Deadly Pursuit (34 page)

Mitch exchanged another glance with Cole, feeling as grim as the other man looked. A head injury with loss of consciousness was bad news.

And there was no telling what Daryl had done to her since.

Fighting back a wave of panic, Mitch drew a steadying breath. “Do you have any idea where he took her?”

“No.”

“Is there anyone else who might?”

She hesitated. “I don't think so.”

“Whose truck was he driving?” Cole asked.

Biting her lip, she gave them an uncertain look. “I can't tell you. I'll get in big trouble if I do.”

“Trust me. You'll be in bigger trouble if you don't.” Mitch pinned her with the most intimidating scowl he could muster.

She studied him for a moment. Moistened her lips. Gave a sigh of capitulation. “Chuck Warren. Me and Daryl have been staying with him.”

“Where does he live?”

Cole jotted down the address as she dictated it, then spoke to Sarah over her shoulder. “Have one of the guys do an NCIC search on Warren. And get his plates.”

“They won't match the ones on the truck.”

At Bev's comment, Mitch refocused on her. “What do you mean?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Chuck changes plates all the time. He put different ones on the truck again yesterday.”

“Run them anyway,” Mitch told Sarah. “Okay, Bev. Back to Daryl. Is he using meth?”

“Not at first. But he is now.”

“How recently?”

“About noon, I guess. He had more with him too.”

Bad news. If the guy was tweaking, he'd be even more volatile.

Leaning closer, Mitch invaded Bev's personal space again. “Before we take you to the station, I want you to think once more about anything Daryl said while you were with him that might give us a clue about where he was going.”

He didn't expect her to offer anything more. Most likely Daryl hadn't revealed his destination. All he could hope was that this Chuck Warren knew something Bev didn't.

But she surprised him.

“You know . . . he did make one comment that was kind of weird.” She pursed her lips, and parallel creases appeared on her brow. “I didn't understand it. He said he and Alison were going to have some beach time.”

Perplexed, Mitch checked with Cole. The term meant nothing to him, referred to no slang he was aware of. Cole appeared to be equally at a loss.

“Is that all he said?” Mitch tried once more.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. But if you remember anything else—anything—tell someone to get in touch with me.” He made sure Sarah and the other officers heard that instruction as well. “The more you help us, the better the outcome will be for you.” He motioned toward Sarah. “Mirandize her, then take her in and book her.”

As Sarah approached, Bev indicated the shopping bag at her feet. “What about my stuff?”

Mitch picked it up and glanced inside. A worn teddy bear lay on top.

“My mother's locket is in there. I don't want anything to happen to it.” The woman's voice caught, and her eyes grew moist. It was the first real emotion she'd shown.

“I'll see it's taken care of.”

With a nod, she let Sarah lead her toward the squad car.

Tipping the bag toward Cole, Mitch shook his head as the other man looked in. “She cares about a locket and a teddy bear but helps a guy kidnap a woman and stands by while he beats her up.”

Disgust contorted Cole's features. “Don't even try to figure it out.”

“Yeah.” Motioning to one of the officers, Mitch handed the bag over to him. “She was high as a kite too.”

“I noticed.”

“We need to assume Daryl is tweaking.” A muscle clenched in Mitch's jaw as he exchanged glances with Cole. They both knew that was the most dangerous state of meth use. While a tweaker needed little provocation to behave aggressively, confrontation increased the chances of a violent reaction—the very outcome liable to occur if they got a lead on Daryl's location.

“I agree. Unfortunately.” Cole held up the notebook with Chuck's address. “You want to pay this guy a visit?”

“Yeah. And let's get a couple of the drug guys to go with us. I think they might find it worthwhile.”

As Alison stared up at the night sky from her prone position on the ground, choking back fear and revulsion, she tried not to hyperventilate. Daryl had finally risen and left her for a moment. To light up another cigarette or open another beer or think up some other torture to add to her nightmare, she assumed. She'd run if she could, but he'd sat on her legs for so long, pinning them to the ground with his weight, that she could no longer feel them.

Maybe that was why he'd left her alone. He knew she wouldn't be able to move.

Tears welled in her eyes. Never had she felt this helpless. This vulnerable. This powerless.

And she was certain that was the precise effect Daryl had been after.

He'd said as much as he'd touched her. As he watched her thrash. As he threatened her with the glowing tip of his cigarette, bringing it so close to her cheek she could feel the heat.

But he hadn't burned her. And even though he'd opened her blouse—one button at a time, sipping beer or smoking between each one, stretching it out until her nerves were taut as a bowstring—his touches hadn't escalated to anything worse.

Yet.

She knew it was only a matter of time before they did, though. When he tired of tormenting her, he'd—

Alison jerked at a sudden, cold tap on her forehead. Followed by a similar tap on her bare midriff. Then more, in rapid succession, beating a tattoo against her skin.

It was raining.

A dark shadow loomed over her, and behind the glow from his cigarette, Alison saw Daryl's face. He took a long drag and flicked the ash her direction, laughing when she recoiled.

The rain intensified.

Tossing his cigarette aside, he leaned over and yanked her upright. But she had no feeling in her legs and collapsed against him.

With a grunt, he bent and once more slung her over his shoulders. Striding back to the truck, he sat on the tailgate and swung around, leveraging himself to a standing position. After lowering her into the cage, he secured the top and tucked the canvas around himself, creating a makeshift tent.

Once settled against the side of the truck, he popped another beer tab and lifted the can in mock salute.

“Rain delay, honey. But don't worry. We're gonna finish this game. Sooner or later.”

As the drops pummeled her and began to run down her face in rivulets, Alison prayed it was later. Because every minute Daryl put off finishing his game was another minute Mitch and her brothers would have to find her.

And she had a feeling they'd need every one they could get.

Trying to rein in a sneeze, Officer Jeff McIntyre retreated farther under the shelter of the dripping carport of the house where they'd been summoned to investigate a potential break-in.

The sneeze won.

“Getting a cold?” Rob Nelson tucked his radio on his belt after notifying dispatch that the break-in had been a false alarm, triggered by miscommunication between a husband and wife about whether the home alarm system had been activated.

“Allergies.”

“St. Louis is the wrong place to live if you have those.”

“Tell me about it.” He sneezed again and peered into the torrential rain. “I'm going to wait this out for five more minutes. It can't stay this intense for very long.”

“I'm with you.” Rob perused the sky. He'd rather not spend the rest of his shift in wet clothes either, if he could avoid it. “You deal with anything interesting tonight yet?”

“Yeah. Julie and I responded to a weird 911 call from a biker bar.”

Jeff mentioned the name, and Rob nodded. “I know the place. What was the problem?”

“Not a thing, as far as we could see. The guy told dispatch his friend was in trouble and might be hurt, then hung up when the operator tried to get a location. Communications traced the call to a public phone in the foyer. We asked around when we got there, but no one saw anything.”

“Maybe it was just a prank.” Rob lifted a shoulder. He might be one of the newer officers on the force, but he'd already run into plenty of those.

“That's what I thought too. But we called dispatch for a few more details, and the operator said the guy had sounded sincere. Here's another odd thing. She said he had an adult voice, but he spoke more like a child.”

“He might have been drunk. The patrons ingest some high-octane stuff at that place.”

“No. He was coherent. And clearly concerned. He even asked to talk to a detective named Mitch.” The other man hitched up his shoulders. “But what can you do? This Erik guy was long gone by the time we arrived.”

Rob frowned. “His name was Erik? And he asked to talk to Mitch?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I had a run-in with an Erik at a convenience store not far from there. He was making calls to Cole Taylor's sister. Mitch Morgan, that new detective from the NYPD, handled it after we caught the guy.”

“You think there's a connection to Cole's missing sister?”

“I think I'm not going to take a chance.” He pulled his radio back off his belt. “It might be nothing, but I'm going to tell dispatch to pass on the information about the call to Morgan and Taylor and let them decide if they want to pursue it.”

As Cole conferred on his cell phone with the drug unit detectives who were en route to Chuck Warren's trailer, Mitch's own phone began to vibrate.

Keeping a firm grip on the wheel with one hand as the rain slashed across his windshield and gusts of wind buffeted the car, he pulled the cell off his belt.

“Morgan.”

“Detective Morgan, this is Amy Knight with dispatch. Officer Rob Nelson asked me to call you. We have a situation he thinks you might want to investigate.”

Thirty seconds into her explanation, Mitch began signaling Cole to end his call. “Can you play the audio transcript for me?”

“Sure.”

There were a few clicks, and Mitch listened to the replay of the 911 call. After only a few words, he recognized Erik Campbell's voice. Though Erik hadn't offered a lot of information before hanging up, it was enough to send a surge of adrenaline pumping through Mitch's veins.

“Okay, Amy. That's excellent information. Thank you.”

Ending the call, he cut across two lanes of traffic.

“What's going on?” Cole gripped the dash at the sudden move.

Mitch gave Cole a rapid-fire briefing as he aimed for the exit ramp, concluding with his take on the situation. “The caller was Erik Campbell. I recognized his voice, and the location fits. The biker bar is between the convenience store where he placed his calls to Alison and the group home. He mentioned that a female friend was in trouble. That a man had her wallet. He asked for me and said I knew her. The only connection there is Alison.”

“You think he's a credible source?” Cole didn't sound convinced.