Paula Graves - Chickasaw County Captive

“I don’t know whether to hope he has Maddy with him or not,” she admitted.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I know. I’ve decided it’ll be easier if she’s not there. Then he can’t use her as a pawn.”

“But what if he won’t tell us where she is?”

He released her hand, needing both hands to steer into a sharp curve. “We’ll get it out of him.”

The approach to Saddlecreek Church was a narrow, winding blacktop road. Sam supposed Burkett had chosen the meeting place for just such a reason-easy to see cars-and people-approaching. As he made the turn onto the access road, Kristen unbelted herself and slid down in the floorboard of the Jeep, out of sight. She would stay there until she received the text message signal.

Sam parked about fifty yards from the front of the church and cut the engine. “Showtime.”

“Be careful.”

Sam patted his ankle holster. “I will.”

He leaned over the seat toward her, until his face was inches from hers. “Be careful, too.” He kissed her cold lips, felt them tremble beneath his. Backing away, he met her anxious gaze. “See you soon.”

He exited the Jeep and walked the track to the front of the church. A large chain dangled, snapped in two, from the doors of the church. Under closer examination, the cut in the chains looked fresh. And what he’d thought was the reflection of faint moonlight on the dusty blue stained glass windows was actually a light flickering within the building.

Was Burkett inside already?

Sam pulled the door open. It gave a loud creak and a rattle of the chains, so stealth was out of the question. Not that it mattered. Burkett wouldn’t have chosen the old church if he’d thought there was a chance Sam could sneak up on him.

The interior of the old sanctuary was dusty and smelled of rotting wood and fabric. A mouse scuttled across Sam’s path, giving him a start, but he kept his cool, scanning the open room to get a quick lay of the land.

Rows of pews lined the sanctuary, a few missing here and there, either scavenged by thieves or sold by the church. The hymnal racks were empty, and on some of the remaining pews, mice, rats or other vermin, including perhaps the human variety, had torn some of the blue velvet seat pads to shreds.

At the front of the sanctuary, the altar table remained, covered by a tattered purple altar cloth with a gold cross stitched in the middle. Atop the altar cloth sat a hurricane lamp with a flickering flame that filled the room with pale gold light and a dozen writhing shadows.

Sam took in all of this in the matter of a couple of seconds, which was all the time he needed to realize a man was sitting on the front pew, just a few feet from the altar.

His heartbeat skyrocketed.

Slowly, the man in the front pew rose. He took his time as he turned around to face Sam.

It was Burkett. And he was holding Maddy tightly in his arms, a knife blade pressed against her throat.

“Daddy?” Maddy croaked. The man squeezed her to him more tightly, and her cry cut off.

“Son of a bitch!” Sam yelled, forgetting about anything but the sight of his daughter in a madman’s arms.

“Not one step farther.” Burkett’s firm voice carried across the distance between them.

Sam froze, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s terrified face. “I’m stopped.”

“Take your hand out of your pocket.”

Sam realized he still had his finger on the cell phone button. And Burkett had his back to the organ pit.

With the slightest flick of his finger, he pushed the message button. Then he slowly drew his hand from his pocket and lifted it into the air, along with his other one.

And prayed Kristen got the message.

CROUCHED IN THE FLOORBOARD of Sam’s Jeep, Kristen felt one leg starting to go to sleep, a cool tingle setting in. She shifted her position to return some circulation to the limb, but almost immediately she felt her other leg start to tingle.

How long had Sam been gone? It felt like an hour, though she knew it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

She lifted her cell phone, checking the time on the display. Only ten-thirty-five. He’d been gone less than ten minutes. But if Stan Burkett was punctual, they might be standing face-to-face this very moment.

“Text me, Sam,” she muttered at the stubbornly silent phone. As if in direct response, her cell phone began vibrating, startling her so much that she dropped it between her folded legs and had to contort her body to pick it up again.

She read the message. It was one word.

Go.

Heart pounding, she opened the car door from her crouched position and slipped outside into the cool night air. She allowed herself a stretch, keeping alert for any sign that Burkett might have an accomplice watching from the woods. They’d considered that possibility, and while they’d both agreed he was almost certainly acting alone, she’d had enough training to take care as she circled through the woods to the back of the church building.

There was a small education annex behind the main church building. It was connected to the sanctuary, probably so that churchgoers wouldn’t have to cross from their Sunday school classes to the worship service in the cold or the rain. She checked the clip of her Ruger, then made her way into the education annex through a broken window and flicked on the small flashlight she’d stuck in the pocket of her jeans.

The flashlight beam revealed a long, grimy passageway, filled with litter, a few old beer bottles and soft drink cans. Kids today, she thought grimly, making her way as silently as she could through the obstacle course of detritus.

She heard the faint sound of voices somewhere ahead. She followed the sound around a corner and found herself in front of a doorless archway. From inside, a faint glow was visible.

Kristen turned off the flashlight. It took a few seconds for her eyes to acclimate to the darkness, but when her vision settled, she entered the archway and found herself in a small anteroom. Across from her stood a set of heavy wooden doors.

The organ-side entranceway to the sanctuary.

To the right of the double doors, another door stood open. It was from this open door that the faint, flickering light came, casting dancing shadows across the anteroom.

Choir loft, she thought. She’d been in the church choir as a kid, an enthusiastic if not particularly talented alto.

She crossed to the open door and looked inside. A set of five carpeted steps led up to an empty choir loft. Standing in this doorway, she more clearly heard the voices coming from the sanctuary.

“You had to know it would end this way sooner or later.” That must be Burkett’s voice, a low growl full of barely tempered pain. Kristen would have preferred a more dispassionate voice, she realized. The man’s old and nurtured anguish made him deadly.

She padded silently up the carpeted steps to the choir loft and paused at the edge of the panel wall that had once hidden the choir from the view of the congregation as they filed into the loft. She dared a quick peek around the edge.

She saw Sam immediately, standing with his hands slightly raised. If he spotted her, he gave no indication. His attention was focused on the front of the altar area, where another man stood with his back to the choir loft.

“I didn’t want to kill your son, Mr. Burkett. I did all I could to talk him down. But he was going to pull that trigger.”

“Lies!” Burkett’s cry was that of an animal in pain. “You hated him for not being a good little soldier and killing on your orders. You slaughtered him for his conscience!”

Just over the top of the man’s shoulder, Kristen spotted a head full of dark curls.

Maddy.

She ducked back out of view, leaning against the panel wall. She closed her eyes and breathed silently but deeply.