Lori L. Harris - Taken

Next, he grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to a spot just inside the door. As he returned to the front of the cargo area again, he pulled a medicine bottle from a front pocket and shook out a pill, clearly intending to dose the other women.

Already unconscious, the first one didn’t fight when he shoved whatever it was into her mouth. He moved counterclockwise to the next girl. She wore jeans, a pink sweatshirt and a pair of athletic shoes. “Come on, darlin’. You know the routine.”

He used her hair to roughly pull her head around, and then pried open her mouth. She appeared younger than the others, or maybe she was just smaller.

Jillian watched through slitted eyes. How often did they drug them? Every four hours? More often? Less often? Would she and Megan have more drugs forced into their mouths in the next few minutes, or would he skip them this time?

As he moved on to the next, Jillian glanced at Megan. But with eyes filled with shock, Megan stared at the woman from the road. Jillian wanted to reach out to Megan and offer comfort, but couldn’t because she needed to keep the empty manacle concealed. Maybe if they were lucky, he wouldn’t stop to check on them. Obviously, they hadn’t reached their final destination. The only reason they’d stopped was to bury the woman. Given more time, Jillian could free Megan.

But even once they were free, there would be the problem of getting out of the truck, since the back door was locked on the outside.

She’d made her decision by the time he stepped in front of her. If he didn’t notice that she was free, she’d stay put. If he did…

When he nudged her with his boot as he had the woman from the road, she grunted softly as if too out of it to do any more.

But then he reached down and pulled on the chain; the empty manacle swung free. “What the…?”

Jillian kicked hard. He avoided the blow. But not the one Megan landed against the back of his knee.

“Bitch!” He tried to grab the mesh wall for support, but instead went down hard.

Even as Jillian snapped the manacle around his wrist and vaulted over him, he was already yelling for his partner.

Jillian hesitated just inside the door, looking out at the dark surrounding trees, looking out at freedom. But she couldn’t jump. It was as if she were still shackled in place.

“Go!” Megan screamed.

The second man climbed out of the cab. Though she couldn’t see him, she heard the sound of a shotgun round being chambered.

“Now,” Megan shouted as she kicked at Jillian’s ankle. “You have to go now.”

Her muscles frozen, Jillian turned back to her sister. “I’ll be back for you. No matter what.”

In the split second before the second man came into view, Jillian did the most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life.

She jumped.

Chapter Three

Time unknown

Jillian raced for the trees. Rain pummeled down. She plunged into the woods as a shotgun exploded behind her, leaves shredding less than a foot away. A second round quickly followed. Without looking back she careened forward, dodging trees, her feet slipping on wet leaves, her hands out in front warding off small branches.

There was not time to think about what she’d just done, about the sister she’d left behind. There was survival.

Seconds later she heard the men crashing after her, one following in her wake, the other off to the right, as if trying to block access to the road.

A wasted effort. If the area was remote enough that they hadn’t hesitated to use a shotgun, even if she reached the road, she was unlikely to find immediate help—the only kind that was going to do her or Megan any good.

For now she’d stick to the woods, hope to either lose or outrun them. But where was she? How far from where they’d been kidnapped?

She fell several times, but came up like a sprinter out of a starting blocks, attacking the gauntlet of oaks and pines and the leaf-covered stumps. She was gasping for air now, her lungs aching. How much longer could she continue the grueling pace? How much farther could she go?

Blocking out those thoughts, she substituted others. Keep moving. Stay ahead of them. Don’t look back .

There finally came a point when she couldn’t do any of those things, though, and like an animal run to ground, she collapsed.

Fear spiked through Jillian as she lay heaving, the rain slashing through the tree canopy, reaching her, splattering her chilled skin. Minutes crept by as she listened, as she prayed, and as she considered what she was going to do if she actually had outrun them. She couldn’t waste time stumbling around these woods, hoping to find a house.

Which left only one option—the road. Jillian stumbled to her feet, stood there unsteadily, briefly staring back the way she’d come. Once satisfied that she wasn’t being watched, she turned and headed in what she hoped was the direction of the road.

But even when she reached the narrow and unlined pavement, she remained hidden in the bordering trees, recalling how the woman she and Megan had tried to save had exploded from similar woods.

The kidnappers weren’t dumb. They’d know that sooner or later she’d have to make for the road.

Was that how they’d caught the other woman? By waiting for her to go for it?

Jillian’s fear was so strong that even when she saw the headlights of an oncoming car, she found it difficult to get to her feet.

What if it was a trap? What if instead of being rescued, of helping to save Megan, Jillian was about to be captured again?

Realizing that there was no other choice, Jillian raced onto the road and into the path of an oncoming car.

Tuesday, 2:18 a.m .

RICK BRADY AWAKENED abruptly, momentarily disoriented. As the phone rang a second time, he rolled toward it, squinting at the clock as he went.

It was after two in the morning. Who would be calling?

When he’d been with Charleston PD, it wasn’t unusual to be called out in the middle of the night sometimes. And because he had, back then, he’d slept where he could easily reach the phone. But he’d been a civilian for nearly five years now, long enough for the habit to die.

He was still attempting to free himself from the sheets when it rang a third time, and he suddenly encountered something warm and solid stretched out next to him.

“Move it, Bax,” Rick mumbled.

The eleven-year-old male golden retriever that had been sleeping with its head on the second pillow grumbled, but didn’t get out of the way until forced off the bed. As soon as his paws hit the wood floor, though, Bax was on the move, bounding back onto the mattress and heading for the warm spot vacated by Rick.

Having finally located the phone among the pile of law magazines, Rick took a few more seconds to clear his head. He ran a hand over his face and squinted at the caller ID.

“PRIVATE.”

The phone rang a fourth time. He hit the talk button. “Rick Brady.”

“Detective Nate Langley with the Charleston County Sheriff’s Office.”

The name wasn’t one Rick recalled from his years on the force.

Propped against the headboard now, he did a quick mental scan of his current client list but came up empty. Not because those that he represented were incapable of murder, but because most of them were already behind bars for that particular felony. That was the up side of handling death-penalty appeals. Rick always knew where to find his clients. Unless…

Had one of them escaped?

“I know it’s late,” Langley said.

“What can I do for you, Detective? I assume this has something to do with one of my clients.”

There was a pause. “No. I’m actually looking for some help with a case.”

Rick remained silent, waiting for the detective to go on.