A Bridge Unbroken (A Miller's Creek Novel) (36 page)

Carter waited by the pickup. "Just about to send out a search team. Glad you're back."

"Thanks." Chance sucked in a deep breath of air from a bent-over position. "I think we might have something here." He held up the book.

His friend's eyebrows wrinkled. "What's that?"

"First book Dakota wrote." The words came in spurts, his lungs still screaming for oxygen. "It tells the story of a woman held captive by a maniac in an underground bunker. She referenced it in her last text. Based on what Jack said earlier, I think this guy has been stalking her and may have built his bunker to mimic the one described in the book."

"Whoa." Carter's expression changed to one of incredulity.

"You have something to write on?" Chance palmed his pockets and produced a pen. "I'm going through all the descriptions of the bunker in this book and attempt to draw a map of the place."

"Good thinking. I'll find you something to write on." A minute later Carter returned with a legal pad. "Jack says to see him when you're through."

"Will do." Chance opened the book and began the tedious process of skimming through the book for descriptions of the bunker, all the while comforted by one thought.

This might very well save Dakota's life.

* * *

Dakota buried her cell phone in her backpack, away from the ever-searching eyes of Jeremy Gains. She hurried out the bedroom door and to her computer station. Perhaps if she pretended to be writing a new novel, her captor would ease up on his eagle-eyed watch.

Her mind whizzed at lightning speed as the computer booted. If Jeremy had indeed copied this place from the descriptions in her first book, it was a distinct possibility that he had physical copies of the books here. Typical of the stalker type. She should know. She'd researched plenty of them. If she could get him away from his desk, it would give her the opportunity to search for clues as to where the back door might be.

Swallowing her fear, she stood and moved to the center of the circular room, where Gains monitored everything going on outside from his array of computer screens. He looked up, unsmiling, as she approached. "What is it?" His voice held a touch of anger and impatience, previously missing when he'd spoken earlier, and his eyes were lined with fatigue from his all-night stint behind the monitors.

"I...uh, just wanted to know if you have copies of my books here. I like to reference details from previous books in my new stories."

"Yeah. Wait here." Gains strode to a door on the far side of the room--one not on the personal tour--and unlocked it. He disappeared long enough to allow her a glimpse at the screens.

Chance sat near the same pickup, pouring over a paperback, a pen and legal pad in hand. Good. He was already at work on the same puzzle she'd tackled in the wee hours of the morning.

Her heart lightened with overwhelming love.
Oh, Lord, bring us back together.
She stepped away from the center station as Jeremy exited the door on the far side of the room, a stack of paperbacks in his hands.

He strode across the room in tense, angry strides, dumped the books in her waiting arms, and repositioned himself behind the screens. "Our visitors are persistent, though foolish."

Her stomach lurched, her nerves instantly on high alert. What did that mean? "How so?"

Gains peered up, a sneer on his face. "I've made this place impenetrable. The ultimate fortress, if you will. Our water and food supply can far outlast them, and if necessary, I have the means of obliterating them." A flicker of doubt passed briefly through his eyes, quickly replaced with cold confidence. A derisive laugh sounded in his throat as he turned his focus back to the computers.

Dakota made her way to her writing station, her thoughts on Jeremy Gains. Though at cursory glance he appeared to have no chinks in his armor, she knew better. Every villainous character--whether real or imagined--had a fatal flaw. And in most cases it was their proud belief that they were invincible. Somehow she'd use that to her advantage.

But the danger? The longer he stayed awake, intent on watching her every move and every move of the men outside, the more of a loose cannon he'd become. In addition to locating her escape, she had to do it all in a way that didn't draw his suspicion or his anger.

Either one could prove deadly.

Chapter Thirty-Four

J
ack Hanson plopped down to a cross-legged position across from Chance just as he finished skimming the last page of the book.

His heart brimming with fresh hope, Chance smiled over at him. "I think we might have something here." He handed Jack the legal pad with the map he'd drawn. "Based on the book, that's a pretty accurate rendering of what the inside of this place should look like."

The other man studied the drawing. "How sure are you? If we're wrong, even in the least little way, it could cost people their lives. Including Dakota."

Chance's pulse roared in his ears. The thought had occurred to him more than once. But did they have any other option other than this incessant waiting? And wouldn't Gains--or the Chameleon, or whatever his name really was--wouldn't he become more and more agitated and dangerous the longer they waited? Animals could get more than a little testy, especially when they felt cornered.

He sent a silent prayer heavenward, immediately comforted by the presence and peace of the One who'd both forgiven him and given him the capacity to forgive. "If the place fits the book descriptions, that map's correct."

Hanson picked up the paperback and looked at the foreboding cover, one that eerily matched their current surroundings. "Never read her books. Are her descriptions that good?"

"She's got a knack for placing the reader firmly in the story world without their knowing it. That's why I think the drawing is accurate." His cell phone jangled in his pocket. He hurriedly fished it out. "It's her. She says she's in a round room." Chance pointed to the map. "Just like the book." His phone dinged again. He read the message out loud. "Far room locked. Could be escape hatch or tunnel. Kitchen to right. BRs & bath to left."

Chance waited for more, but nothing came. He raised his gaze to Jack's. "It matches what we have on paper."

"Yeah, but yesterday she said the place was rigged."

True. He ran a palm across his lips. "So what do we do?"

Hanson scratched his head, lost in thought temporarily. "One of the guys found a buried power cable earlier. If we coordinate cutting the power with Dakota getting away, she might stand a chance."

Chance positioned his thumbs over the keypad of his phone. "Just tell me what to say. I'm ready to get her out of there." More than ready.

Jack looked away and released a breath through puffed-out cheeks. "Let me take it to the boss. No guarantees."

Chance watched him walk away, the yellow notepad dangling at his side, pages a-flutter in the brisk and cold wind of the late December day.

Oh, Lord, help us get this right.

* * *

Dakota glanced at the clock. One minute till. She leaned back in her chair and stretched both arms upward, doing all she could to appear convincing. A huge yawn flowed from her mouth, more real than even she expected.

Gains looked her direction. "Tired?"

She nodded and rolled the chair away from the desk. "Exhausted."

"You've been at it all day. Is that pretty typical when you write?"

So he didn't know everything about her. That one thought alone brought immeasurable comfort. "Not all the time. But there's not much else to do down here, is there?" Maybe planting little seeds of doubt in his mind would work to her benefit. She stood and moved toward the bathroom, his hawkish eyes boring a hole in her back.

Dakota clicked the bathroom door in place and locked it just as a loud pop sounded and everything went black.

"Amy!" Gains shouted. "Get out here now!" Shuffling footsteps sounded outside, and he pounded on the door. The lock wouldn't hold long with that kind of punishment. With a crash, the door gave way and strong hands latched hold of her in the dark. He wrapped both arms around her neck in a firm grip, his breath hot on her cheek. "If you so much as breathe the wrong way, I'll snap your pretty little neck like a toothpick. Got it?"

Fear spiraled throughout her.
Jesus, help me.

Gains prodded her outside the tiny bathroom and hugged the circular wall as they moved to the far side of the room, headed straight for where she suspected the escape hatch to be. But where were the agents she'd expected to enter as soon as the power was cut? Had Jeremy's traps worked even without electrical power?

They reached the locked door. Jeremy shone a flashlight on the lock and fumbled with his jangling keys, cursing under his breath as he attempted to fit the right key in the lock. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. Up the stairs he dragged her, closer and closer to the exit. Once more he struggled to unlock the escape hatch in the dark, one elbow crooked tightly around her neck.

She gasped for air and clawed at his arm. He relaxed his grip, and air flooded her lungs.

With one final shove, the hatch gave way, and both of them tumbled through the darkness in piles of musty decaying leaves.

"Let her go, Krater! You're surrounded." The voice called out from the darkness of the forest.

In a last ditch effort, Dakota struggled to free herself from the grasp of her captor, praying for a good end to all of this. A shot rang out in the darkness, and Gains went down. From every direction men ran toward his writhing figure and quickly subdued him. He railed a string of cusswords, obviously in much pain as he clutched his right knee.

Arms from above reached down and pulled her to her feet. "You okay?"

"Yeah." The word came with great effort. She peered around. Shafts of light flickered on as more rescuers advanced. Dakota faced the one who'd helped her stand, shocked to see her new neighbor's face. A frown tightened her forehead. "I don't understand."

"Jack Hanson. FBI. I'll explain it all later. Right now there's someone pretty desperate to see you."

Within five minutes, they exited the dark interior of the wooded area into the soft dusk of a day she thought she might not ever see again. In spite of many happenings around her, Dakota's eyes latched onto only one. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she emerged from the darkness of her captor into the wide-open arms of forgiveness and love, the unforgiving past a quickly-fading memory.

Chapter Thirty-Five

C
hance looked up from his open Bible and stared out the plate-glass window to the boys across the street playing basketball. Without warning, the friendly game escalated into a scuffle and shouts. One boy, probably around ten years of age, catapulted to his feet, screaming at the others. "This is basketball. You can't tackle in basketball."

An involuntary smile moved to Chance's lips as he watched the boys from the confines of his house. In a matter of minutes the boys were back at play as though nothing had happened. If only adults could forgive as quickly. He frowned. But then grown-up actions were a little more hurtful and far-reaching than a minor childhood scuffle, weren't they?

His mind traveled to the distant past, a time when he'd let his lack of good judgment take over. A time when he'd blamed Dakota for his own sins because he couldn't confront them in himself. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. Personal sin created ripples--like raindrops on a body of water--which touched everyone else around you. And in this case, he'd hurt Dakota, wounding her deeper than even he'd realized.

In the two weeks since her escape, she seemed happy enough to see him on his daily visits, but still a barrier existed, one he couldn't quite figure out how to tear down. Chance turned to the inside cover of his Bible and removed Grampa's last letter.

"Dear Chance, The money and earthly possessions I'm leaving to you are yours to use as you choose. But I do have a suggestion. Remember others. As an only child, I know it was easy to focus only upon yourself, but there are others that truly need what I'm giving to you. I pray and trust that you'll use your inheritance wisely. All my love, Grampa."

He let the letter fall to his lap and peered out the window again, his thoughts once more on Dakota. Though she hadn't given any indication that she'd forgiven him, in his heart he felt like she had. But was there more there? That was the question that had hounded him ever since that cold December evening when she'd flown out of the woods and into his arms. Next his mind flitted to his plans for the Watson family drugstore, plans that would never be realized without the capital from his inheritance.

It didn't matter. Chance laid his Bible on the nearby end table, stood, and made his way to the phone. He searched through the phone book, found the listing he wanted, and punched in the number.

"Mara Hedwig Realty."

"Yeah, Mara, this is Chance Johnson. Have you--uh--heard from Dakota by any chance?"

"As a matter of fact I have. She called a little while ago and asked to meet with me this afternoon."