Hostage Negotiation. Lena DiazЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.”
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.