Appalachian Abduction - Debbie Herbert

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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.

       Chapter Four

      Charlotte reached for her sidearm and felt nothing but bare denim at her hip. Damn. She kept forgetting James had confiscated her gun. Its absence made her feel vulnerable and powerless. First order of business in the morning was to get it back.

      But that didn’t help her now.

      As if they’d done this together a dozen times before, she and James rose from the table and flattened their bodies against the side wall by the window.

      “See anything?” she asked.

      “Nothing but shadows.”

      “Still think it’s nothing but a shot-happy hunter out there?”

      “Getting a little too dark for a regular hunter,” he admitted.

      “As opposed to what—an irregular hunter?” she quipped. “Maybe now you’ll believe me when I tell you it’s Jenny’s kidnappers.”

      James kept his gaze out the window. “Shooter’s motives don’t matter at the moment.”

      “Right. Sorry. So what’s the plan?”

      “We wait.”

      “That’s it? We wait?”

      “And watch.”

      To hell with that. “We could get on your four-wheeler and see who’s out there.”

      “And what if that shot was meant to draw you out? You’d be a sitting duck. Stop acting like this is your first rodeo.”

      He was right. Damn it. This was her least favorite part of the job—stakeouts and waiting for someone else to make their next move.

      “There could be more than one, you know. Maybe they’re going to surround the cabin.” Hugging the wall, Charlotte made her way over to the den window on the opposite side of the cabin. “I’ll keep a lookout here.”

      Dusk settled on the woods that were wrapped in a gray mist. The outline of her rental truck at the tree line was barely visible. The vehicle was useless to her now that she suspected it had been spotted. If there was time, she’d exchange it for another one tomorrow. Her eyes and ears tingled with focus as she tried to find shifting patterns in the shadows, or the whisper of an out-of-the-ordinary snap of twigs.

      “We hear another shot, call for backup,” James commented.

      The minutes stretched on in a tense silence, and she shifted all her weight onto her left foot.

      “Knee bothering you?” he asked, his gaze still concentrated on the gathering darkness.

      How did he know with his back to her? Probably a good cop to be so observant of the slightest shift in details. “Hurts a little,” she admitted.

      James stepped away from the window. “Let’s go. If there’s a stalker out there, I believe they’d have made a move by now. No sense standing around all night. We’ll come back at first light and take a look around.”

      “Sounds like a plan.” Frankly, she was relieved. Her leg hurt like hell, and there was no way she’d be able to sleep in this cabin again without worrying she’d awaken staring down the barrel of a gun.

      “You stay inside while I start the truck.”

      “No way. We go together.”

      He opened his mouth to speak, but he must have read her determination. “Okay. Anything you need to bring with you?”

      She’d almost forgotten. “Yeah, let me grab my stuff. I’ll be quick.”

      Charlotte scurried to the bedroom and then stuffed her laptop in the large duffel bag already filled with clothes and toiletries, prepacked necessities in case she’d needed to leave in a hurry. She rushed back down the hall, and a chill draft from the open door blew over her body. A truck engine started outside, and headlights pierced the darkness. How dare he? But the anger was soon replaced by a seed of fear. Was he leaving her alone in this compromised location? An image of a dark alley flashed across her mind—her old partners, Roy and Danny, fading into the shadows as they ran from the drug dealer flashing his small but lethal-looking pistol. She’d run, too, but not as fast. Not near fast enough to outrun a bullet. A quick peek behind her shoulder and she saw the dealer had aimed his gun at her.

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