Barb Han - Texas Prey

With every forward step, the tension in Rebecca’s body tightened. Her gaze was trained on the van.

She heard footsteps coming toward her from behind. Turning in time to catch a glimpse of a man rushing toward her, she spun around to face him. He was less than three feet away, moving closer. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood covering his hair and half of his face. Sunglasses hid his eyes. Before she could react, he slammed into her, knocking her off balance. She landed flat on the ground.

This time, she knew it was him— had to be him. She’d recognize that apple-tobacco smell anywhere. The scent had been burned into her senses fifteen years ago.

With the Taser already in hand, she struggled to untangle her purse strap from her arm. She shook free from his grasp, but not without upsetting the contents of her purse.

“You sick bastard. What did you do to my brother?” Aiming the blunt end of the Taser directly at his midsection, she fired.

The man fell to his knees, groaning, as she scrambled to her feet.

“What are you talking about, lady? You’re crazy,” he bit out through grunts and clenched teeth, convulsing on the ground.

Shaking off the fear gripping her, she snatched her handbag and ran to her car. She cursed, realizing some of the purse contents were on the ground. No way could she risk going back for them. Not with him there.

She hopped into the driver’s seat, then closed and locked the door. Her fingers trembled, causing her to drop the keys. Scooping them off the floorboard, she tried to force a sense of calm over her.

Fumbling to get the key in the ignition, her logical mind battled with reality. That had to be him , right?

This wasn’t like before when she’d mistaken one of the garbagemen for her abductor. Or the time she’d been certain he was posing as a cable guy. Anyone who’d come close and roughly matched her abductor’s description had given her nightmares.

The sheriff had been convinced that no one from Mason Ridge was capable of doing such a horrific act. He’d said it had to be the work of a trucker or someone else passing through because of the festival. The FBI hadn’t been so sure. They’d produced a list of potential suspects that had pitted neighbors and small-shop owners against one another. Personal vendettas had people coming forward.

As the investigation unfolded, there was no shortage of accused. And a town’s innocence had been lost forever.

Determined investigators had traced freight cars and truckers that had passed through Mason Ridge the night both her and Shane had been abducted. In the days following, they’d scoured known teen hangouts, drained a lake and even set off dynamite in the rock quarry. But they’d come up empty.

They’d been reaching, just as she was now.

Guilt hit at the thought she could be overreacting. She’d never actually seen the face of the man who’d abducted them all those years ago. Had she just nailed a stranger with her Taser?

A quick glance in the side mirror said it didn’t matter. This guy wasn’t there to help with her groceries. The hooded man on the ground inched toward her, a menacing curve to his exposed lips, his body twitching.

She turned the ignition again with a silent prayer.

Bingo.

The engine cranked and she shifted into Reverse. Her tires struggled to gain traction as she floored the pedal. Fear, doubt and anger flooded her.

She checked the rearview again as she pulled onto the street. When she could be certain he wasn’t following her, she’d pull over and call 911.

A few seconds later, she turned right onto the road and then made another at the red light, zipping into traffic at the busy intersection. A horn blared.

Adrenaline and fear caused her hands to shake and her stomach to squeeze. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. A couple more turns, mixing lefts and rights, and she pulled into a pharmacy parking lot. She reached for her purse, remembering that half the contents had spilled out in the parking lot. Had any of her personal information fallen out? On the concrete? Right next to him?

But it couldn’t be him , could it?

Why would he come back after all these years?

The festival? The radio show? Every year she mentioned her brother near the anniversary of his disappearance and got threatening letters at the station. The sheriff’s office followed up with the same result as previous years, no enthusiasm, no leads.

Rebecca couldn’t write it off so easily, had never been able to. She scoured social media for any signs of Shane. Last month alone, she must’ve sent a dozen messages to people who matched Shane’s description. Although she still hadn’t given up, her results weren’t any better than the sheriff’s. But her resolve was.

Maybe it was her own guilt that kept her searching. Or, a deep-seated need to give their mother closure.

Rebecca rummaged through her bag, desperate to locate her cell, and found nothing. It must’ve fallen out of her purse. The sheriff’s office was nearby. She’d have to drive to the station to file a complaint against her attacker. She cursed. No way could she get there in time for them to take her information and then catch him. He’d be long gone, most likely already was. She fisted her hand and thumped the steering wheel.

If her on-air mention of Shane hadn’t rattled any chains, the media might have. Every year before the festival the local paper ran some kind of article referencing Shane’s disappearance. This year being the fifteenth anniversary had brought out the wolves. A reporter had been waiting in the parking lot at work two weeks ago, trying to score an interview. He’d said he wanted a family member’s perspective. She’d refused and then gone to the sheriff to ask for protection. Again, they did nothing to stop the intrusion, saying no laws had been violated.

Even Charles Alcorn, the town’s wealthiest resident, had reached out to her. He’d helped with the search years ago and said he’d like to offer assistance again. What could he do that hadn’t already been done?

This time, the sheriff’s office couldn’t ignore her. They would have to do something. The attack was concrete and too close for comfort. The man had shown up out of nowhere. She’d been so focused on getting away that she hadn’t thought to see if he’d retreated to a car. A make and model, a license plate, would give the sheriff something to go on.

Her best chance at seeing him behind bars, overdue justice for her brother, had just slipped away. If that was him, a little voice inside her head reminded.

Did he have her cell phone? A cold chill ran down her back.

Wait a minute. Couldn’t the sheriff track him using GPS?

Anger balled inside her as she drove the couple of blocks to the sheriff’s office. What if they didn’t believe her?

She hadn’t physically been there in years, and yet she could still recall the look of pity on Sheriff Randall Brine’s face the last time she’d visited. His gaze had fixed on her for a couple seconds, contemplating her. Then, he’d said, “Have you thought about getting away for a little while? Maybe take a long vacation?”

“I’m fine,” she’d said, but they both knew she was lying.

“I know,” he’d said too quickly. “I was just thinking how nice it’d be to walk through the surf. Eat fresh seafood for a change.” Deep circles cradled his dark blue eyes and he looked wrung out. She’d written it off as guilt, thinking she was probably the last person he wanted to see. Was she a reminder of his biggest failure? Then again, it seemed no one wanted to see her around. “We’ve done everything we can. I wish I had better news. I’ll let you know if we get any new information.”

“But—”