Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) (20 page)

He stood and faced the other two. “That’s a big-ass car.”

“You jumped on the hood. She didn’t really hit you.” The woman yanked on Lorna’s arms, unsympathetic. “Put her in the back.”

Her captor pulled her up by her hair and she gained her legs unsteadily, wanting to double up on the ground to contain the pain. Though she couldn’t get a look at the captor’s face, she could feel the girth of him when he released his grip to hoist her up easily to lay her prostrate in the flatbed.

Pulling her legs up to curl in a ball as rain and hail bounced off her cheeks, she struggled to sit up. Piercing, indistinct eyes popped through the hank of wet hair and he laid a meaty hand flat on her chest, pushing her down. “Stay,” he commanded. “You’ve caused enough trouble.”

She straightened her legs in an abrupt movement, trying to catch him in the shins and throw him off balance. “What do you want?” she whispered hoarsely when she missed and he pushed harder on her chest, interrupting her breath.

“Me?” He linked a length of tie strap around her wrist, securing them further with another tie to the bed of the truck. “Nothing but to get out of this fucking storm.” He laughed without mirth.

Placing his large foot close to her face, he reached into his pocket for more bindings to lash her ankles together. Lorna rolled quickly onto her back and straightened her legs again, kicking out with all her force aimed into the man’s groin. Unable to avoid the blow, his body jerked and he straightened in response, resembling a rocket ship about to launch. His head jutted high into the night sky as a guttural “aghh,” from the pit of his stomach escaped his lips.

His howl attracted the others. Lorna pulled on the lashings at her wrists, struggling to get to her knees. She would jump over the side of the truck and make a run for the cover of the forest. Like a caterpillar, she scooted to the far corner of the truck bed, pulling on the hard plastic lashings with all of her strength.

“What the fuck is going on up there?” the other man’s voice was too close. Lorna ceased her movement, striving to make herself as small as possible, bracing for the worst.

Her captor gasped and loomed above her. “She fucking well nailed me in the balls,” he said as he hauled back and kicked her. The heavy boot landed low on her back, close to her buttocks.

“I told you she was a fucking cunt,” the other voice said.

The booted foot landed again, and this time, Lorna felt the blow deep in her kidney. “This was supposed to be an easy grab.”

The big man eased his pants away from his private area before placing his hands on his upper thighs his head hanging while he gasped for air. “When’s it ever easy?” There was a sardonic humor almost detectible in the man’s tone when he finally straightened.

“Well, you haven’t made it easy for yourself there, bitch,” the big man growled, yanking on her legs to straighten them painfully as he lashed them first together and then to the truck anchors on the side. She was as secured in her place as a stuck pig on a spit. “I hope you fucking-well drown.”

He looked as though he would kick her again for good measure when the woman’s voice was heard from around the side of the truck. “What’s taking so long?”

“Nothin’,” one of the men replied, though Lorna couldn’t be sure which. “We’re ready.”

“Did you put the blindfold on her?” the woman questioned, coming close to the side of the truck.

“No,” came the even reply as the man jumped down from the back. “What’s the fucking point?”

“Fuck it then. I don’t care. See if you can get her car out of the ditch,” the woman commanded. “I’ll wait until you’re clear.”

“What about back there? On the road.”

“With all this rain? I’m not worried about it,” the woman replied, her voice trailing away. “The main thing is to lose the car. Likely this will all be over by tomorrow morning anyway.”

Chapter Seventeen

The chopper dropped suddenly in an air pocket as they descended into Jasper to refuel. Pushing over the mountain from this point onward would be a rough go, their pilot had told them.

Unable to shake the ominous lump settled in the pit of his stomach, Mitch walked to a relatively quiet spot inside the hangar to call Mariam, while Hank marched off to the men’s room. The big man’s stomach didn’t react very well to altitude shifts.

In the small visitor’s lounge, Mitch nodded to the pilot who looked like he had found a small slice of heaven as he tilted the newly filled coffee mug to his lips.

Relieved the salon was empty, Mitch dialed the number, closing the door behind him. He needed to know if she’d heard from Lorna. Lorna hadn’t returning his call—either because she didn’t want to or because she was unable to. He hoped for the former rather than the latter. He wanted her safe.

“Not yet,” Mariam’s reply sounded a bit agitated. “She normally calls before Kris goes to bed at eight. But she said last night she was having trouble with the cell service.”

“Oh.” Mitch checked his watch. After nine. “Do you happen to know how far it is from the site of the shoot to her hotel?”

“She said it was about a two-hour drive north.”

Mitch closed his eyes. He hoped he was overreacting. The dread in his belly grew heavier. “Thanks, Mariam.”

Mitch hung up and called Luke. “What’s the news on the two in the car?”

“Still there. What’s up?”

“I just have a bad feeling, man.” He walked to the coffee maker and helped himself to a stiff cup of joe.

“We’re on it, Mitch. Grandma and the kid will be fine.”

Nodding into his coffee, he replied, “I know you are, man.”

The investigation had changed so much in the last couple of hours due to the information Lorna had provided in her dossier. With the newly acquired intel, Boulet had given him and Hank the thumbs up to proceed; the old man even took the initiative to link with the Prince George detachment.

“Hell, I’ll make the call,” the Chief said, smiling, one hand laid protectively across the folder. “There’s certainly more to this little lady than I bargained for. She sure knows how to do her homework.”

Of course she does; she hacked computers and could hijack information before she could spell.
Shaking his head at his fickle boss, Mitch dialed through to Communications as he brought the cardboard cup to his lips for a hesitant sip.
Blaa
.
God-awful
. But it had the essential caffeine to keep him motoring, so he stomached another mouthful. He wanted all cell coverage mapped to track cellular movement within the last known area where Lorna had been. Mariam had provided him with a radius from Lorna’s hotel to use.

“Sure. Why?” Jordan, on the other end of the phone, was clearly typing as they spoke.

“It’s a remote location, and cell coverage is limited. Anyone using up there would stand out, and we’ll be able to pinpoint where we need to concentrate our efforts.”

“Oh, I see,” the voice sounded slightly more interested and the typing had paused.

He reiterated his message for clarity. “If something’s going down, she’ll need to communicate, and it’ll be the easiest way of tracking.”

“Gotcha, just thinking here,” Jordan said. “How about OnStar while we’re at it?”

“OnStar?”

“Sure,” the IT specialist replied. “If this woman was driving an OnStar-equipped vehicle and something occurred, say an accident where she just drove off the road and no foul play, then the vehicle satellite would have sent a signal. We can avoid further costs of tracking something that doesn’t need to be tracked, if this is the case.”

Damn, I hadn’t thought of that.

“But if she was taken,” Jordan continued, “and she was in the vehicle and no signal was sent, then we’d know. We’ll be able to track the vehicle she was driving.”

“Excellent.”

“But,”—there was a warning note in the young man’s voice—“only if Lorna is driving an OnStar-equipped vehicle.”

“Keep me posted.”

Racking his brain, searching for anything he might be missing, Mitch started towards the hangar door, and the pilot gave him the thumbs up. Mitch held up his five fingers, stalling for time, and the pilot nodded assent. Good, enough time to call Tia.

“Sorry to trouble you at home,” he said, striving for an air of nonchalance. “I haven’t been able to reach Lorna today and was wondering if you’ve heard from her?”

“No, I haven’t, which is weird. I just checked my e-mail, and she hasn’t even responded.” Tia laughed nervously. “She never not answers her e-mail. Even on vacation, she checks in. She’s so anal.”

“I know.” Mitch allowed a smile to touch his voice. “Always has to be on top of everything. In control.”

“Exactly,” Tia agreed.

“But nothing from her today?”

“No, not yet.”

“What about the others from the shoot? Tim Fong? Any of them? Are you able to contact them to see if they’ve heard from her?”

There was a long pause on the line before she answered. “I don’t think I’d be able to get ahold of Mr. Fong, and I don’t want to chance the wrath of June, his assistant. But I can certainly call the production crew and check.” He could hear her shuffling paper. “I’ll call you right back.”

“Thanks, Tia.”

The wait seemed agonizingly long as he watched Hank remount the steps to the waiting chopper. Mitch jumped on the phone after the first ring. “Morgan here.”

“Heya, Mitch.” Tia sounded a little breathless. “Apparently, they’re having a real storm up there. High winds, hail, the works. The crew said it took them close to three hours to get back to town. They thought Lorna wasn’t far behind them, but her car’s not in the parking lot and she didn’t make it to dinner.”

Mitch caught her faltering. “What?”

“Well, she planned to go through details for the promotional work with them this evening.” The pilot was waving at him as the blades began to turn. “Mitch, that’s not like her. Something’s wrong.”

“I don’t want you to worry, Tia,” Mitch soothed. “I’ll call over to the closest detachment to see if they have a patrol car up to the area.”

“You’ll let me know, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Mitch said, ending the call and redialing Luke.

“Get the woman and the boy out of that house,” Luke commanded without preamble.

“What’s up?”

“Something’s wrong, Luke.” Mitch was striding through the hangar, not wanting to waste a minute more. “I feel it as sure as I breathe. Lorna never made it back to the hotel.”

“You could be overreacting…”

“I’m not.” Mitch stopped before opening the door leading to the tarmac. “Just get them and put them up at some hotel for tonight. Better safe than sorry.”

Not concerned about the noise as he ran towards the chopper, Mitch called dispatch. “Hey, Beverly,” he said, recalling the built-like-a-brick-shit house woman with the cat-like glasses. “Mitch Morgan from upstairs.”

“What can I do for you, Mitch Morgan from upstairs?”

“We have a person of interest who we know was in between Mackenzie and Chetwynd, B. C. She hasn’t checked in, and she’s a few hours overdue.” He paused to pull out a file photo of Lorna with a written description from his breast pocket. “I’ll e-mail you the particulars as soon as I hang up. Can you make a call across to see if they have any patrols in the area? I want to make sure she hasn’t gone off the road or something.”

“You sure this is a subject and not a girlfriend?” she questioned, a thread of humour icing her words. “We’re not the depot dating agency.”

“No. It’s official. I’ll send you the info over the secured network.”

“Okay, I’m on system now.”

Mitch hung up, strapping into his seat, positioning his earpiece before taking a picture of the photo of Lorna and the description on the back. He transferred these to PDFs and sent them through to depot, watching for the confirmation.

***

Curled towards the side of the truck bed, Lorna did her best to protect herself from the rain and hail drilling down upon her. Every pebble-like hailstone that struck her shoulder and the side of her face felt like an instant bruise. Pulling with the tips of her fingers on the tie straps, Lorna hooked her thumbs through the brackets connected to the box of the truck to try to alleviate the ache in her wrists. The iron taste of blood mixed with the rain as it rolled down the length of her arm and blew into her face. There was little to be done to protect her ankles, stretched and elevated as they were against the side of the truck.

Gritting her teeth to bear the pain lacing up her legs, she struggled to concentrate on counting. It was an old trick she used to do when she was a little girl, locked in the pitch-black closet that smelled of rot and mildew. She would play a game to see how long her uncle kept her locked up. It served two purposes; one a distraction to keep her from getting scared, and two, a way to help her fall asleep. Neither was going to be the case in this instance.

Old habits die hard,
she thought.
And it seems bastards never do.
“Aghhh,” she moaned, tilting her head to receive the blow from nature in the form of hail, which took her mind off her current torture. She couldn’t allow herself to give in to the torture. Staying alert would keep her alive. If they had Kris, she needed to be strong for both of them.

Memories she had tried to bury long ago flooded back to the surface.
How many times have I counted in my life to measure time and ignore current suffering?
Whenever things went bad for her uncle, she suffered first through his shouting rants and then with his fists. Many times, the closet offered an escape from his punishments. Once he had shaved her head so she would understand his shame of not having enough money to feed his addiction.

She didn’t want the memories to resurface. She didn’t want Kris to face that kind of life. She needed to get through this, make sure Kris did not go down the same road she had to travel. Where did these bastards come from?

“Fuck! Six hundred and forty-two,” Lorna yelled, knowing no one in the truck could hear her through the noise of the storm, even if they did give a damn. “It’s not working.”

The pain in her limbs felt like she was being pulled apart by the seams. Her body swayed with the water in the truck bed as they took the turn off the highway. Committing the number to memory, she started fresh.

In addition to the pelting rain she was splattered with mud. They had turned onto a dirt road. Lorna hoisted her weight forward as the truck slipped all over the pathway and fell into ruts. Spinning tires sprayed the mud like water from a hose as they struggled to continue on their chosen course. The truck bed, awash in rain, caused her body to move from one spot to another; her legs were almost numb with the pain.

At just over the ten-thousand mark, the truck hesitated. Lorna paused the count.
We’ve either arrived or the road is washed out.
She committing the number to memory, unable to focus on anything else but counting.

Readjusting herself closer to the side of the truck to relieve the pressure, her ribs voiced their own opinion on the current stationary situation. The whirring of tires spinning without traction in the heavy muck warned her to brace for the jolt of the vehicle’s push forward. They didn’t advance very far before the Ford turned in a wide arc and came to a stop.

Beams of light pierced the driving rain. Someone shone a flashlight beam directly in Lorna’s face over the side of the truck. “Get her off there,” the woman shouted, her voice and the light fading away in the grey night.

The tall man, who had taken the brunt of her efforts to his mid-sectioned unmentionables, jumped up on the back of the Ford, bending close to her face. “Not so fucking feisty now, are you, bitch?” he said in a low, menacing voice as he pulled the straps free from her tender wrists.

Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, Lorna swallowed the scream of pain that threatened to escape as he sliced through the bindings on her ankles.
You’ll get worse than a kick to the balls if you have my baby
, she thought, bracing herself bravely for whatever was to come next. She collapsed, flat on her back, and had a mere moment to force feeling back into her extremities before she was hauled like a flour sack to the tailgate.

“Look, Stan,” the wider gap-toothed man she hit with the Buick said to the one gripping her arm and pushing her to the edge by her head. “She doesn’t even have any shoes.”

Spinning Lorna around by her matted hair, Stan grabbed her by a shoulder before pausing to slap the speaker. “Shut it.”

“What?”

“No names,” Stan replied, forcing her to march forward with a poke to her back.

Feet sinking in the thick mud, Lorna peered through the dark and weather to see her surroundings. Visibility was impossible. The most she could make out was the glimmer of a newly lit lamp from where she assumed the woman had gone. Wrapping her arms around her shivering body, she concentrated on taking one step at a time, pushing one foot forward while pulling the other free of the suctioning mire.