Freight Trained Read online

  He found her car in her driveway. He felt some relief but wouldn't be happy until he had her in his arms. He didn't have a key to her house and hated to wake her but pounded on her door anyway. After a few minutes of waiting, he pounded again. The banging was loud, the security screen door, rattling with a metallic clang, and he couldn't imagine anyone sleeping through it. A tingling started at the back of his neck, and he pounded again, this time, harder.

  He didn't allow himself to panic, but a kernel of dread formed in his gut, spreading like a weed through his limbs when he reached down to try the latch, and the screen door opened easily, and instinct told him the front door would open with just as much ease. But he still held a thread of hope, as he reached for the knob, that she'd just forgotten to lock the screen. His hopes were dashed when the knob turned freely in his hand.

  His eyes scanned the living room, noting other than some scattered papers and her cell phone on the coffee table, nothing seemed out of place. He heard Lucky barking excitedly behind the closed bedroom door. He made his way over, apprehension oozing from his pores at what he would find on the other side.

  He turned the knob, slowly pushing the door open. A flurried fur-ball came darting out as soon as the door cracked, yapping and dancing around his feet, but he couldn't pay Lucky any attention, his sole focus centered on the white, lace curtains, fluttering on the breeze from the shattered bedroom window. Small and large pieces of glass littered the floor, glittering like diamonds from the reflection of the moon.

  He closed the door behind him, locking Lucky out, and the crunching of glass echoed in the sudden silence of the room as his booted feet neared the broken window. A pain gripped and twisted at his heart, bringing him to his knees with a vicious slam, completely unmindful of the glass as it dug into the denim.

  His hands, resting on his thighs, turned into fists of rage as he raised them, pounding them down on the floor in front of him. Throwing back his head, he bellowed an almost inhuman roar before collapsing, burying his face in his hands, feeling as broken and shattered as the glass surrounding him.

  Lucky lay curled in his lap as Cole absently stroked his fur while impatiently waiting for the sheriff to arrive. He was anything but patient. And although he knew precious time was wasting, sitting on the couch, waiting like some dumb fuck, he also knew, jumping in his truck running all over town shouting Abby's name would be a wasted effort as well. They needed a plan that was constructive, something proactive. He'd already failed Abby once, he wouldn't do it again.

  "Cole?"

  His head snapped up at the sound of his name. "About fuckin' time you got here," Cole said, standing, dislodging Lucky, who yapped twice before curling himself into the corner of the couch.

  Sam glanced at his watch, raising one eyebrow before he replied sarcastically, "Yeah, traffic's a bitch this time of night."

  Cole looked at his booted feet, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew he'd only called Sam about ten minutes ago and that he'd arrived pretty damn fucking fast even if it did feel like hours, knew he was being a dick but couldn't find it in himself to care.

  He picked his head back up, taking a long look at Sam. Haggard seemed a good word to describe his appearance. His hair, always neatly combed, was mussed in a way that indicated frustrated fingers had raked through it. Dark, puffy circles under red-rimmed eyes stood out starkly against pale skin that usually held a decent tan, indicating a lack of sleep. Between the hangover that pounded through his head and his worry over Abby churning through his stomach, Cole had a feeling he looked no better.

  Noticing the deputy was missing, Cole asked, "Where's John? Don't you think we can use all the help we can get about now?"

  Sam gave him a curt nod. "Got a call in to him. I stopped by his house on the way over, but he didn't answer the door. Not sure where he could be this time of night, but I'm sure he'll call back soon."

  It was now Cole's turn to raise a brow. "He ever go missing before?"

  Sam held up a hand as if able to see the accusations flying around in Cole's head. "It's not what you're thinking, Cole."

  Cole narrowed his eyes and took a menacing step forward. "You willing to bet Abby's life on that? 'Cause that's what you'd be doing."

  "John's a lot of things and most of them are annoying, but a stalking kidnapper he's not. I promise you that." Just then his phone rang. Glancing at the display, he muttered to Cole, "Speak of the devil." He brought the phone to his ear. "This better be good."

  Cole half listened to Sam's side of the conversation, wishing he would hurry the hell up, while trying not to let his mind wander to what Abby may be going through right at that moment, knowing it would just make him insanely unstable and totally useless to her.

  "We'll meet you at the station in a few." Sam hung up the phone then disappeared into Abby's bedroom, Cole tracing his steps.

  He stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest when Sam turned to him and asked, "You know what was sitting there?" He pointed to the nightstand at the side of the bed and Cole noticed a clean, dust-free circle, denoting a missing object.

  He knew exactly what was missing, a porcelain German Shepherd figurine. He'd noticed it the day he helped Abby from the roof, gave him the idea to get her Lucky, figuring she liked dogs.

  His eyes scanned the room to see if maybe she moved it and spotted it on top of her dresser. He tipped his head that direction. "That. The dog statue."

  Sam went over to it, snapping on a set of gloves before tipping it with one finger at the center of the dog's head and sliding a piece of paper out from underneath. Cole watched him scan it, his brows furrowing before looking back up at him. "I think this might be a message for you."

  He was already moving before Sam finished his sentence, reaching out his hand to nab the note.

  Sam moved it out of his reach. "You can't touch it. It may have prints on it."

  At his curt nod, Sam held the note up so he could read it. Teeth clenching, hands fisting, his anger grew with each word he read.

  She's mine now.

  There was something familiar about the writing. The i in mine had a line over the top of it like an accent mark instead of a dot. It was something he'd seen before. He racked his brain trying to place it.

  Then it came to him. "Son of a bitch." He wanted to rip the fucking note out of Sam's hands and tear it into a million pieces, but he knew he couldn't touch it so did the next best thing to appease some of his anger. He punched the wall. He felt his knuckles split as plaster dust rained to the floor.

  "I take it you know the author of this note."

  Cole watched as Sam carefully set the paper back on the dresser before pulling one of his endless supply of plastic bags from his pocket. Fucking Sam, always calm as a fucking cucumber. "Yeah. Chad Fuckin' Daniels."

  Sam gave him a small smile. "Guess he finally fucked up."

  * * * * *

  It was still dark outside the next time Abby awoke, bound to the bed, wrists and ankles tied with rope. The floor lamp managed to illuminate the far half of the room, leaving her half mostly in shadow. She searched every bit of space with her eyes and noted, with great relief, her captor wasn't in residence.

  Not knowing how much time alone she would have, Abby got down to business, assessing her situation. She tugged on her wrist restraints, but the rope held firm to the metal poles of the headboard with no play or slack for her to wiggle around in. She felt for the knot, discovering it with the tip of her fingers but out of reach to have any hope of untying it. Her ankles were bound differently with one end of a rope tied to her ankle and the other end tied around each corner bedpost with about a two-foot length play between. But while her feet may have some movement, she still had no way to access the k
not tied to her ankle.

  Arching her body off the bed as high as it would go, she slammed her full weight back down, trying to discover the sturdiness of the bed frame. Her hope was to loosen the headboard from the frame enough to bring her wrists into contact with her teeth and thereby have access to the knots. The bed seemed well intact, and she actually laughed out loud hysterically at the farfetched ridiculousness of her plan. She was losing it. Panic was finally setting in, but she forced herself to stay calm knowing she needed to keep a straight head if she were to have any hope of coming out of this on top.

  The opening of the front door had her eyes flying to it. "Oh, good you're awake." Chad held a duffel bag which he set on the squat, wooden coffee table. "Now, we can start the celebration."

  She watched, holding her breath as he slowly unzipped the bag, letting it out in a labored whoosh when all he extracted was a bottle of champagne and two wineglasses. "Look what I brought," he said, holding up the bottle. "A little bubbly for my one and only."

  Abby plastered on an overly bright smile and hoped it didn't look as fake as it felt. "I love champagne." Abby wasn't sure if it were a good or bad idea to feed his delusion but figured playing along would bide her more time than fighting him.

  "I know you do, that's why I selected it." He gave her a sinister smile. "Don't forget, my dear, I know everything about you."

  Abby felt a shudder race down her spine as he approached the bed, set the bottle on the floor, and took a seat on its edge, his hip making contact with her own. He reached out, trailing a finger down her cheek and Abby had to force herself not to cringe away from his touch. "So beautiful," he said in a singsong voice while his fingers played with her hair.

  Abby closed her eyes and thought of Cole. He would want her to be strong. Right. First things first, she needed to get herself untied. Time to give Chad a push, see how far this delusion really went.

  "Chad?"

  "Yes, my love."

  "I thought we were celebrating. Aren't you going to open the champagne?"

  "But of course." He reached down, picking up the bottle from the floor. She was expecting the noise, but with her nerves being so close to the surface, the loud popping of the cork still made her jump. He held up the two glasses now filled to the brim with bubbly, golden wine. "A toast."

  "Wait." Abby licked her lips. "For it to be a proper toast, we need to tap glasses."

  He pondered that for a moment. "This is true." He reached over her head, and tried to force the glass into her hand, but she acted as if she couldn't grasp it.

  "Maybe if you untie me, I can hold it better."

  Abby held her breath as silence filled the room. She forced herself to keep eye contact, putting an innocent expression on her face, trying not to look too eager.

  He slowly shook his head. "No, I think it's best if you stay tied up for now."

  Abby dropped her head to the mattress, letting the tears of frustration and fear she'd been holding back well to the surface. She felt the drops slide down her temples, soaking her hair.

  "What's this?" He placed a finger on the side of her chin, pushing so her head faced the wall. "Why the tears?"

  Abby had never had to act before, too shy to have ever been in a school play, and hoped she wasn't overdoing the theatrics. She wanted him to believe her sincerity, her very life depended on it. "I'm upset that you don't trust me. That you think our wedding vows mean nothing to me. I want a proper toast with my new husband, the man I love, on our wedding night, and I'm upset because I can't do that with my hands tied."

  Chad stared at her with penetrating eyes. Abby bit her tongue to remain silent, fearing if she said more it might be overkill, ruining her only chance at freedom. She watched his chest rise and fall, not daring to hope his prolonged silence meant he would rule in her favor.

  Finally, after almost giving up hope, he gave her a curt nod. "Okay. I'll set you free. You're right, you're my wife, and I should trust you." Suddenly his face split into a grin, and he executed a manic giggle. "I don't know what I was thinking, tying you up like that. Of course, you love me. How silly of me."

  Abby smiled and laughed right along with him, but hers was an emotional release and the only way to avoid shedding tears of joy. Holy crap, she couldn't believe that had worked.

  He left the bed, escaping to the kitchen area, returning a moment later with a pair of large craft scissors. Her bonds were tight, the cool metal of the scissors gouging her skin as he pried the blade under the rope to cut through it. She didn't care. She would happily lose all the skin on her arms to be set free.

  When her hands were free, she slowly lowered her arms to her sides not wanting to make any sudden moves and discreetly wiggled her numb fingers, keeping a smile on her face, ignoring the pain as they came back to life.

  With the scissors still held in his hand, he asked, "How does that feel? Better?"

  "Yes, thank you. I can't move my arms yet, but if you give me a few minutes, we can share a toast." She hoped the smile gracing her lips looked more realistic than it felt.

  He lifted one of her arms, and she deliberately let it flop back down, appearing completely useless. "I'll just untie your ankles while we wait."

  As he cut the bindings of her right ankle, she quickly darted her eyes to the floor, memorizing the location of the champagne bottle. He looked back over at her, and she kept very still. Her heart beating faster, expecting him to change his mind at any second. Seemingly content with his perusal, he leaned over her right leg, stretching his arms out to reach her left ankle.

  Abby had never been so nervously frightened in her life. Her plan had to work perfectly, or she would be screwed. She waited until she felt the scissor slide under the rope before slowly—so he wouldn't see any movement in his peripheral vision—and carefully—so he wouldn't feel any movement—lowered her hand to the floor. Holding her breath and keeping her eyes trained on the back of his head, she curled her fingers around the neck of the bottle.

  As soon as she heard the click of the scissors and felt the loosening of the rope, she reared up with all her might, arching her arm out and swinging it forward, slamming the bottle against the side of Chad's head with all her strength. Some champagne leaked from the half-full bottle, coating Chad's shoulder and dusting her with a few drops as he collapsed across her legs with a grunt. Abby didn't waste a precious second, sliding out from under him and scrambling off the bed.

  "You bitch!" She heard roared as a hand grabbed her ankle.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why didn't that work? Her mind scrambled as she kicked with her free foot, aiming for his nose. Chad wasn't a huge guy, but he was a lot bigger than her as well as a lot stronger and had no trouble grabbing her flailing foot, dragging her back onto the bed by her ankles, then crashing his body down on top of hers, incapacitating her.

  Everything was a blur of movement until she felt his hands wrap around her throat, then time seemed to slow. "You fucking bitch. You're not my sweet Celine. She would've never betrayed me."

  Her calculated breaths were getting harder and harder to take as his fingers applied more pressure. The distant echoing heartbeat in her ears growing louder as his screamed obscenities slowly faded into the background. The spittle, flying from his lips arched in slow-motion, giving it a strange 3-D effect before landing on her face.

  Her time was growing short. She could feel her will to fight diminishing from her oxygen deprived brain. Her hands, smacking the bed, encountered something hard and cold. Desperately, her fingers felt around. The scissors. Without a moment's hesitation and with a strength that surprised even her, she plunged them deeply into the side of his chest.

  She wasn't sure if she blacked out. She remembered silent flashes of events.
>
  Bulging eyes.

  Gaping mouth.

  A shiny trail of drool down a clean-shaven chin.

  The fingers around her neck slackened but it took precious seconds, and she was desperate to take a full breath. Chad's head fell forward, smacking her in the chin, causing her to bite her tongue and blood to fill her mouth.

  She didn't know whether Chad was dead or just unconscious and didn't care to wait around to find out. Using what felt as though was the last of her strength, she pushed, rolling him off her body so she could slide out, painfully landing with a thump onto the floor. Staggering to her feet a wave of dizziness overtook her, crashing her back down to her hands and knees. She crawled toward the entrance, her hearing slowing returning, but all she heard was her harshly labored breathing, wheezing through her mangled throat.

  Passing the coffee table, she spied his cell phone and made a slight detour, grabbing it on her way to the door. She got up on her knees, reaching for the doorknob, using it to hoist herself fully to her feet. The dizziness was still there but had diminished enough to remain standing. She opened the door, breathing in the cool night air as her unsteady feet took her down the porch steps and out into the woods.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cole's phone rang with an unknown number, he didn't hesitate to answer it. "Yeah." After a couple seconds of heavy breathing over the line, he reiterated in a firmer tone, "Hello?"

  "Cole?"

  He sucked in a breath, a chill running down his spine as goose bumps broke out down his arms. Fear and an unfamiliar raspiness laced Abby's voice as it echoed through the line, and he'd never felt so far away from her. He pressed the phone harder against his ear as if that simple act could physically bring her closer. He raised his arm in the air, snapping his fingers to draw Sam's attention. "Yeah, baby. Are you okay? Where are you?"

  "Oh, thank God. I wasn't sure of your number. You were on speed dial on my phone, so I never memorized it, and I wasn't sure if I would remember. It took me a few tries to get it right."