff and FBI already. She’s just undergone surgery and needs her rest.”
The man’s hand brushed hers. “Come on, Charlotte,” he said impatiently, “give me something.”
She blinked rapidly, her head throbbing with confusion, and the memory of the gunshots and girls’ cries.
A machine beeped. Her heart monitor? Blood pressure?
This time a softer hand. Haley. “It’s all right, Charlotte, it’s all right.”
“What’s wrong with her?” the man snapped. “She’s going to make it, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but you need to leave.”
“But she hasn’t told me anything,” he protested.
“And she’s not going to,” Haley said. “Now, either leave or I’ll call security.”
The man protested again.
“Now,” Haley ordered.
Emotion bubbled to the surface, threatening to spill over. Charlotte hated being in the dark, and at the mercy of others.
Footsteps again, then the door closed. Her chest heaved as she breathed out.
Then Haley was back. “I’m sorry about that.”
“He said he was a cop,” Charlotte said.
“He was no cop,” Haley said with a grunt of disgust. “That man is a reporter, and not a nice one. He’ll do anything for a story.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, grateful she hadn’t said anything to him. She’d instantly felt uneasy with him.
Not like she had with Lucas. He’d made her feel safe.
The reporter’s name replayed in her head. She vaguely recalled seeing him on the news. Haley was right.
He was ruthless. Had been known to run with a story without verifying the facts or his source. Had interviewed victims of crimes before and implied they were at fault for being victimized.
What kind of garbage would he air about her?
* * *
LUCAS SCANNED THE area as he and Harrison approached the abandoned warehouses. They were only a few miles from the cave at Dead Man’s Bluff where they’d found his sister’s body.
The gruesome image of her bones lying beside two other young girls’ skeletons would haunt him forever. The fact that she’d lain there dead for almost two decades made matters worse. All that time they’d searched for her, and struggled to hold on to hope that somehow she was alive.
But her disappearance turned out to be a tragic accident. A mentally challenged boy named Elden had wanted to make friends with Chrissy, but he hadn’t realized his strength, and he’d smothered her to death. His mother had protected him. Unfortunately, Chrissy wasn’t his only victim.
Harrison’s police SUV bounced over the rugged terrain, gravel and dirt spewing.
A row of three warehouses popped into view as Harrison steered the vehicle over a small hill. A rusted-out black cargo van sat by the building.
Except this van had been burned and only the charred shell remained.
Lucas’s pulse jumped. If the trafficking ring had brought the girls here to house them until they moved them to buyers, they might have left the girls inside.
The area looked desolate, the warehouses weathered, the steel siding dingy. The Texas sun faded to night, casting shadows across the rugged land.
“It looks deserted,” Harrison said.
“We need to check inside the spaces,” Lucas said. “You’d be shocked at some places traffickers hold women and children. Boats, storage containers, old barns, the back of cargo vans and trucks. Damn inhumane.”
Harrison’s mouth tightened as he closed the distance to the warehouses. “Hard to imagine people buying and selling children and women like they’re cattle.”
Except they might treat cattle with more care. Although if selling the girls at auction to the highest bidder was their game, they would try to preserve the girls’ physical appearance.
No visible bruising or injuries.
They’d probably use drugs to keep them under control.
Gears ground, brakes squeaking as Harrison slowed the SUV and swung to a stop. Lucas eased his car door open and slid from the seat, senses honed as he scanned the area between the warehouses.
He and Harrison both pulled their guns, and he braced for trouble as they walked past the charred van then toward the warehouses. Harrison shined a pocket flashlight across the ground.
Lucas did the same, then motioned to Harrison that he spotted tire tracks. He veered right to check the warehouse on the end, while Harrison went left. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he approached, and he paused to listen at the doorway. He expected it to be locked, but the bolt that had held it closed had been cut and sat in a pile of weeds to the side.
He leaned against the door edge and listened, hoping to hear the sound of girls’ voices, something to indicate they were inside.
But he heard nothing.
Frustration knotted his stomach as he eased the door open and aimed the light inside. The space was empty.
Dammit.
Still, he inched inside to search in case there was a room, a box, or a cage hidden in the darkened space.
* * *
CHARLOTTE FADED INTO a restless sleep and dreamed that a reporter was in the room snapping photographs of her. She woke, her pulse hammering.
Inhaling to calm her raging heart, she listened for signs the man had returned.
As a child, she’d been self-conscious of her port-wine birthmark. That image of her remained locked in her head, and reminded her that she had once been debilitated by it. No one had wanted her as their child. People had stared and made cruel remarks. Other children had been afraid that if they touched her, that stain would rub off on them.
Tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked furiously to stem them, searching for some semblance of light in the room, but blackness prevailed. Still, she ran her fingers over her cheek, remembering the pain of looking different and wondering if her face or eyes were scarred or appeared unusual.
If the morning paper or news would show her lying in bed, weak and vulnerable, the details of her sordid childhood exposed for the world to see.
Guilt and shame quickly overrode her concern—how could she possibly worry about her looks or people reading about her past when her students needed her? No telling what they were going through.
Her breathing turned erratic again, and she suddenly felt like her chest was going to explode. Pain shot through her, stifling and frightening. One of the monitors went off, the beeping more rapid with the tune of her breathing.
The door screeched open, then footsteps. “Ms. Reacher, I’m here.” Haley’s voice, soothing and calm. Her hand gently brushed Charlotte’s. “Did something happen?”
Charlotte shook her head. “A nightmare.”
“That’s understandable. You’ve been through hell,” the nurse said.
Charlotte gasped for a breath again, that tight sensation returning.
“Just try to relax, take slow even breaths.”
“What’s happening?” Charlotte asked, her voice cracking as she clawed for air.
“You’re having a panic attack,” Haley said softly. “It’s not uncommon, especially after suffering a trauma. Try to imagine yourself in a happy place.”
Charlotte nodded miserably and forced herself to do as Haley instructed. Slow breaths. Think of a happy place.
Her studio. The paints. The vibrant colors. Reds and blues and purples, shades of violet. Yellow, like the sunflowers she adored. Then pastels. The pale yellow of the moon on a cool night when she gazed at the stars. The light blue of the sky on a sunny day, of the ocean at sunset.
Except the attack had tainted the image of the studio. Her happy place was no longer tranquil or peaceful, but shrouded in the horror of what had happened.
No, she couldn’t let those men destroy her place, or the good that had happened in the studio.
The girls were painting, laughing, talking, listening to music. Their hearts were opening as they poured emotions onto the canvases, their spirits lifting as they began to trust her and each other.
“It’s going to be all right,” Haley said.
How could it be when she might never see her students again?
* * *
LUCAS SCANNED THE interior of the warehouse space, but it appeared to be empty. Knowing that appearances could be deceiving, he crept inside, senses alert in case the girls had been locked inside a cage or an underground space.
It had happened before. A woman buried in a box beneath the ground. They hadn’t found her in time.
He prayed it was different for these young girls.
The flashlight painted a thin stream across the cement flooring, and he inched through the space, crossing to the back. Several barrels were pushed against the wall.
His heart raced as he rapped his knuckles on the exterior. A hollow sound echoed back. Still, he pried open the tops and searched each one.
Empty.
He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Satisfied the space was clean, he crept through the back door and outside, then searched the bushes and grounds until he reached the middle warehouse.
Just as made it to the door, a screeching sound came from the interior.
Pulse jumping, he braced his gun and slipped through the opening. It was pitch-dark inside. The noise...there it was again.
A high-pitched wail.
Holding his breath, he aimed his flashlight along the wall, searching for the source. A wooden crate was pushed to the back.
Dear God. Was someone inside?
Chapter Five (#u879bc957-ee39-5475-897c-9277cac85550)
The wailing sounded again.
Lucas rushed to the crate, anxious to see if someone was trapped inside. He examined the wood, noting spaces between the slits. It was about a twelve-by-twelve space.
He needed to open the damn thing. He used his hands to pry at the rotting boards. They easily gave way and he yanked off three of them to look inside.
Nothing.
Damn. Where had that sound come from?
He turned and shined his flashlight across the back wall. A pile of rubbish, old cans, wood, storage containers and trash. Determined to find the source of the wailing, he tossed aside all the junk.
Something moved behind the rubbish. Too small to be a person. An animal?
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he stooped down and dug away more debris. A small orange ball caught his eye. Then a low whine, like a baby crying.
A kitten.
Breath whooshing out in relief, he gently reached inside the space and scooped up the tiny feline.
Growing up on the ranch, he and his brothers had taken in stray dogs, but Chrissy had been the cat lover. Pain squeezed at his chest. She would have loved this little bundle of fur.
He nuzzled it next to his cheek. “Come on, little one, we’ll find you a home.”
Satisfied this warehouse hadn’t been used for the kidnapped girls, he carried the kitten outside. Harrison was standing by the last warehouse looking grim.
Lucas’s heart lurched. “What?”
“It’s empty, but it has been used.” Harrison narrowed his eyes at the kitten, but didn’t comment, then motioned for Lucas to follow him inside the other space.
The interior was dark, but Harrison illuminated a path with his flashlight, and Lucas followed. In the far right corner, he spotted three old mattresses, discarded paper products from take-out restaurants and several empty water bottles.
But it was the hooks on the wall that made his blood run cold. Metal hooks connected to chains.
A used hypodermic lay discarded on the floor, a sign the kidnappers had drugged their victims.
“There’s blood on the chains,” Harrison said as he pointed to a dark stain.
Nausea climbed Lucas’s throat, anger churning at the images that flashed across his mind.
“Let’s collect some of this stuff and send it to the lab. Maybe we can confirm who was here and the kidnappers’ drug of choice.”
Harrison nodded, yanked on gloves and picked up one of the used fast-food bags. “Food looks crusted and moldy inside.”
“They didn’t bring Charlotte’s students here,” Lucas said.
“But there were others,” Harrison said.
Lucas gritted his teeth. “Which means this trafficking ring may have been scoping out Tumbleweed a lot longer than we think.”
Harrison scowled. “Do you think it’s possible that someone in town is part of the operation?”
Good question.
Although none of them wanted to believe that their home town was hiding a ring of child traffickers, they couldn’t discount the possibility.
* * *
CHARLOTTE WAS DREAMING about the girls again—they were screaming. Then one of the men grabbed her and dragged her toward the door with them.
She jerked awake, her breath choking out. She was still in the hospital. Dear God, she wished they’d taken her, too. At least she could have watched over the girls.
“Charlotte?”
Her fingers dug into the bedding as the sound of the hospital door closing echoed in the cold room. Then footsteps. Soft this time.
The voice had been a woman. Not the nurse, though.
A gentle hand covered hers. “Charlotte, it’s me, Honey.”
Relief surged through her, and she reached for Honey’s hand. She’d met Honey when she was searching for a house, and they’d instantly connected and become friends. She liked Honey’s knack for taking crumbling properties and houses and turning them into welcoming, beautiful, loving homes. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Honey pulled her hand into hers. “I’m so sorry about what happened, Charlotte. How do you feel?”
Honey’s concern touched her deeply. Charlotte had been in and out of so many foster homes that she’d never gotten close to anyone.
One family had a scruffy rescue dog that she’d loved. Leaving it had ripped out her heart. Since then, she hadn’t allowed herself a pet, either.
“Charlotte, sweetie, talk to me,” Honey said softly.
Emotion clogged her throat. Honey was the closest thing Charlotte had ever had to a sister. “I’m terrified for those girls. They should be laughing and shopping for outfits for school dances, not being terrorized by monsters who want to turn them into sex slaves.”
Honey pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s hand. “I know, it’s horrible.”
“I keep dreaming about the girls screaming for help. I can hear them crying, but I can’t do anything.” Her voice cracked. “I hate being helpless.”
“Harrison and Lucas are doing everything possible to find them.” Honey stroked Charlotte’s hand to calm her. “They won’t stop until they bring them back and put those horrid men in prison.”
“But they could be on a boat or plane out of the country,” Charlotte said. “You hear about cases where young women are kidnapped and never seen again.” Evie’s face haunted her, followed by Adrian’s and Agnes’s and Mae Lynn’s. “The girls in my group have already been through hell. But this—this could be more than they can bear.” Especially fragile Mae Lynn. She’d been a cutter before she’d joined the group.
Honey’s quiet breathing whispered in the air. “Listen to me, Charlotte. I know those girls have had it rough, but they’re like you and me, they’re tough. Survivors. Harrison and Lucas will find them, then they’re going to need you.” She paused. “So the best thing you can do for them is to focus on your own recovery.”
Charlotte blinked back tears. “But all I can think about is Evie and Mae Lynn—”
“Shh,” Honey whispered. “You don’t know the Hawk brothers like I do. They’re the most trustworthy, brave, courageous, strong men I know. When they say they’re going to do something, they’ll do it.”
Charlotte wanted to believe her. But she’d never trusted a man in her life.
Honey released her hand and disappeared for a moment. When she returned she dragged a chair up beside the bed, and dabbed at Charlotte’s tearstained face with a tissue.
“Does your head hurt?”
Charlotte licked her dry lips. “Yes, but it doesn’t matter—”
“It does matter,” Honey said with conviction. “You matter to me, Charlotte.” Honey’s voice cracked. “I know it must be scary to open your eyes and not be able to see.”
“I always hated the dark,” Charlotte admitted.
“Me, too,” Honey said softly.
Charlotte squeezed Honey’s hand and blinked back tears. Maybe her friend was right. She had to be strong. Dig deep. Heal herself.
She wouldn’t be any good to the girls if she fell apart.
* * *
LUCAS CALLED A crime-scene investigative team to search the warehouses and surrounding area, and to process the interior of the building, where they’d found the chains and blood. He and Harrison had done all they could do, but didn’t want to miss anything. Even a partial print or button from one of the kidnappers could help.
His phone buzzed, and he settled the kitten in the SUV. He didn’t know what he was going to do with it, but he didn’t intend to leave it out here to fend for itself.
Maybe his mother would want it. Or Honey. Or... Charlotte.
Hell, what was he thinking? He didn’t even know the woman. She might not like cats. And no telling how long she’d be hospitalized.
“Lucas, it’s Tradd.”
The agent’s voice jerked him back to the present. “What’s up?”
“Did you find anything?” Tradd asked.
“We’re at some warehouses outside Tumbleweed that appear to have been a holding place for victims, although judging from discarded food containers, they’ve been gone a while. We don’t think it’s the Tumbleweed victims.”
“These crews know how to slide in and out under the radar,” Tradd said.
“What about you guys?” Lucas asked.
“I’m on my way to the Mexican border,” Tradd said. “Got a tip from a CI to check out. Agent Sandino is en route to Miami to look at some containers we suspect the traffickers might be using to transport the human cargo.”
Human cargo. Those two words shouldn’t be used in the same sentence.
“I’ll keep you posted.” Tradd ended the call and Lucas hurried to meet Harrison by his SUV. The crime team had arrived and they were combing the warehouse space, processing the charred van and searching the property. If there had been trouble with one or more of the girls or one had escaped, they might find someone in those woods.
The next three hours were grueling as they combed the area. Lucas and Harrison joined in, searching behind trees, rocks, in the ditches and a section of ground that looked as if it had been disturbed.
The dirt was piled high with leaves and brush spread across it. A grave?
Lucas jammed a shovel into the dirt, and proceeded to clear away the soil, leaves and sticks, while Harrison explored another section that had been covered up as if it led to a tunnel or a cave.
Lucas held his breath as he dug deeper and deeper. The shovel hit something hard, and a sick knot clenched in his stomach.
Was it bones? Or a body?
Chapter Six (#u879bc957-ee39-5475-897c-9277cac85550)
Praying it wasn’t one of Charlotte’s students, Lucas dropped to his knees and dug with his hands, tossing aside dirt and leaves. Harrison yanked sticks, leaves and branches away from the space behind him that appeared to be a hidden cave.
Voices echoed from the woods. A coyote howled in the distance.
Dammit, he dug faster. His fingers hit something hard. He felt the surface. Jagged. A large stone.
Not a body.
Thank God.
For a moment, he was so relieved that he leaned his head on his arm and simply focused on breathing.
“Lucas?”
Harrison’s voice made him jerk his head around. The grimness in his brother’s eyes twisted Lucas’s stomach.
“Did you find something?”
“I’m afraid so,” Harrison said.
Lucas stood, dread rolling through him. Just a short time ago, he and his brothers had searched a cave not too far from here and found his sister’s remains.
“One of our girls from Tumbleweed?” Lucas asked.
Harrison shook his head. “I don’t think so. This body has been there too long.”
Lucas stiffened. “You think it could have been one of Elden’s victims that we don’t know about?”
Harrison shrugged. “I doubt it. His mother came clean after we made the arrest. Once we identify her, we can find out if she was a kidnap victim, a runaway or...a victim of another crime.”
Harrison phoned the ME while Lucas crossed to the cave entrance and ducked through the opening.
Sure enough, a skeleton was inside, brittle hair rotting along with the corpse.
Lucas shined the light around the bones, searching for any way to identify the girl, but there was no ID or wallet. Her clothes were decaying on her bones, yet he could see that three of her fingers looked broken.
Defense wounds?
Or she’d broken them trying to claw her way out of her chains in that damn warehouse. An image of her escaping taunted him, followed by another image of her being chased in the woods.
Harrison poked his head in. “The ME and CSI are on their way.”
Lucas nodded and exited the cave, his anger blending with grief over the dead girl.
He hadn’t known her but her young life had been snuffed out way too soon.
* * *
CHARLOTTE’S EYES FELT heavy again. “Thank you for coming, Honey,” Charlotte said. “I have no idea what time it is, but if you need to go home, please go. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not leaving until I hear from the guys.” She patted Charlotte’s hand again. “But you need to rest, so sleep, Charlotte. I’ll wake you when I hear from them.”
The need to close her eyes tugged at Charlotte, although even when she did, the darkness grew blacker. She couldn’t erase the images of what had happened earlier or the sounds of her students’ cries. “Why did they target me and my students?” she asked, thinking out loud.
“I don’t know,” Honey said. “Harrison said that they’re part of a larger group so it was probably random. They probably scope out local businesses or areas where they can find female groups.” She brushed Charlotte’s hair away from her forehead again. “But this wasn’t your fault. No one could have known what they were planning or where they were going to hit. And you certainly couldn’t have stopped them.”
Funny how Honey could read her mind. When she’d heard Honey’s story of growing up in Tumbleweed, Charlotte had instantly been drawn to her. Honey reminded her of herself.
She was a survivor.
Sweet Evie’s face flashed in her mind, along with her other students. Those girls were survivors, too.
The throbbing in her head intensified, and she lifted her hand and touched the bandage. The movement caused her shoulder to ache where she’d been shot.
“Do you need more pain meds?” Honey asked.
An image of herself as a child with that port-wine birthmark returned to haunt her. She wasn’t a little kid anymore, but she knew her forehead had taken a bashing. “No, I’m okay.” She refused to complain and wanted to clear her head. “Can I ask you something, Honey?”
Honey stroked her arm. “Of course, Charlotte. What is it?”
She felt silly for asking, but she had to face the truth. “Is my face, my eyes, am I...going to be scarred?”
Honey sighed softly. “According to your doctor, you have a half-dozen stitches, but they’re in your hairline, and the wound should heal.” She paused. “I know you’ve lost your vision for now, but your eyes look normal, Charlotte.”
Charlotte blinked back more tears. “That sounded vain, and it’s really not important, especially considering my students are in danger—”
“It doesn’t sound vain,” Honey assured her. “It’s only human to wonder. Besides, you and I are alike, Charlotte. We both have to know what we’re dealing with, then we face it head-on.”
Charlotte’s throat closed. Honey was right.
When she’d first heard how awful some of the locals had treated her friend, she wasn’t sure she wanted to settle in Tumbleweed. But Honey’s giving spirit had made her want to call this place home.
Only now, her studio had been trashed, her future ripped apart and the kids she devoted her heart and time to help were missing.
* * *
LUCAS’S PHONE BUZZED as Harrison drove away from the ranch. Thankfully, his mother had been thrilled to have the kitten. He’d known she was lonely and should have thought of getting her a pet sooner.
Harrison veered onto the road leading to the hospital.
Lucas connected the call. Keenan Hart from the Bureau.
“I’ve been researching those tattoos,” Keenan said. “Snakes are common, and I’ve found several lightning bolts. I need more details. It would help if Charlotte would look at photos—”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Lucas said grimly. “She lost her sight. The doctor doesn’t know if it’s temporary or permanent.”
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I’ll send you the photos of the ones I found and you can describe them to her.”
“Good idea.” Lucas explained about the body they’d discovered at the warehouse and the charred van. “Also, run background checks on the victims’ foster families. Check their financials for trouble.”
“You think one of them is involved?” Keenan asked.
“I’m just covering the bases,” Lucas said. If a foster parent had been bribed or paid off, he could use that as leverage to push him—or her—for more information about the kidnappers.
Before he hung up, his phone buzzed again.
“Keep me posted,” he told Keenan, and then clicked to answer. “Brayden?”
“Yeah, I’m here with Mom. She was upset about what happened in town today.”
Everybody in town was probably upset. Missing children had a way of inciting panic and fear.
“Reassure her that we’re doing everything we can to find the missing teens,” Lucas said.
“I have, but that’s not the reason I called. We were watching TV, Lucas, and the story is plastered all over the place. It made national news.”
Lucas scrubbed a hand through his hair. Of course it had.
“Some reporter named Gerald Ingram showed a picture of Charlotte in the hospital.”
“What the hell?”
“He announced that she was the only surviving witness.”
A litany of curse words spewed from Lucas’s tongue. “That idiot bastard. He might as well have put a bullet in her head.”
“I know. I’m sorry, man. Is there anything I can do?”
“Just stay with Mom for a while.”
They said goodbye just as Harrison pulled into the hospital parking lot.
“What happened?” his brother asked as they parked and walked toward the entrance.
Lucas relayed the news about the reporter. “I should have posted security at Charlotte’s door,” Harrison said.
“I should have thought of it, too.” But they’d both been too anxious to track down that van and look for the kidnapped victims. “I’ll stay with her tonight,” Lucas offered. “Tomorrow we’ll assign a detail.”
Harrison nodded, and they went inside and rode the elevator to the second floor. With that damn news report on his mind, Lucas scanned the halls and corridors in case one of the kidnappers returned to try and take out Charlotte.
* * *
CHARLOTTE WAS ROUSED from sleep again as footsteps echoed in the room. Then voices.
“How’s she doing, Honey?”
Harrison. She heard the smack of his lips as he kissed Honey, stirring other emotions inside her. She’d watched those lovebirds with envy the last couple of months.
Harrison was lucky to have found a wonderful woman like Honey. She was lucky, too. Harrison seemed completely devoted to his wife.
“She’s been resting some,” Honey said.
“That reporter Gerald Ingram just aired the story that Charlotte survived.”
This time, Lucas. His voice was slightly deeper than Harrison’s. And darker. Intimidating.
“Oh, my God,” Honey said. “That’s not good, is it?”
“Afraid not,” Harrison said grimly.
Charlotte shifted, pushing herself higher on the pillow to prop up. The room blurred into darkness, but she sensed the presence of Honey and Harrison and Lucas.
“I didn’t know he was a reporter,” Charlotte said. “He said he was a cop.”
“Bastard,” Lucas said. “He plays dirty.”
“It’s not your fault,” Harrison said. “We should have anticipated that he’d try to sneak in and prevented it.”
“The nurse ran him out.” Charlotte ran a hand through her tangled hair. “You think one of those men will try to kill me?”
An awkward tense silence followed.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Charlotte said. “I guess that’s obvious.”
“We aren’t going to let anything happen to you,” Honey said.
“She’s right,” Lucas agreed.
Harrison cleared his throat. “We’ll assign a guard to watch your room while you’re here.”
“I’m going home as soon as possible,” Charlotte said. She hated hospitals.
“I’ll stay with you when you come home,” Honey offered. “We can have a sleepover.”
A footstep, then something rustled. “That’s not going to happen, Honey,” Harrison said brusquely.
Another awkward silence, then whispering.
“Is something wrong, Honey?” Charlotte asked.
A heartbeat passed. “No, nothing’s wrong,” Honey said.
“What’s going on, Harrison?” Lucas asked.
“Maybe this isn’t the time,” Honey said in a low whisper.
“For heaven’s sake, I may be blind, but I’m not deaf,” Charlotte said. “What’s wrong, Honey?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Honey’s hand brushed Charlotte’s arm. “I’m pregnant, Charlotte.”
A light lifted inside Charlotte. “That’s wonderful, Honey. I’m so happy for you.”
She tugged Honey into a hug, tears dampening her cheeks. Hers? Honey’s? Both.
“Congratulations, brother,” Lucas said.
She heard motion and realized the brothers must be hugging.
“Have you told Mom?” Lucas asked.
Harrison shook his head. “You’re the first to know.”
Honey tucked a strand of Charlotte’s hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, I know this isn’t the best time—”
“Shh.” Charlotte hugged Honey again “This is wonderful timing. We need good news right now. And a baby...there’s nothing more exciting than knowing you’re having a little one.”
“But you’ve been hurt—”
“Hush.” Charlotte set Honey away from her, felt for her hands and cradled them between her own. “I’m happy for you. You’re going to be a great mother.”
“She will be,” Harrison said. “Just like she’s a great wife. But it’s my job to protect her.”
“You’re damn right it is,” Charlotte said with conviction. “And if having Honey near me puts her and the baby in danger, then take her someplace far away.”
“That’s not necessary,” Harrison said. “But I do want her on the ranch.”
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