Serial Love: Saints Protection & Investigation (31 page)

Not understanding what he was talking about, she croaked, “Mr. Taylor?” Her tongue felt large in her mouth, but she was desperate. “Let me go. We can get help.”

“You don’t know,” he bit out, his face contorting in pain. “I don’t need help. They did. Good girls on the outside, but really sluts. Just sluts.” His eyes lifted to the wall of photographs, darting over them, searching. His breathing slowed as he perused his handiwork, finding comfort in his wall.

“I need to get you ready,” he added as he moved toward her, a cloth in his hand, the familiar sickly odor emanating.

Nooooo,
her mind screamed and she could not be sure if her mouth said the word at the same time. A flash of Jack’s face flew through her thoughts.
Find me. Please find me,
as she steeled herself.

W
hile Jack was
gone out of the command center on his way to Mountville, Luke, Monty, and Blaise immediately went to work collating the data gathered.

“Find their property,” Monty shouted, as Luke responded, “On it.”

Within a minute, Luke displayed three properties that Stanley Taylor Jefferson owned. Monty called it into the FBI who was on route to the main residence, where the family was, in the suburbs of Richland. They would be there shortly.

“Got two others besides his mom’s place,” Luke called out. “One is property he owns about halfway between here and Richland. No house, but could be outbuildings. Chad, get a visual. The other is a piece of land on the far side of Richland.”

Within a minute, Chad brought up satellite images of the property. Monty immediately sent the information to the FBI, cursing that they had no idea which one Stan would use.

Blaise turned around, catching the eyes of the others while listening to the radio earpiece. “Roger that,” he called out, then lifted his eyes to Luke. “Jack’s on his way back. The cabin’s empty. No sign of Taylor or Bethany. And a shattered glass of bones was on the floor.”

“Fuckin’ hell!” Luke shouted out in frustration.

Within ten minutes Jack, Bart, and Blaise charged back into the command center.

“Give me everything you’ve got,” Jack growled, panting, his expression ravaged.

Monty started to report but was interrupted as Luke jerked around, pinning Jack with his gaze. “We’ve got her,” he said, drawing all eyes to him. “Ann’s tracker bracelet. It’s at the closest property that Stan owns. He’s taken her there.”

“She’s wearing the bracelet?” Bart asked, disbelieving her location could be identified so easily.

“Jesus,” Jack said. “She started putting it in her pocket each day. She said it gave her comfort and I sure as fuck forgot about it.” Pivoting quickly, he barked out, “Suit up. We’re going in.”

The men grabbed their tactical equipment and headed back out of the door. Filling four SUVs they spun gravel behind them once more, this time knowing exactly where they were going and what they were going to do when they got there.

Please God, don’t let it be too late.

*

As Stan moved
closer to Bethany, she cowered against the wall, the fear making her limbs quiver and her stomach lurch. He seemed distracted as he continued to mutter, “I’m not ready. This isn’t the right time.” He gazed at her, saying, “I heard Roscoe tell you there was a noise. I didn’t know what to do. I thought it was a good hiding place. I couldn’t keep my trophies at my house. But when we would come visit you, it was easy to add to my collection. No one would think to look there. But you did.”

She stared, not knowing what to say to his explanation…not even sure if he expected a response.

Rubbing his hand over his forehead, he grimaced as though in pain. “But you were such a good girl, taking care of your grandmother.” He shook his head back and forth several times, continuing to mutter. “You have to go away now that you found out. But…it’s not right.” He paced the floor before stopping right in front of the wall of photographs.

He turned slowly, his eyes boring into hers. “You slept with that man. You’re just a slut like the rest of them.” Nodding now, he seemed to have come to a conclusion. “Yes, yes. I have to take care of you too.”

Fear overrode her numbness and she struggled to get away, only managing to snap her wrist held in captivity. The pain sliced through her arm, causing the nausea to fill her mouth once again.

As he bent toward her, the offensive cloth in his hand, he added, “You can’t stop what has to happen. I’ll make it work.”

Her mind finally coming unglued, she reacted immediately, taking the only move she knew how to make—she rolled her face away from him on her back while bringing her feet up and kicked him in the groin as hard a she could.

Howling, he went down on the floor, dropping the chloroformed rag and grabbing his crotch with both hands. Tears streaming out of his tightly closed eyes, he was unable to speak. Rising to a kneeling position, she wanted to search his pockets for the key to the metal lock but realized his hands were in the way.

In a panic, she grabbed the cloth with one hand and twisted her face away to keep the odor from affecting her. Slapping the wet fabric over his face, his cries stilled and his body stopped writhing on the floor. She stuck her good hand into his pants pocket and found a keyring.

Trying several of them, she discovered the correct one and, with her hands shaking with fright and adrenaline, she opened the metal cuff. She could not tell if her wrist was broken, but she used her good hand to push herself up. Holding on to the wall as she hauled herself upward, she then stumbled toward the door, pulling it open. The monstrous smells of the death room fell behind her as she made her way outside, gulping the fresh air deep into her lungs as she pitched forward onto her knees on the gravel drive.

The sun was slicing through the tree foliage and she could see his car parked to the left. Staggering to his vehicle, she discovered the car keys were not in her hand. Too afraid to go back inside to search for them, she attempted to run, although the lingering effects of the chloroform made her unsteady on her legs.

The trees on either side of the road became flashes of fall colors all swimming in front of her eyes. The sunlight beating down seemed too bright, causing her to squint.
Got to get away. Just keep going,
her muddled mind screamed.

A sound ahead had her stopping in the middle of the drive. Hearing the noise of an automobile, she froze, her disoriented mind unable to ascertain from which direction it came. Turning too quickly, she slid down the gravel drive’s edge, rolling and tumbling into a small ravine. Thorns and underbrush tore at her clothing, scraping her limbs until she finally came to a stop at the bottom. Covered in leaves and dirt, she lay exhausted, praying that she was hidden from whatever terrors might come.

*

Making the thirty-minute
drive in only fifteen minutes, the men coordinated their assignments while en route. Jack drew on his Special Forces training to slow his heart rate and focus on the mission at hand, but found the task almost impossible.

Monty’s voice came through the earpieces, “ETA for FBI is ten more minutes.”

“Not waiting,” Jack growled, his body moving with the speeding vehicle driven by Bart as they took the country curves at a speed much too fast for ordinary drivers.

Pulling to a stop just down the drive from the property’s windowless structure deep in the woods, they alighted, immediately circling. The car sitting outside curled Jack’s stomach.
Fuck, I saw that car driving around whenever Taylor’s family was at Mountville. I was so close to the killer and never fuckin’ knew it.

“Boss,” Blaise said, causing Jack to jerk his head toward the left. “Get it outta your head. Not gonna help her now.”

Sucking in a huge breath to clear his mind, Jack nodded.
Time to go down, asshole.

Approaching the door, Chad was prepared to blast it open when they saw that it was slightly ajar, allowing Jack and Bart to storm in first. Jack’s gaze looked for Bethany, his stomach lurching as he saw the blood-stained table and gruesome photographs on the wall. But no Bethany.

Bart ran to Stanley, beginning to stir on the floor near chains connected to the wall. Seeing the chloroform rag next his face, he barked out, “She must have turned this on him. She’s out.”

Blaise and Chad entered as Jack stomped over to Stanley and picked him up with one arm. “Where the fuck is she?” he roared.

Just then the area was swarming with FBI as Monty led them to the hideaway of death. Chad caught Jack’s arm as it was swinging toward Stan’s face.

“The knife,” Chad yelled, catching Jack’s attention. “There’s no blood on it. Swear to God, Jack, I think she escaped.”

Blaise quickly said into his radio, “Luke, find her with the tracer. We’re at the location. Got Stan but Bethany’s not here.”

Luke’s answer had Jack and the Saints pounding out of the structure, leaving it to the FBI as they ran back down the drive. Looking side to side as he ran, Jack noticed broken branches in the gorse. “Here,” he shouted.

Moving off of the gravel drive, he fought his way past the brambles, seeing a torn piece of cloth clinging to a thorn bush. He heard another Saint behind him and called out, “She’s been here,” knowing his men would be following.

Pushing past the last of the brambles along the steep slope, he saw movement in the underbrush down by the ravine. Just as he slid to a stop, shouting her name, Bethany’s scratched face peeked out from the brambles. Dazed and confused…
but fuckin’ beautiful.

Charging into the ditch, he slid down beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Jesus, Jesus, thank Jesus,” he said over and over, his chest near to bursting.

“Jack?” her weak voice said, as she buried her face in his neck, her good arm clawing to find its way around him as she held her injured harm close to her body.

“I’m here, beautiful. I’ve got you.”

Hearing noises beside them, he did not have to look to know his men were circling around to assist. Feeling hands help them up, he turned as Blaise said, “Jack, get her up to the road and let me check her out.”

Nodding, Jack stood with her in his arms, allowing the men to get them to the road. Kneeling with her in his embrace, he realized his body was shaking. Not knowing what horrors she had faced before escaping, he warred with wanting to talk to her and simply wanting her to never think of it again.

Bethany’s slightly dilated eyes took in the men around her as Jack held her tightly. “I’m…I’m okay,” she stammered.

Blaise gently wiped her scratched face and arms, noting her clothing was intact and there were only slight bruises on her neck. Her wrist seemed to have suffered the most injury as it was swollen, abraded and bleeding from the metal cuff.

Blaise opened his backpack and pulled out the makings for an emergency splint, quickly binding her wrist.

His eyes met Jack’s and he gave an imperceptible nod, Jack’s breath letting out slowly. Monty came running down the drive, having informed the FBI of her whereabouts.

Several ambulances pulled into the drive, one stopping at the group. Jack placed Bethany on the stretcher against her protests.

“Babe, not taking a chance. I want you seen,” Jack ordered gently.

Still clutching at his shoulders, she peered into his face, fear written on her expression. “Don’t leave me!”

Touching his lips to her forehead, he nodded. “I’ll be with you always, beautiful.”

*