Finding Sarah (28 page)

Warm hands stroked Sarah’s
forehead, lips touched her temples. She relaxed into the soothing touches,
turned her body to stretch against his, absorbed his heat. In the darkness, his
hands moved over her back, gentle caresses that sent warmth through her
insides.

The lips moved down to her neck,
stopping to nibble at an earlobe before planting kisses at her throat. The
hands moved lower, caressed her buttocks, then stroked her thighs.

Her limbs felt heavy, her head
fuzzy. She sensed something was wrong, but she couldn’t maintain a grasp on a
conscious thought. She allowed herself to drift, to enjoy the sensations
coursing through her.

Pleasure built and she floated
through layers of sensation. Those hands rolled her onto her back, pried her
legs apart. A throbbing in her knee brought her closer to the surface. Memories
came back. Her heart pounded and she rose from the depths of her dream.

Chris, not Randy, was lying
beside her. His hands, not Randy’s, were all over her. Panic cleared the last
clouds from her brain and she pulled away.

“Ah, so you’re awake, my darling.
I’m so glad. Your wedding night should be something memorable. For both of us.”

She felt his penis, limp on her
thigh. Good Lord, had he already taken her? While she was unconscious? She
struggled to get away. His fingers clamped down on her wrists.

“No, Sarah. No fighting. You’re
not a bad girl, remember.”

Bad girls. Don’t fight him
.

Sarah closed her eyes and went
limp.

* * * * *

“Go,” Randy said to Colleen. “I’m
not going anywhere, and you don’t want to be late for morning briefing.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look so
good.”

“Mac, leave me alone.”
Embarrassed by the way his voice broke, he swallowed hard. “Please.”

She backed out the door, the look
of compassion dumping another bucketload of acid into his stomach.

Get your act together, Detweiler.
Do your damn job.

He pulled two more Tums from the
bottle. He’d blown this case from the beginning. Laughlin would have him
helping kids cross the street, or checking parking meters. Jackhammers pounded
in his head and his stomach twisted. He stumbled out to the men’s room and
leaned on the sink, fighting the nausea. Holding his wrists under a flow of
cold water, some of the turmoil left his system. The wild-eyed stranger in the
mirror frightened him. He splashed huge handfuls of water onto his face.

He was useless in this condition.
Furious with himself, he dug deeper, searching for the strength to disassociate
himself, the way Kovak had, the way he always had been able to before Sarah. He
pushed the damp hair out of his face and went in search of Kovak.

He found him in Communications,
phone to his ear, nodding and taking notes. Randy fisted his hands in his
pockets. Finally, Kovak hung up and turned around. “Let’s go to the office,” he
said.

Randy held his tongue until they’d
gone inside and closed the door. “What did you find out?”

“Deschutes is familiar with
Falcon Lake. It’s off the main road a good five miles, lots of cabins, mostly
vacation or summer use. A couple of year-round residents. Dirt roads, very
rustic.”

“Do they know if Chris is there?
Have they seen Sarah?”

Kovak sat down at his computer
and pulled up a map. “Slow down. Here’s Bend.” He pointed to a spot a few
inches away. “Here’s Falcon Lake. There’s a sheriff’s station at Terrebone
about ten miles away as the crow flies, but on these roads, it’ll be at least
half an hour before anyone can get there.” He raised his eyes to Randy’s. “And,
because of the terrain, there’s very little communication in there. They hit
dead zones all the time. But they’re rolling, and they’ll let us know as soon
as they get there. I faxed them her picture.”

“I need to be there. I want that
bastard.”

“Yes, you do, but you need to
wait thirty minutes.”

“I—”

“Listen and think. Do the math.
It’s going to take you three hours minimum to get there. And what if she’s not
there? You raced off after Scofield and what did that get you? What’s more
important? Making the collar yourself or getting the job done?”

Chagrined, Randy ran the
timetables through his head. “I’d bet my life she’s there.”

Kovak put a hand on Randy’s
shoulder. “Hey. I’m with you on this one. But if you don’t mind some friendly
advice, why don’t you grab a shower, clean up a little. Sarah would run for
cover if she saw you like this—and, big guy, she’d smell you coming at fifty
yards. I’ll go sweet-talk the judge into signing the papers. By the time
everything’s ready, we should know something.”

Randy stood under the hot spray
in the locker room shower, wishing he could scrub away his anxiety the way he
washed off the sweat. Another half hour before he could find out anything. But
Kovak was right. Wait for an update. Make sure he had all the data, that
everything connected.

Waiting sucked.

He dried off and pulled on the
change of clothes he kept in his locker. Waves of self-recrimination at not finding
the property sooner sent tremors of fury through him as he attempted to shave.
He braced himself against the sink, forcing his hands to follow the contours of
his face without shaking. Swearing when his aftershave seeped into a nick, he
was grateful that he hadn’t done more damage.

Kovak wasn’t back with the
warrant yet. Randy wandered down to Dispatch. Maybe the planets were aligned
just right, or there was some fluke in the atmosphere and he’d be able to
receive the Deschutes radio frequency. Right. Like he still believed in Santa
Claus and the Easter bunny. He asked the operator to switch frequencies.
Static. He hadn’t expected otherwise. He got the phone number for Deschutes
Dispatch and trudged to his office.

He tested his voice to make sure
he could keep it steady and called Deschutes. “I understand you’ve got
communication holes, but I’d appreciate being in the loop whenever possible.
This one’s personal.”

“I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll let
the deputies know we need frequent updates.”

“Thanks.” He closed his eyes and
rubbed his temples. When he looked up, Laughlin had entered his office, a white
paper bag in his hands. The chief set the bag on Randy’s desk, gave him a nod,
and left.

Randy opened the bag to find two
bagels with fixings and a large orange juice. God, was he so pathetic that the
chief was bringing him food? He pried the top off the juice and took a long
swig. He pulled out a bagel, smeared it with some of the cream cheese and bit
off a small piece. It went down easily enough and he devoured the rest almost
without thinking.

The phone rang. Randy stared at
it, afraid to answer. What if the worst had happened? Sweat trickled down his
back. He picked up the receiver. “Detweiler.”

“I’ve got an update for you.” The
voice was the calm, detached voice of an experienced dispatcher. “The deputies
found your suspect, Mr. Westmoreland, at the property.”

“What about Sarah—Ms. Tucker? Was
she there?”

“Detective, normally I wouldn’t
have called with such sparse information, but you said it was personal. All I
have is that they found your suspect. No woman.”

A knife stabbed through Randy’s
chest. “Are you sure?”

“Detective, I’m not there.
However, the deputies found female attire in the cabin, as well as a photo
album containing pictures that match the one you faxed. They believe she was
there. Some bruising on the suspect indicates some kind of a struggle. In
addition, there was a torn wedding dress on the bedroom floor.”

“Wedding dress?” His words were a
hoarse croak.

“The suspect claims he’s on his
honeymoon and his wife is out for a walk.”

“That’s a damn lie. He kidnapped
her.”

“Detective, I’m relaying the
information I have.”

Randy was beyond being calmed by
the dispatcher’s soothing tones. “Dammit, what are they doing?”

“Please hold and I’ll see if I
can get more for you.”

Kovak came in, waving the
warrant. “What do you have?”

“Deschutes Dispatch. He’s—Chris—is
there—” The dispatcher came back on the line and Randy raised a finger. Kovak
stepped around the desk and put the call on speaker.

The dispatcher continued. “Detective,
we’ve lost the signal, but they are taking the suspect into custody. The
deputies are going to do a search for the woman and they’ve requested scent
dogs. I’ll have more details once they get onto the highway.”

Randy gave the dispatcher his
cell phone number. “I’m on my way.” He opened his desk drawer and extracted his
badge and weapon. “I’m going to find her. And then I’m going to deal with
Chris.”

“Work the logistics, big guy. We’ll
send a uniform to Bend. You’re in no condition to drive for three hours and
then go tromping through the woods. Give me your keys.”

“I’ve pulled all-nighters before.
I can drive.”

“Not with me in the passenger
seat, you can’t. You may be willing to gamble with your own life, but I’m not
letting you risk mine. You can play with the radio.”

Randy begrudgingly acknowledged
his partner’s logic and handed him his keys. Fifteen minutes onto the highway,
Randy knew he probably owed Kovak his life. Nerves or not, he’d dropped off
twice already. He glanced at Kovak, who seemed to be making a point of not
looking at him.

“If you’re waiting for me to say,
‘I told you so,’ you’ll have a long wait,” Kovak said, his eyes never leaving
the road.

Aside from her racing heart,
Sarah remained motionless. Chris continued his seduction efforts, although she
couldn’t detect any arousal. Was she safe, or just safe until he recharged?

“We’re married now, Sarah. There’s
nothing wrong with what we’re doing. Touch me.”

When she ignored him, his
ministrations grew rougher. Fingers that had stroked became hands that gripped.
She clenched her teeth, determined to remain submissive. Chris’ mouth smashed
over hers, jammed her lips against her teeth, until she tasted blood. She
squeezed her eyes shut, tried to slow her breathing.

“Kiss me.” His voice was gruff,
menacing. His tongue probed and she jerked her head away. Fists grabbed her
hair, pulled her face back toward his. “Kiss me.”

“Never.”

He gave a guttural laugh. “Ah,
that’s better. A little action. What else do you need? This?” He mashed her
breast with his hand, then grabbed her nipple and pinched.

“You’re hurting me, Chris. I’m
not a bad girl, remember? You don’t need to hurt me.” To her horror, she felt
him growing erect against her thigh. She stopped struggling.

“Of course not. You’re my wife.”
He released her breast. “Wives help.” He took her hand in his, moved it to his
barely erect penis and began stimulating himself, guiding her hand. “We’re both
tired, and you were so cold. It won’t always be like this. It can’t always be
like this.”

She heard his voice start to
break and gambled with her reply. “Like what? Like, you can’t perform? Like you’re
not a man, Chris?” Felt him soften. “We’re not really married, are we, Chris?
You haven’t done your marital duty yet, have you?”

“Don’t you dare say that. We
are
married. You’re my wife and
you’ve
got marital duties to perform.” He
was crying softly, lying on top of her, his head buried between her breasts.

Sarah stroked his hair. “Let me
go. You know this isn’t right.”

He tensed and Sarah feared she’d
made a terrible mistake. His eyes were feral now, and he gripped her arms,
pinning them to her sides. “Maybe it’s going to take a while. I want you to
need me, but I’m willing to wait.” His knees shoved her legs apart and he
yanked one arm, then the other, above her head. “Meanwhile, I want you. Now.”

He hovered above her, on his
knees. His breath, hot and sour on her face, turned her stomach. She felt him
rubbing against her belly. His grip shifted so he had both her wrists in one
hand and his other slapped her cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes. Unable to
restrain herself any longer, she struggled to free her hands. Chris merely
tightened his hold and slapped her again.

Abandoning any hope that being
submissive was going to keep Chris from hurting her, whether or not he raped
her, Sarah fought back. Gouged, scraped. Twisted, squirmed, did everything she
could to free her legs so she could do some damage. Screamed. Begged. Cried. He
drew strength from her thrashing. His fingers were everywhere, squeezing.
Became fists, pounding. Drawing from some reserve she wasn’t aware she had,
Sarah wrenched free enough to drive a knee into his crotch.

Air exploded from his lungs. He
screamed, then collapsed, doubled over, beside her. Leaping from the bed, she grabbed
the sheet and darted away.

Sarah locked the bedroom door and
rushed to Chris’s room, searched for something to restrain him. Rope? Tape?
Anything? He should be immobilized for a while, shouldn’t he? In too much pain
to move?

No, that’s what got her into
trouble last time. Running without thinking. The ether bottle sat on top of the
dresser. She opened a drawer, found a t-shirt and saturated it with the liquid,
turning her head to avoid inhaling the fumes.

She crept to the bedroom, put her
ear to the door. A soft moan. She twisted the doorknob as quietly as she could
and peered into the room. Chris lay on the floor, curled in a ball, his back to
her, breathing in short gasps. Holding the cloth in front of her, she tiptoed
to his inert form, watching for any movement. Nothing. Then a groan. Her heart
jumped to her throat. The instinct to flee surged through her and she fought it
long enough to take two huge paces to Chris and slap the ether-soaked shirt
over his face. He twitched and then went limp.

Hurrying back to his room, she
tried to think. She allowed herself one deep breath, then grabbed a pair of his
jeans and a sweatshirt and tugged them on over her sweat-slicked body. Shoes
this time, she told herself. And a jacket. She found her sneakers in his
closet. She jammed her feet into them, wanting to get away, as far away as she
could, before Chris recovered enough to chase after her.

She pulled his belt from the
jeans she wore, and went back to the bedroom, where Chris lay motionless on the
floor. After using the belt to bind his hands, she relocked the bedroom door
behind her, then raced through the living room, out the front door toward what
she hoped was the main road. Find another cabin. This time, she could see where
she was going.

Chris’ jeans rode down her hips.
Hiking them up with one hand, she stumbled along the path, the relief of escape
purging the adrenaline from her system. And as the adrenaline left, the
throbbing in her knee returned. Fatigue and pain slowed her pace to a limping
jog, then a hobbling walk.

Sunlight filtered through the
trees and the scent of pine permeated the air. The forest was less frightening
by daylight, but she was no closer to her goal than she had been last night.
Was it only one night? Time had no meaning. She could have been walking for
fifteen minutes or an hour, and she had yet to see evidence of civilization.

Was that a cabin ahead? She
ignored her knee and pushed on, dizzy with relief when she reached the small
wooden structure. Her voice trembled, a hoarse croak. “Hello. Is someone there?”
She struggled up the two wooden steps to the small entry and pounded on the
door. “Help me, please.” She noticed the padlock and the layer of dirt and
grime. Nobody had been here in a long time.

Deflated, she sank to the rough
wood planks.

* * * * *

Someone called Randy’s name. He
jerked awake. Sunlight streamed into the window and he rubbed his eyes. “Where
are we?” He fished his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on.

“Hitting the Terrebone station.
Westmoreland is in Bend. Hamilton’s starting the extradition paperwork. He’ll
wait for me and we’ll escort the prisoner back.”

Randy grunted, still trying to
clear the cobwebs from his brain and the cotton from his mouth. “Kick
Westmoreland for me, will you?”

Kovak laughed. “I talked to the
deputies while you were out. Apparently, your Sarah did a pretty good job of
that. Westmoreland’ll be walking funny for a while.”

For the first time in what seemed
like forever, Randy managed a laugh. “And she won’t lose her job for it,
either.” He sobered. “Have they found her?”

“Sorry.” They pulled into a small
parking area in front of a single-story brick and wood building. Before Randy
could get out of the truck, a deputy came out to meet them.

“Kovak and Detweiler. Pine Hills,
right? I’m Al Yeager. Which one of you gets the ride back to Bend?”

“That would be me,” Kovak said. “At
your convenience. Our guy isn’t going anywhere.”

“Now is good,” Yeager said. “I’ve
got an appointment there in about an hour.” He turned to Randy. “They’re still
looking. An extra man can’t hurt—there’s a lot of terrain to cover.”

“Tell me where,” Randy said.

“I’ll get you a map.”

Kovak handed Randy the keys. “If
you want, I can stick around here—help you search for a while.”

“No need for both of us to piss
off Laughlin. You do your job.”

Kovak slapped Randy’s shoulder. “You
take care, big guy.”

Yeager came back with the map and
showed Randy where the search team had set up. “It’s close enough to the main
road so we can stay in contact. This area has no cell signals and the radios
only work half the time. Underhill is in charge.”

“Thanks.” Randy grabbed the map
and got in his truck. He readjusted the seat and peeled out of the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, he found a
van and a cruiser half a mile off the main road. He parked and jumped out. “I’m
looking for Deputy Underhill.”

“You found her.” A young blonde,
her hair ponytailed through a brown Deschutes County Sheriff’s Office baseball
cap, strode out to meet him. “Kari Underhill.”

Randy shook her extended hand. A
warm, firm grip. Up close, Randy reassessed her age as mid-forties. “What can I
do?”

She pulled out a map with a
series of circles, some with Xs drawn through them. “These are the cabins in
the area. We’re doing a door-to-door, but most of them are empty. This time of
year, it’s mostly weekenders if anyone uses them at all. We started at
Westmoreland’s and are working outward.”

“You’ve eliminated the X’s?”

“Right.”

“How many deputies do you have
working?’

The deputy gave him a wry smile. “Counting
me—three. You make four.” She must have noticed Randy’s look of skepticism. “Budget.
We’re spread pretty thin through this area—not a large population, so not a lot
of personnel.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

She pointed to a cluster of
circles. “Take these three—they’re fairly close together.”

“Can I drive in?”

“Partway. But there are dozens of
hiking and walking trails where your F-150 is useless. You’ll have to hoof a
lot of it if you want to cover all the possibilities.” She drew an X on the
map. “Park here. She could be unconscious a few feet off the path and you’d
walk right past her. But that’s why we have Ginger.”

“Ginger?”

“Best scent hound in three
counties. She got here about half an hour ago.”

“I’m on my way.” Randy checked
the map and walked toward his truck.

“Wait,” Underhill trotted up and
handed him a radio. “We’re on five. As long as you’re not too far away from the
rest of the crew, you should be able to keep in touch.”

“Thanks.” Randy followed the road
through the trees. The terrain forced him to a crawl and he rolled down the
window, shouting Sarah’s name, straining to hear a response. His radio crackled
and he heard Ginger’s handler reporting.

“She’s found some fabric that
looks like it came from the same dress we gave her. It should have a purer
scent—the other one was handled by too many people. I’m going to bring her back
to the cabin and we’ll head out in the other direction.”

Randy keyed his radio. “Detective
Randy Detweiler, Pine Hills PD on scene. Underhill has me checking points
twelve through fourteen.”

“Deputy Birmingham here.” The
voice was mellow, confident. “There are about six trails between those three
cabins, Detective. Stick to the main approach drives to each cabin and the dog
will pick up the side tracks.”

“Roger.” Randy drove until he was
in sight of the first cabin. He walked the remaining distance, scanning into
the trees on either side. Nothing caught his eye, but Underhill had been right.
Someone on the ground would be nearly impossible to spot. He hurried up to the
cabin and knocked on the door.

An elderly man, somewhere between
sixty and a hundred and three, opened it and squinted out at him. “Yeah?”

Shit. He’d left his picture of
Sarah in the truck. Not that this guy could see much, judging from the thick
glasses he wore. “We’re looking for a young woman who was at Wesley Christopher’s
cabin. Have you seen her?”

Apparently his hearing wasn’t
much better than his eyesight. “Christopher moved away years ago. Haven’t seen
him. Nope.”

“What about a young woman?
Five-four, brunette? Blue eyes?”

“Ain’t seen nobody. ‘Septin’ if
you count fish. Seen lots of those.”

“Thanks, anyway.” Randy pivoted
and jogged toward his pickup. Halfway there, his radio crackled. Ginger’s
handler’s voice came through. “Ginger’s headed toward you, Detweiler. She’s
danged excited about it, too.”

“I’ve checked twelve. Negative.
On my way toward thirteen.” Randy set off at a full run. Glimpses of a
brown-red blur moving through the trees beyond had Randy digging for more speed.
He turned up the trail, saw the bloodhound poised, quivering, about ten feet
from the cabin. On the small entry to the cabin was what looked like a pile of
discarded clothing. Randy rushed forward and saw the clothes were filled with
Sarah. Stifling a sob, he crouched down. Touched her neck. Strong pulse. Relief
swamped him.

“Sarah. Sarah, it’s me. Randy.
You’re all right. It’s okay. We’ve got you.” He stroked her hair, saw a
bloodied lip and a bruise forming on her cheek. “Wake up, honey. Are you hurt?”

Sounds of heavy breathing behind
him made Randy jerk around. Ginger, looking as pleased with herself as it was
possible for a bloodhound to look, accepted praise from her handler, a fit man
wearing jeans and a plaid wool shirt. “She okay?” he asked.