Hostage Negotiation

A sob rose in her throat at the thought of enduring another one of his “punishments.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Footsteps! Oh, God. No. Please. She stumbled, caught herself against a tree. Fell. Pushed herself up. Started running again.

She couldn’t deny the truth any longer. He was following her. She knew it even without seeing him, by the way her joints tightened with fear, the way her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought they’d crack. The very air around her seemed charged with menace, a black, choking fog of evil.

More thumps. Faster. He was running. He must have found her tracks. He was so close. A whimper escaped between her clenched teeth.

I don’t want to die. Twenty-three years isn’t enough. I want a family, babies. How can I die when I haven’t even lived?

Another sound interrupted the quiet of the Glades. A low rumble. Wait. Was that a car? Leaves crackled and twigs snapped somewhere up ahead, as if they were being crunched beneath tires. Yes! Someone was driving a car through the woods. Had she finally found civilization? Was there a road through this horrible, cursed, endless swamp? Hurry, hurry. She couldn’t let them pass her by. This might be her only chance.

She ran full out. She didn’t even try to be quiet anymore.

Neither did he.

A roar of rage erupted behind her. She whimpered again and hated herself for it.

Don’t look. Don’t turn around.

The car was coming up fast. Would she make it? This time she couldn’t stop herself from looking over her shoulder, to see how close he was. A choked sob escaped her. She saw the leather mask he wore through a break in the trees, the gaping hole over his mouth.

He smiled.

She choked on a sob of terror. A horn blared. She whirled around. The grill of a dark vehicle filled her line of vision. She screamed as it slammed into her, tossing her through the air. The boggy ground rushed up to meet her. Excruciating pain slammed through the side of her head, her hip, as she flopped end over end to land on her stomach in a tangle of arms and legs. She lay unmoving, her cheek pressed against the ground, her gaze fastened on the bushes and trees fifteen feet away.

A door slammed. Running footsteps came toward her from the direction of the vehicle. And at the edge of the tree line, directly across from her, he stopped. Watching her. His feral smile vicious and deadly, promising retribution.

She let out a small cry.

“Miss. Can you hear me?” A man’s deep voice, thick with concern as he knelt beside her, his back turned to evil incarnate.

The devil slowly drew a large, serrated knife from the holder strapped to his thigh.

She sucked in a breath and tried to warn the stranger. But she couldn’t make her lips form any words. Blood bubbled up in her throat, choking her. Can’t breathe. Can’t. Breathe.

The stranger kneeling beside her, ever so carefully, tilted her head. Her airway cleared. She coughed and tried again to warn him.

Run! She tried to tell him. He’ll kill you! She tried to raise her hand, to wave toward the devil. But she didn’t seem to have control over her body anymore. Everything was going numb. And cold, so cold.

Satan took a step toward the stranger, knife raised.

“My name is Zack Scott.” Her would-be rescuer leaned down into her field of vision, his handsome face lined with worry. He scooted a bunched-up cloth of some kind beneath her head. “I’m the chief of police of Mystic Glades. Just hold on. I’ve got you.”

The devil paused.

“Turn around.” She forced the words past her bruised lips, but they came out a gurgle.

“Don’t try to talk. Lie as still as you can. Don’t move.”

A rumbling noise echoed through the trees. Another car? Brakes squealed. A door slammed. Footsteps pounded.

The devil jerked back beside a tree, a shadow amongst shadows.

“What the...?” Another man’s voice. Dirt sliding as he dropped to his knees beside Zack. “What happened? Who is she?”

“She ran out in front of my truck. Try your phone, Cole. We might be far enough from Mystic Glades to have cell service.”

Turn around, Zack. Look behind you, Cole. Her fingers curled helplessly into the dirt as she stared at Satan. Why couldn’t she make herself form the words to warn them? Her throat was so tight. Everything hurt.

Zack’s warm fingers pressed against her neck. “Her pulse is weak.” He glanced toward Cole then nodded and looked at her again. “The call went through. Help is on the way. You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Just, please, hold on.”

The devil’s eyes flashed.

She whimpered and surrendered to the darkness.

Chapter Three

Zack paced the hospital waiting room.

“Will you stop already?” Cole shifted in his chair. “You’re making everyone around us dizzy. And you’re making me want to slug you. Sit down.”

Zack was surprised to realize that most of the dozen or so people scattered around the large waiting room were indeed watching him. He rubbed the back of his neck and made himself sit beside Cole. But keeping still proved impossible. Nervous energy had his foot tapping up and down as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the tops of his thighs.

After a few minutes of sitting, he jumped to his feet again.

Cole let out a low curse.

“The ambulance brought our Jane Doe here over two hours ago,” Zack complained. “Someone should have told us something by now. What if she’s...what if she’s dead? What if she’s alive but paralyzed? I tilted her head when she was lying on the road, shoved one of my socks under her neck to keep her face angled up. What if she had a spinal cord injury and I made it worse?”

“Is that why you’re acting like a caged tiger? You blame yourself?”

“Well, of course I blame myself. I ran her over with my truck. Who else should I blame?”

“Her. She ran out in front of you. And you didn’t run her over. You tapped her with the bumper.”

“Tapped?” Zack gave his friend an incredulous look. “She went somersaulting through the air like a rag doll and...” He fisted his hands, trying to block out the memory of her body flipping end over end, landing in a crumpled heap. That she’d still been breathing when he’d reached her was a miracle. But then, when blood had bubbled from her mouth, he’d... “I shouldn’t have moved her head.”

“She was choking on her own blood according to what you told the EMTs when they arrived. The reason you propped her head up was so she could breathe. Or am I wrong about that?”

“No. But I—”

“But nothing. You did what you had to do to save her life. So jump off the guilt-trip train already. Instead, ask yourself what she was even doing there in the first place. You saw her clothes—dirty, torn, not just from the accident either, is my guess. And she wasn’t even wearing shoes.”

“Yeah, I know. Her hair was matted, really matted. And her skin was grimy, as if she’d been out there a long time. There’s something really wrong here. But I can’t even begin to focus on starting an investigation until I know whether she’s going to be okay.”

And, God, please, with no life-altering deficits caused by him.

“Since you’re still setting up the police department in Mystic Glades, my boss has already sent men out to the swamp to start checking things out. And he’s fine with me staying here as long as needed, until we get some answers. And an update on our Jane Doe.”

Zack nodded his thanks.

On the other side of the waiting room there was a short hallway that led into the bowels of the emergency room. Doctors and nurses kept going in and out of the door at the end, but so far none of them had spoken to either him or Cole.

“Why hasn’t anyone come out to talk to us?”

Instead of answering, Cole crossed his arms, obviously giving up on trying to talk Zack out of worrying.

The door to the ER opened again. And just like dozens of times before, a nurse stepped out. But this one didn’t hurry away. Instead, she stopped at the information desk and spoke to the volunteer sitting there. Zack watched them intently. The volunteer checked her clipboard then pointed toward Zack and Cole. Finally.

As the nurse hurried toward them, Cole rose to stand shoulder to shoulder with Zack.

“Just remember—” Cole kept his voice low “—no matter what she tells us, none of this is your fault.”

Maybe. Maybe not. But nothing could change the fact that it was his truck that had slammed into the young woman who was fighting for her life right now, assuming that she was even still alive. If he’d killed her...no, he wouldn’t go there, couldn’t go there. Having something like that on his conscience was a burden he didn’t think he could bear. She had to make it.

“Chief Scott, Detective Larson?” She looked from one to the other, her brows arched in question.

“I’m Chief Scott,” Zack clarified. “And this is Detective Larson.”

“Ma’am.” Cole nodded.

“I’m Miss Murphy, one of the ER nurses. Doctor Varley is attending to your Jane Doe and wanted me to give you an update.”

“Then she’s...she isn’t...” Zack stopped, not wanting to voice his fears out loud, afraid he’d jinx the outcome.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “She’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking. And she’s doing very well, all things considered.”

He let out a ragged breath. Then her words sank in. “All things considered? What does that mean? Is she paralyzed? Is she—”

“No, no, goodness, no. She’s not paralyzed. Her prognosis is very good, actually. I take it from your response that you’re the one who hit her?”

He winced. “Yes, ma’am.”

She patted his forearm. “Rest assured. A slight concussion, bruises and a minor tear in the soft tissues of her throat are all that you can take credit for. Most everything else is inconsistent with being hit by a car.”

Zack exchanged a confused look with Cole. “Everything else?”

It was her turn to look confused. “Well, yes. The burns, the dehydration, cuts, abrasions.”

“Burns?” they asked at the same time.

“Dehydration?” Zack added.

Her brows drew down. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Zack asked. “Did she burn herself in a campfire then go looking for help and got lost? Is that why she was dehydrated?”

She looked around then stepped closer as if to make sure that no one else could hear her. “Your Jane Doe has extensive bruising all over her body. Judging by their coloration, many of the bruises are days, or even weeks, old. She’s malnourished, and chunks of her hair look as if they’ve been pulled out by the roots. The burns that I mentioned? No campfire would cause the circular patterns on her abdomen and back. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re cigarette burns.”

From the expression on his friend’s face, Cole was just as shocked as Zack was. And just as angry.

“Like I said, the concussion and esophageal tear,” she continued, without giving either of them a chance to ask her any questions, “can be attributed to being hit by a vehicle. But the other injuries don’t appear to be from an accident.” She cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable.

Other injuries. Did she mean more than what she’d already mentioned?

“Miss Murphy,” Zack said, “you called her Jane Doe. Didn’t she tell you her name?”

She shook her head. “No. She hasn’t spoken. She was unconscious when she arrived and woke up inside the CT scanner, confused and combative. We had to sedate her for her own safety. The doctor should be finished stitching her up soon. Then we’ll admit her, take her upstairs to a private room, where she can sleep off the effects of the sedative. I’d say that you can ask her questions then, but as exhausted and frail as she is, she’ll probably sleep for hours. Maybe even until late tomorrow.”

The idea of waiting that long to question the woman certainly wasn’t welcome. But right now Zack was more concerned with discovering the details that the nurse seemed to be holding back.

“The other injuries that you mentioned, can you be more specific?”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip in indecision.

“Ma’am,” Cole spoke up. “We’re both law-enforcement officers, and that young woman is currently our responsibility. If we’re going to find the person who hurt her, we need to know exactly what happened.”

She leaned in toward them. “The bruising I mentioned...there were dark, chafed circles on her wrists and ankles. Doctor Varley believes she was restrained, for an extended period of time.”

Zack grew very still. “Someone tied her up?”

“We think so, yes. And the X-rays showed some hairline fractures in her forearms, basically healed now, but still recent. I’m sure you’re aware that breaks like that are characteristic of someone raising their arms to—”

“Defend themselves,” Zack finished for her.

She nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my patient.” She took off across the room before either of them could stop her and disappeared through a swinging door marked Authorized Personnel Only.

“What’s going on?” Zack kept his voice low, aware that many eyes were watching them. “She was, what, someone’s prisoner? Long enough for fractures to heal?”

“Maybe the Ghost of Mystic Glades isn’t a myth, after all,” Cole said. At Zack’s aggravated look, he held up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know. But, inappropriate or not, you were thinking it, too.”

He was right. Zack had been thinking that, and remembering what else Buddy Johnson had said at last night’s ill-fated campfire story hour. Buddy had said that two women had gone missing in the swamp. What were their names? Sue Ellen something, and Kaylee Brighton? Was it possible that Jane Doe was one of those women?

Where before Zack had assumed that Buddy had made up his claims to add flavor to his story, now he wasn’t sure. He’d have to check the sheriff’s records in Naples to see if any missing persons reports had been filed.

Obviously, no ghost had done those terrible things to the woman they’d found. But Zack didn’t want to believe that someone was abducting women and using the Glades to hide their crimes.

Cole’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, frowning at the screen. “Give me a minute.” He stepped away to take the call, covering his other ear to drown out the sounds of the busy hospital around them.

Zack curled his fingers into fists at his sides. The young woman, their Jane Doe, whom he guessed to be in her mid-twenties, had possibly been abducted and held prisoner. She’d been hurt, abused and yet, she’d been running through the woods just a few miles from Mystic Glades. Why? Was her abductor playing games, letting his victim run while he hunted her like prey? Or had she managed to escape when she’d stumbled out onto the road?

It seemed hard to believe that she could have been out in the swamp for very long, at least not that close to the town where he lived, without being discovered. Yes, the area was sparsely populated. But residents and even the occasional Everglades tourist were known for hiking and canoeing through the beautiful woods and canals nearby, at least when the sun was out and they could keep a careful eye out for dangerous animals and reptiles. Surely, someone would have heard her cry for help if she’d been out there long enough to become malnourished and dehydrated. Or had her abductor kept her gagged the whole time so she couldn’t scream?

Scream. Oh, God, no. His mouth went dry. He’d heard a shriek last night when he’d been putting out the campfire. And he’d convinced himself it was the owl that had flown into the clearing. Had he actually heard Jane Doe, crying for help, and he’d turned his back on her, leaving her at the mercy of a brutal attacker? The possibility had bile rising in his throat.

Cole frowned as he ended the call and stepped back to him. “You okay? You look a bit green around the gills.”

No, he was not okay.

“What was the call about?” he forced past his tight throat. “Obviously not good because you look green, too.”

Cole nodded, not denying it. “Those pictures I took in the back of the ambulance did their job. My boss, Lieutenant Drew Shlafer, said the sheriff in Broward County recognized our girl. They’re on the way to show the pictures to her family for confirmation, in Miami.” His eyes flashed with anger. “Want to guess how long ago her family reported her missing?”

Zack swallowed the cold, hard knot in his throat, remembering what Buddy had said last night about the Ghost of Mystic Glades and the two women who’d gone missing. “Five months or three months?”

“Three.”

Zack swore and vowed to take anything that Buddy Johnson said in the future far more seriously. He probably should interview Buddy to see what else the old man knew.

“Kaylee Brighton?” Zack asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Bingo.”

Zack straightened his shoulders, as if he could brace himself against the terrible burden that now rested squarely in his jurisdiction. “All right. Let’s do this by the book and catch this sicko before he hurts anyone else. The Mystic Glades Police Department is officially requesting assistance from the Collier County Sheriff’s Office. There won’t be any turf wars over this. I’m a one-man operation right now and I need help.”

Cole pulled his phone out again. “You got it. I’ll talk to Lieutenant Shlafer. I’m sure he’ll authorize whatever you need. Maybe we can get some canine trackers out there, too. Figure out where Kaylee was being held and find the lowlife who took her.”

“Thanks. I’ll touch base with some of my FBI contacts, see if they’ve got any other missing-persons reports or homicides where the women were abducted and tortured in remote outdoor areas for an extended period of time. But first, I have to talk to Doctor Varley.”

“Why?” Cole asked, holding one of his hands over his phone.

As the nurse had done earlier, Zack glanced around the waiting room to make sure that no one was close enough to hear him before he answered. “This has changed from an accident to a felony kidnapping and possible sexual-assault investigation. I want to see whether the doctor can wake up Kaylee and obtain consent to perform a forensic exam. We need to collect any DNA from under her nails, swab and bag her clothes.” His jaw tightened. “We need a rape kit.”

Chapter Four

Mumbling voices. Whispered conversations. Antiseptic smell. Above her, a muffled, static-filled announcement over an intercom—code blue to room three twenty-eight. Hospital. She was in a hospital. She curled her hands in the sheets and opened her eyes then blinked against the bright, fluorescent lights. Footsteps sounded to her right and the harsh lights switched off, leaving the room dimly lit. Relieved, she blinked and took her first good look around.

And immediately wished she hadn’t.

Her room, though large by most hospital standards, was positively claustrophobic since there were five men and a woman crammed inside, all wearing business suits and standing by her bed. Dark pieces of memories swirled through her mind, of being caught, trapped. She recoiled against her pillow and pulled the sheet up to her neck, fighting the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her.

“Back up,” a deep voice ordered from her right. “You’re scaring her.”

Unhappy grumblings filled the room, but “the suits” dutifully stepped away from the bed. She turned her head on her pillow to see who’d spoken, a seventh person, a man whom she hadn’t noticed before. Which, now that she saw him, seemed ludicrous. He wasn’t the kind of man to fade into the background. There was a certain...intensity about him, an aura of confidence, authority, that commanded attention.

He wasn’t unusually tall, standing at about six feet. He had short, light brown hair and dark eyes—hard to tell the exact color from this distance. Trim-waisted, he wore a long-sleeved, button-down blue shirt tucked into khaki pants with a sharp crease that could have sliced butter. His arms were crossed, emphasizing his large biceps and muscular chest. He was obviously fit, powerful, strong—qualities that she should have admired. But for some reason, seeing him made her tense and flooded her with an overwhelming desire to run, escape.

She frowned. Escape? What an odd thought to pop into her head.

“Do you know where you are?”

His voice was gentle, soothing, oddly familiar. The panic that had started inside her at seeing how strong, how powerful he was, began to fade. She’d heard that voice before, somewhere. And it made her feel...safe. She frowned again. Why would she crave safety? Was she in danger? None of this made sense.

The man with the intense, dark eyes didn’t approach her bed. Instead, he stayed by the window, as if he sensed her hesitancy, her confusion, her...fear?

“Hospital,” she answered his question. “I’m in a hospital. Not sure which one.”

“Naples Community. I’m Chief Zack Scott from Mystic Glades. We...met...earlier. Do you remember?”

He’d winced when he said they’d met. Why? Wait. Naples? Why was she in Naples? That wasn’t right. She should have been...where? She tried to think, to remember...anything...but her thoughts were a jumble of blurred images that didn’t make sense.

This man, the one in khaki pants...he’d been kneeling over her. When? Why? His face had been lined with concern, his voice gentle as he smoothed her hair out of her eyes.

“Do you know your name?” he asked quietly, from his position by the window.

“Of course I know my name. It’s...it’s...” She blinked, her breaths coming faster, her pulse slamming in her veins. Why couldn’t she remember? Her head throbbed. Her body flushed hot and cold. She raised her hand to her forehead and saw the IV tubing twisted around her arm, tape on the top of her wrist. Ugly purple bruises and lighter yellow ones dotted both of her arms. White bandages were...everywhere. What was going on? She jerked her head up and met the kind eyes of...what did he say his name was? Zack? “I don’t... I can’t...” She pressed her lips together and shook her head in frustration. “I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “The doctor said that might happen, because of your concussion, and that any memory loss is most likely temporary. You were in an accident, but you’re going to be...fine.”

His jaw tightened briefly, as if his choice of words disturbed him. But then he smiled again. “No broken bones. Mostly cuts, scrapes, bruises.” He waved his hand toward the others. “Everyone in this room is law enforcement. We’re here to talk to you about what happened. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She let his soothing voice wrap around her like a warm blanket, forcing back the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. He’d said she’d been in an accident and that she had a concussion, which made sense since her head was throbbing. It would all come back to her. With this many law-enforcement officers in her room, whatever had happened must have been horrible.

She froze. Wait. Six, no, seven officials standing in her room. Would they do that for an accident victim? Or had the accident been her fault? Oh, God. Had she killed someone? Her gaze flew to Zack’s. “You said I was in an accident. What happened?” she asked. “Did I...did I hurt someone?”

“No, no, of course not. You didn’t hurt anyone.” He took a step toward her.

She tensed, pushing back against her pillow.

He immediately stopped and shot a glance at a dark-haired man in a gray suit standing on the left side of her bed. “Maybe we should get her doctor, Cole. We’re upsetting her. This is too much, too fast. She’s not ready.”

Another man, at the foot of her bed, braced his hands on the metal railing. “We can’t wait, Chief Scott. For all we know, the man who abducted her is after another woman right now. Or he could be holding the other missing woman. We need answers.”

“Abducted?” The word rasped past her dry lips. “I was abducted? You said there was an accident. I don’t understand.”