I have an idea what all of it means, but I can’t afford to waste my energy on it. I need to focus instead on the short term goals of surviving and figuring out how I’m going to get away.
By now, people are going to start missing me. Keith or Deputy Director Shay might realize I’m not back, that the work truck I signed out hasn’t been returned, or that my car is still in the lot. But even if they fail to sound the alarm, Dad will go crazy when I don’t check in. And if CJ isn’t already worried sick that I haven’t shown up at the bunkhouse like we’d planned, the phone call he’ll surely make to Dad will change that in an instant.
They’ll know something’s wrong.
After they trace my whereabouts to Little Elk Creek, how will they find mehere? I don’t know how long I was in the trunk of that car. Minutes? Hours? It was almost four o’clock when I sent CJ that text, but when we arrived at this place, it was dark.
I close my eyes and send them both a silent message, even though I know it’s futile.Two men have me locked in their basement. I don’t know where I am but there’s a barn and cows and a big house. It can’t be too far from Little Elk Creek.
Fresh tears prick my eyes as I picture Dad and CJ looking for me. How will they even know where to search?
I have to be strong and smart. I have find a way to free myself.
Even though I’m behind bars, I need to explore. Maybe there’s some way to untie my hands. Maybe there’s some way to break out. They took my boots, and I can only assume they ditched my phone and my pack somewhere. Or they’re holding onto them.
My frazzled mind snatches at a ray of hope. Where is my knife? I close my eyes and try to remember. After I used it to open a bag of trail mix at lunchtime, did I put it back in my pack or in my pocket?
It’s too slender to make an impression against my thigh, if it’s even there. I need to try to get one of my bound hands into my cargo pants pocket. Can I do that without dislocating my shoulder?
I try to move but the pain makes me cry, the tears stinging my eyes. Gritting my teeth, I manage to roll onto my knees, pausing with each inch of movement to breathe until the nausea subsides and the pain dials back enough to continue.
When I arch a little with my back and twist my shoulders, my fingertips can walk down the length of my wool pants. I have to stop several times because the pain floods me with nausea. Huffing and wrenching my body, I finally get into the pocket, but it’s too deep. I can’t reach. Straining and contorting, I lose my balance and topple onto my side, the crash shooting waves of hot pain up my chest.
Fresh tears flood my eyes as exhaustion overtakes me. I tell myself I’ll rest for a few minutes, and then I’ll try again.
I refuse to waste this opportunity. It could be my last.
Chapter Thirty-Five
A forkof lightning brightens the western sky as I drive through pouring rain, my pulse ticking faster and faster. Bruneau sits alert on the passenger seat while I try to reach either Scott or Keith at the field office. I finally reach Scott on his cell but he was away in meetings for most of the day and didn’t even know Linnie was in the field. At least he was able to locate Keith for me, but it only confirmed what we already know: Linnea was surveying the upper section of Little Elk Creek. She signed out a work truck just before dawn, probably to maximize the daylight.
I’ve called her five times and texted her but there’s been no answer. And her phone’s location went offline just after 4:00 in the Little Elk Creek basin, which could mean she turned off her phone at that time, the battery died, or she moved outside of cell range.
But by now, she would have checked in.
Something is wrong.
Back when Linn was dating that controlling asshole Nathan, at first, I believed her claim that our longer periods of silence were due to her intense academic load, being busy with friends, and applyingto grad school. When it became clear that Nathan was manipulating her, I tried to intervene, but it only pushed her farther away. After it was over, and Linn asked for space, I agreed with one caveat, that she always returns my texts. Even if it was only a thumbs up or a random picture. I needed proof that she was okay.
When I round the bend in the forest road, my headlights flash on a silver IDFW work truck parked in a pullout next to the creek, with CJ’s blue Dodge parked in front of it, engine running like he’s just arrived. Bruneau gives a soft whine, no doubt reading my growing worry.
I do my best to park off the road behind the work truck then grab my heavy-duty flashlight from the back and tug on my rain slicker, hat, and a pair of gloves. Bruneau bounds over the console then scampers down next to me. I squat down, ignoring the tight ache in my hip, and take his big head in my hands. “Help me find Linnie, okay, boy?” He’s not a search dog, so this request is bogus.
As if to prove my point, he licks my chin.
“Stay close,” I command, then click on my flashlight and shut my truck door. Another streak of lightning erupts from the west, illuminating the slanting rain and surrounding forest.
CJ materializes wearing a black raincoat with the hood pulled up over a ball cap, jeans, and hiking boots. Thunder booms, but it’s still distant.
There’s plenty I need to say to him, but it can wait until after we find Linnea. The steely look of determination on his face reassures me that we’re on the same page.
“Still no word from her?” I shout over the steady roar of the now-swollen creek and the driving rain splatting on my hat and shoulders. I can read the answer on his tense face.
He shakes his head. “The truck’s empty and locked,” he shouts.
“Is her gear inside?” We both walk alongside the truck toward the driver’s side.
“Not that I saw,” he replies.