Runner's Moon Trilogy Megabook Series (49 page)

"Well, hell." The guard or guards must all be out on patrol.

But they can't stay out all night, a little voice told her. Sooner or later someone would have to come back to the office, if anything to turn off the lights before they went home.

Besides, the cars were all parked at this end.

Did guards work shift work? Did they have a "changing of the guard" at some point? Sarah frowned. With the way her luck had been going, she wouldn't be surprised if there had been a change-over in duties and she had just missed it.

Standing there, trying to figure out what her next course of action should be, she never heard the soft footfalls approaching from behind her. She heard nothing at all until an oily voice spoke up from six feet away.

"My, my. Ain't you a sight for sore eyes?"

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"NO!"

Simon screamed and tried to fend off Jebaral and Thom's hold, but the two men together were too strong for him to break away from.

"Listen, Simon! You can't go in there and try to take them down by yourself!" DeGrassi hissed for the second time. "We have to make a plan and stick to it! If you go in all half-cocked, they'll kill you as surely as they tried to kill Jeb!"

"I have to save her," Simon protested in a weak whisper.

He was being torn apart inside. Knowing his life mate was being taken captive by Pycee's men, the same men who had shot his brother, was a living fire wreaking devastation on his soul.

"We know," Tiron agreed. She had placed her hands on his shoulders and was pressing down to keep him still long enough so they could talk reason into him. "And you will. We promise. But first we have to find out where they've taken her." She glanced up at Jebaral. "Can you draw us a diagram of the interior of that part of the mill?"

Jebaral nodded, releasing Simon's arm and collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs. Seeing his brother's paled face, Simon stopped fighting. A fresh blossom of blood was beginning to stain the gauze bandage wrapped around Jebaral's chest, and guilt momentarily replaced his anger and horror.

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"Forgive me, Jebaral." He bowed his head as another wave of fury shuddered through his body.

Barely ten minutes ago, DeGrassi had received the phone call from dispatch letting him know Sarah Drumman was in town and looking for the cut-off to the Morr cabin. Almost at the same time, Wendy had phoned to say she'd spotted a silver Eagle pulling over to use the booth on the next block.

Simon had also been aware of her drawing nearer and nearer. He had focused on that tenuous thread connecting them, hoping to draw her to him. But when she passed the almost invisible dirt turnoff, his worry grew. It was when he felt her rising terror slicing through him like an invisible knife that he knew his worst fears had come true.

Hannah grabbed the writing pad she kept by the refrigerator to make her grocery list and placed it and a pen on the table next to her husband. Wiping a hand over his sweaty brow, Jebaral began sketching the interior of the main part of the mill as he explained its setup.

"This area is where we initially trim the trees, removing the outer bark and limbs. There's very little space between the shredder here and the first set of saws here. Over on this end is where the logs are ripped according to the size needed."

"Where are the planks loaded?" Tiron asked.

"Outside on pallets underneath the sheet-metal roof. The order has to stay clean until it's delivered. We only fill one order at a time, which means we rip one size until we get our quota before re-sizing the saws to cut another length."

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"What's over here below the offices?" DeGrassi asked, pointing to a section ringed by boxy figures.

"It's an open area, about the size of a small room." Jebaral paused, thinking. "From the office on the second floor you can see the whole mill. There's a flight of stairs that lead from the office to this open area."

"Where are the doors?" DeGrassi asked.

"Here, here, and there are a set of double doors here," he replied, quickly sketching them in.

"Windows?"

"Three on each side except where the office is located."

DeGrassi nodded. "All right. Perfect. We already know these men are not averse to setting things on fire. My guess is since that tactic hasn't worked, they're gonna start dismantling the machinery, hoping to either slow the mill down further or cause injury when the workers try to use the sabotaged machines."

"Not very smart," Jebaral snorted. "If they don't know what they're doing, they could lose a hand or worse."

"Then that'll be their problem, now, won't it?" DeGrassi grinned.

Simon glanced around and noticed someone conspicuously absent. "Is the sheriff back from Big Oak?"

Crossing his muscular arms over his chest, the ex-detective shook his head. "We're keeping him deliberately in the dark about this in case he's dragged into court. I'll coordinate our strategies. Jeb, are you sure you're well enough to take part?"

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"I can give you backup, but that's all." The alien looked at his older sibling with worry. "Simolif, it'll be up to you and Tiron to stop these men. I'll go in to release her. Can you handle it without my help?"

"What if she fights you?" Tiron brought up, knowing that Sarah had yet to find out that an alien race did live on her home world as she'd expected.

Jebaral answered with a tiny shrug. "I guess we'll cross that ocean when we come to it," he admitted, putting his hand to the wound.

"Bridge," both Hannah and DeGrassi corrected simultaneously. Then they broke out in laughter when they realized what they'd done.

However, the laughter would prove to be short-lived.

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Sarah ran for the front gate, pounding the gravel as fast as she could. Unfortunately, the oily-voiced man had expected her to make a run for it. She felt him snatch at the back of her blouse as he snarled in anger. The thin material ripped, and she gave a little shake to dislodge his tenuous hold as she put on one last burst of speed and energy.

The narrow gate where she had squeezed through was looming closer and closer, when a hand grabbed her hair and jerked downward. The sudden stop nearly separated her skull from her spine. Sarah's feet went forward, out from under her; her legs swung up as tearing pain ripped through her skull. Before she could scream, she landed heavily on her back on the gravel roadway, knocking the air out of her lungs. In the next instant the man landed on top of her and was reaching for her breasts, tearing away the last of the cotton blouse and shoving a hand down her bra in his eagerness to have her.

"Thought you could get away from me, huh? Thought you could run faster than me, huh?" She fought him, scratching at anything she could reach, but she kept her nails too blunt to do much damage. The man casually batted away her attempts to stop him as he sat on top of her hips. His breath was foul and his hands were cruel as they pinched and bruised her flesh.

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"Sweet bitch, you are. Got some titties on you, don't'cha?

Gonna let me have at those titties now, ain't'cha?"

She couldn't yell, couldn't scream, couldn't do anything except punch futilely at the man rough-handing her. She managed to get one good slap to the side of his face, which only made him angrier. He snarled again and landed a heavy back-handed punch to her cheek. Fresh pain momentarily stunned her, eliciting a weak yelp from her raw throat.

"Teach you to fight me, bitch!"

He was holding her wrists together now in one large hand.

The other continued to mash and squeeze her bared breasts, as if he had sole and exclusive rights to them. Sarah struggled against the lingering pain and his manhandling, when she heard an inhuman roar echo through the darkness.

The virulent anger evident in its sound was enough to make them both pause and listen.

In the back of her mind Sarah realized she'd heard that sound before. That same scream promising violence. But her terror-stricken mind couldn't place the when or where. Not just yet.

The roar came again, sounding as horrific as it did the first time, only this time it was closer. It was also too much for the man pinning her down. He muttered something she couldn't catch as he scrambled to his feet and hoisted her to hers.

Sarah swayed slightly. The jerk on the back of her skull and the blow to her face still fogged her ability to think or see clearly. The man gave her a little shake, irritated by her difficulty standing on her own.

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"Let's get you inside and let Raynes decide what to do with you." He shook her again, a bit rougher, and new waves of pain flashed throughout her body, making her nauseous.

Sarah gritted her teeth. Even if she could throw up on the man, it had been a long time since she'd eaten anything.

There wouldn't be anything left to regurgitate.

He half-dragged, half-carried her toward the large building, keeping both of her wrists trapped in one hand. Her breasts felt the cold night air, as they remained bare for anyone to see. But the throbbing in her head and along the side of her face prevented her from feeling any embarrassment. There was more at stake here than just her modesty.

The oily-voiced man slid back a door and pushed her ahead of him. Sarah stumbled over the threshold but managed to keep her footing. Once inside he continued guiding her through the huge building, past rows of machinery she couldn't identify but knew were used in the lumber-making process.

Up ahead someone must have heard them enter.

"Dreese?"

"Yeah," the oily-voiced man yelled back.

"Find anything?"

"Oh, yeah," Sarah's captor chuckled. "A sweet little cherry just landed in our laps!"

"What?"

They suddenly emerged from the jungle of bands, belts, and conveyors to an open area, where another man stood at the top of a flight of stairs. Sarah's eyes widened at the sight of the gun the man was holding. It wasn't a shotgun. It 681

looked more like one of those illegal weapons used by the military. An Uzi, or something like it.

The man's expression also revealed his astonishment to see Sarah being hustled forward. Dreese laughed, delighted.

"This little lady is the driver of that vehicle we saw pulling in.

Where's Raynes?"

"Him and Longmanger are over in the manager's offices.

They said they'd be back shortly. Are you sure she's alone?

What happened to her shirt?"

Dreese ignored his questions. "I need a chair. Throw one down here!"

The armed man disappeared into an office-like area at the top of the stairs, reappearing a moment later with a wooden chair, which he dropped over the railing. The sound of the heavy chair landing on the concrete floor echoed through the empty building. Dreese pulled her over to where it lay, uprighted it, and shoved her into the seat, releasing her wrists. Then, lifting one of his muddy boots, he shoved it into her lap and began undoing his belt.

Sarah stared at the sight of the man's hands pulling the strap from the loops. There was no mistaking the thick bulge in the man's jeans, and immediately her mind flashed back to that night at the college when she had nearly been raped.

Dreese saw her consternation and grinned, reveling crooked, yellow teeth. "Soon enough, sweet cherry pie. Soon enough. Let's first get you settled in so we can get our business done."

He tied the belt around her arms and wrists before looping it around the slats in the back of the chair. When he was 682

finished, he tugged on the makeshift binding to check it.

"Hey, Prowski! Gimme some duct tape!"

"What'cha gonna do with her?" the man asked, tossing down a roll.

Again Dreese ignored him and tore off a strip of tape before swiping it over Sarah's mouth. She struggled against his abuse, to no avail. Then, to further humiliate her, once the tape was firmly squelching her cries, he reached down and squeezed a breast. The act was not missed by the armed man watching from overhead.

"Oh, shit, Dreese! We ain't got time for that!"

"Maybe not now. But later."

"Later for what?" a third voice chimed in.

The sound of it caused Dreese to stop what he was doing and whirl around. Sarah stared up at the men entering the building from one of the side doors. Two of them were carrying the same kind of gun the man on the stairs was holding. She assumed the others were also armed, but less conspicuously.

The man in front wore a pair of coveralls like the others, except for the fact that his were spotless. And practically new looking, as if he never bothered to dirty his hands, much less get any sort of filth or stain on him. That man gave her a look of disdain, then turned to Dreese, who clearly appeared to be enjoying the whole scenario. "What's she doing here?" he bluntly asked.

"She was driving that car we seen pull in a few minutes ago."

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"Who is she?" The man glanced back at her, taking in her half-dressed state and the redness along one cheek. "What the fuck are you doing here this time of night?"

"This says her name is Sarah Drumman," another man broke in. Sarah couldn't turn to see where he was. It hurt too damn much to try to turn her head, but it was evident Dreese had brought along her purse and dropped it nearby. She could hear the man rifling through her wallet. "She's got an employee ID from Northern State University at Templeton.

What is she doing here?"

"Clearly she's not connected with the law," the lead man commented in a sarcastic tone. He leveled his eyes back on her and asked her directly, "Do you have any business here at the mill?"

Sarah tried to answer him, but the tape effectively sealed her lips shut. Finally managing a decent breath, she slowly shook her head.

"Then why are you here? Do you have family nearby? Do you have family who works here?"

Family? No, they weren't family. Not yet. Maybe never.

She shook her head again.

"Are you lost?"

Bingo.

Tears suddenly sprung into her eyes. Closing them, she slowly nodded, although the pain continued to race around the inside of her skull like little electrical currents randomly zapping her.

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The admission seemed to ease the tension a tiny bit.

"Great. Just fucking great. And I'm holding you totally responsible, Dreese!"

"Me?" The man appeared genuinely surprised.

"You should never have approached her," the lead man accused. "You should've just let her look around, then let her be on her way. No harm, no foul." He gave an irritated growl.

"Now we have to worry about what to do with her, on top of everything else."

"Don't worry about her," Dreese quickly cut in. "I'll take good care of her. Once I've had my fun, no one will ever be the wiser."

'No one will ever be the wiser?' Sarah blinked against the second influx of tears and gave a silent prayer of thanks that she had contacted the sheriff's office when she'd arrived.

Summer knew she was in town and where she was heading.

Once they found her car they would come looking for her at the mill.

Unless these men do something with my car.

The unbidden thought struck her like a lash of fear. In the next heartbeat the lead man voiced that same fear.

"Goodling, go see if you can't do something with her car. If the loggers show up in the morning and see it, they'll know a stranger has been here."

One of the men in the small group gave an affirmative and dashed out. Sarah wondered how soon it would be before he was back to let them know the car couldn't be moved.

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A crackling noise got everyone's attention. The lead man pulled a walkie-talkie from the pocket of his coveralls. "This is Raynes. What'cha got, Priller?"

"Work's been completed here at the main hoist," the tinny voice replied. "Next time they try to retrieve logs from the river, it'll totally collapse."

"Good, good," Raynes smiled. "We're almost finished here.

Come on in." He glanced up at his man overhead. "Come down. As soon as Goodling gets in, we're leaving. And this one is all yours, Dreese, got that?" he added, pointing a finger at the man.

"No problem here, I promise," Dreese repeated.

Raynes gathered his other men around him. Dreese joined them, which left her temporarily alone. Whatever good that did her. The belt around her wrists was tight and secure. Even if she managed to get to her feet and try to make a run for the door, she would have to drag the heavy wooden chair along with her, which would impede her to the point where they'd catch her before she could take a dozen steps.

Worse, her head was killing her. She desperately wanted to cry but restrained herself as best she could. The last thing she needed to add to her misery and degradation was to have her nose running down the front of her taped mouth.

Her situation wasn't bad; it was critical. Yes, the sheriff's office knew she was here and looking for Simon...

Simon.

Sarah felt that lurchy twist inside her heart at the thought of him. She'd totally forgotten about her possible heart 686

problem since that first time. That first day. That day she'd met Simon.

Funny how her heart problem hadn't resurfaced since that day. Until now. Was there some kind of connection? Or was it trying to tell her something? Was it trying to predict how he would totally capture that part of her, then go on to claim her mind and her body, as well as her soul?

Simon. Simon. Oh, God, how I wish you were here now.

How I pray you could come sweeping into the room just in the nick of time to save me like you did that other night.

Her face grew hotter as the tears she fought to contain rose in her eyes. At that moment she realized that if she should die, the only thing in life that she would miss would be the feel of his arms around her, and that dark, lilting voice whispering in her ear. The agony of missing him grew steadily worse.

Simon ... I never got the chance to tell you how much I love you. Simon...

The tears wouldn't stop. Neither would the horrible pounding in her chest that made her bow her head and try to ride out the ache that only got worse.

Like a blossom slowly unfolding, she first felt it in the pit of her stomach. It was a warmth. A shining spirit of calmness. It gradually grew larger, spreading out fingers that stroked and caressed her as it began to fill her.

Stunned, Sarah could sense that someone was doing this to her. Someone was sending her this unspoken message of hope that continued to branch out leafy green vines like spring promising a renewal. How this was happening to her 687

was incomprehensible. Who could be sending it to her was even more of a mystery. But the feeling of being protected was undeniable.

The warmth dried up her tears. Her pounding headache eased—not totally, but enough to allow her to think and see with more clarity. Sarah sat up in the chair and glanced over where the men were still talking. Their leader, Raynes, glanced at his watch in irritation. "Where the hell are you, Priller? What's taking you so fucking long to get back here?"

he hissed into the walkie-talkie.

Static answered him.

"Want me to go look for him?" one of the men volunteered.

"No. If he's not back in five, we go ahead and set those charges. Follow the plan as we discussed. Goodling!"

Again dead air answered his call to the man who had gone to remove Sarah's car.

"What the fuck is going on?" Raynes grumbled.

"I would lay even odds that you've been busted," a loud voice called out from the far end of the mill, followed by the distinctive sound of a shotgun being pumped.

All eyes went instantly to the big man in uniform standing inside the doorway. The huge rifle resting on his shoulder was aimed directly at them. Before any of them could make a move or a sound, the officer called out, "Don't anybody move.