Love Inspired Suspense June 2014 Bundle 2 of 2: Forced Alliance\Out for Justice\No Place to Run (59 page)

“Get in line.”

Frustration reared its ugly head. Even though he understood the protocol, at times like these he wished he could ignore chain of command. He'd give a great deal to get information out of this guy.

“You'll need to phone Sheriff Sutherland and get him in the loop on this.” Matt didn't make it a question, and to his relief, the police officer nodded.

As they drove away, Matt scanned the crowd and spotted Margaret and Ben talking with another Campbelltown police officer. He ran to the gurney where Ben sat, Margaret holding his hand.

“Where's Lorie?” Margaret's hopeful expression made Matt's heart sink like a stone.

“We'll find her.”

Ben squeezed Margaret's hand as her face crumpled with grief. “We need to pray, honey.”

“What do you think I've been doing?” Margaret sounded as if she'd been stretched past her limit and had finally broken.

“When the situation is desperate is not the time to stop praying, sweetheart.”

Ben's words soaked into Matt's heart.

The E.R. doctor joined the city policemen at their side.

“I don't have to stay overnight, do I?” Ben looked hopeful, despite his obvious pain.

“No, you can go home, but I want you to see your own doctor tomorrow.” He handed Margaret an oversize file folder. “The X-rays are in there, and he can call for any further information.”

As the Narramores were thanking him, a car from the rental agency Matt had called earlier pulled up.

“Matthew MacGregor?”

“Here.”

Matt took the keys from the driver, a kid who looked barely old enough to have a license. Matt signed the paperwork, and then helped the Narramores into the car.

As they headed north toward Hwy 32, Matt glanced at Ben, carefully strapped into the front seat next to him. “Can you get a signal on your phone?”

“Margaret, do you have it?”

“Right here.”

“Please call the ranch and let them know we're on our way. I've already spoken with Sheriff Sutherland.” Matt recited the number.

Margaret nodded and began dialing.

Ben turned his head to look at Matt, letting out a stifled groan. “Aren't we going after Lorie?”

“I'm
going after Lorie, but I'll need reinforcements.”

“We can help.”

Matt sensed Ben's frustration. “I know, but you're a wounded warrior. The best thing you and Margaret can do is pray. Pray we find her. Pray she's all right.”

Ben sighed. “That's my little girl. This is killing me.”

How could Matt reassure Ben, when he needed his own reassurance? He kept to the speed limit, wishing he had his portable light and siren. Being stopped for a ticket wouldn't get him to Lorie any faster.

Lord, please keep her safe. And let us find her before it's too late.

NINETEEN

L
orie's head was going to explode. Unless she died of being bounced to pieces first. Opening her eyes a tiny crack, she saw an oxygen tank attached to a wall. Oxygen tank?

Memory came flooding back. She'd been thrown into the back of an ambulance. She ran through a mental checklist of who else might be in danger. Dad? On a gurney, probably safe. Mom? Most likely with the rest of the people evacuated from the hospital. Matt? She'd last seen him running after Dad's attacker. Did he know she'd been taken? Was he following her? Or simply wondering where she was?

Lord, please protect them and bring us safely back together. If I'm going to die, Lord, please keep them safe.

Fear threatened to choke her. No. She wasn't going to give way to her situation. God was in charge. He would help her be strong. And she needed all the strength she could get, since no matter what happened, she wasn't going to give in without a fight.

The ambulance jolted to a stop. A traffic light?

The rumble of the engine died.

They'd reached their destination. Lorie scrambled to a standing position and looked for anything she could use as a weapon.

The ambulance shook a little as the driver jumped out.

“I know he wants you, but there's no reason why you and I can't have a little fun first,” she heard the man say. The handle turned. A second later, Lorie's kidnapper yanked open the door.

Lorie saw the gun and let loose a stream of foam from the fire extinguisher. She aimed it at his face, and he choked. Gasping for air, he dropped the gun.

Lorie leaped out of the patient compartment, nearly spraining her ankle, and raced past the man, carrying the fire extinguisher with her. He'd left the driver's-side door open, and she jumped inside, ignoring the nick from the scalpel she'd put in her pocket as she tossed the extinguisher on the passenger's seat and started the engine. Lorie slammed the door as her kidnapper grabbed at the handle, wiping foam from his eyes.

The miserable excuse for a road had no place to turn. Lorie drove straight on into the woods, aware that the path could peter out at any moment. Behind her, the man's shouts grew fainter as she put as much distance between them as she could.

The pines towered over the road, so thick that Lorie couldn't determine the direction of the sun. She glanced at her watch. Unbelievable that it was still morning after so much had happened. The sun should be in the east still, if she could ever see past the trees.

The radio crackled, but, aware that radios had probably betrayed their position to the kidnapper, Lorie ignored it. If she called in her position, her tormentor might find her before the authorities did.

All that mattered was getting safely back to Matt and her parents.

Lord, You've gotten me this far. Please get me safely home. And please let this be over soon.

* * *

When Matt drove through the gates of Rob Roy Ranch, he found the troops already assembling. The sheriff walked up to the car and opened the doors for Ben and Margaret.

“We're working with Lanier County Sheriff's Department and the Arkansas Highway Patrol. I also alerted the prayer chain at church.”

“Oh, thank you!”

Frank helped Ben out of the car as Matt joined his brothers and sisters by the Search and Rescue horses. Sandy held his favorite riding boots. Alana had his hiking boots. Good thinking. His Sunday shoes certainly hadn't helped when they were trying to escape on Chastain Mountain.

Jim looked down from the saddle atop his usual horse, Trailblazer. “How long has it been?”

Matt glanced at his watch. “Nearly three hours. Her folks are frantic, but trying not to show it.”

“You riding or driving?” Jake held out the reins of Lightning.

Which should he do? Driving was a lot faster, but if Lorie were being held in a stretch of wilderness, riding could take him where a Jeep couldn't go.

Frank strode over to their position. “Just got word from LCSD. One of their deputies found tracks where the ambulance may have left the highway. They're going in to check now.”

“You have the coordinates?”

“It's on the county line, so they'll probably cross into our jurisdiction close to Fiddler's Knob.”

By car, that was half an hour or so southeast of the ranch. “I'll drive.” Matt took the hiking boots and headed toward one of the ranch's Jeeps.

“Matt, wait up.” Frank caught up to him as he had one hand on the door. “There's news about the cartel Grayson Carl ran. San Diego P.D. and the DEA believe that they have rounded up the rest of the major players in California. The chances of Lorie's kidnappers being from there are very slim.”

The news socked Matt in the gut. “Then we're back to square one figuring out who's behind this.”

“Not necessarily. We've been following an anonymous tip about the drug smuggling. This source refused to give her name, but she sent names, dates, places—it all ties in with somebody we've already had our eye on.”

“Adderson?”

Frank shook his head. “Not this time.” He handed Matt a photograph of a man stuffing drugs into the wheel well of a car. The auto body shop looked familiar. It should. He'd had his F-150's tune-up done there a month or two ago.

The Pitt Stop.

A chill ran down Matt's spine. “She's sure?”

“Very. And you're not going to believe what else she told me.” Frank held out a sheaf of printouts. “Look at this.”

Matt stared at the papers. On top was a birth certificate for Grayson Carl, only it called him Grayson Carlos. Born in Colombia in 1970, mother Celia Ortiz y Cabezón. Father—could it be?—José Pitt, attaché to the U.S. Embassy in Bogotá. He raised unbelieving eyes to the sheriff's face.

“Joseph Pitt?”

Frank nodded. “We've been busy tracking things down. Turns out Pitt did a stint in Foreign Service, in Colombia, in the late sixties and early seventies. He was married to a Colombian woman who was killed in the riots in 1974, right before he returned to the States.”

“Leaving a son behind?”

“That's the odd part. We're still trying to piece everything together, but it looks very much like Lorie Narramore shot and killed Supervisor Pitt's firstborn son.”

* * *

Lorie came to a fork in the trail and stepped on the brakes. One branch meandered down, the other up.

“Now what?”

The engine hummed but offered no opinion.

Up? Or down?

Up might lead to the top of a mountain. Down might end at a creek.

“Up it is.”
At least if it ends on top of a mountain, I can get my bearings, if there's a clearing.

Easing off the brakes, Lorie steered in the direction of the upper trail. The ambulance wasn't happy with the rutted dirt and rocks. At times, she slowed to a crawl, always listening for the sound of any vehicle in pursuit. Nothing.

Birdsong filled the air as she edged up the mountain. She could almost enjoy this little adventure, if she weren't so concerned about Mom and Dad. And Matt. Somehow, she had to get back to civilization so she could let Matt know it didn't matter
what
he did for a living. Not anymore.

The dirt trail began to level out a bit as Lorie spotted a fancy log cabin perched on the edge of a clearing. The view it overlooked took Lorie's breath away. Down below, she could see a campground, and, not much farther, a small town. A flash of recognition made her smile. Jen had been telling her about the annual music festival that started at Fiddler's Knob a few years back.

Time enough for that. Seeing a Range Rover parked next to the cabin, Lorie stopped the ambulance and turned off the motor. Maybe the owners would have a cell phone she could use, to let everyone know she'd escaped.

As she approached the front door, it opened.

“Hello. I'm lost. Could I borrow a phone?”

The man filling the door frame moved into the daylight. Recognizing him, Lorie relaxed.

“Oh, Supervisor Pitt. I'm so glad to see you. You won't believe what I've been through.”

“Well, good afternoon, Miss Narramore.” Supervisor Pitt smiled. “I've been expecting you. Won't you come in?”

The hand he waved at the door held a gun. Lorie blinked, but the gun was still there when she opened her eyes.

“I don't understand.”

“I know you don't. You've been very obtuse, but you're about to be enlightened. Do come in.” His voice hardened. “Now.”

* * *

Matt took the back road to Fiddler's Knob. Frank's information about Joseph Pitt's property included a cabin up on the Knob.

He prayed silently as he drove. His heart convicted him as he thought about Lorie,
his
Lorie. He couldn't stand the thought of losing her...which made his thoughts turn to Owen and Lorene. He'd been so curt with the man, even knowing how he was suffering, how Lorene was suffering. Would it kill him to make peace before she died?

“Forgive me for being a hypocrite, Lord. I told Lorie she needed to forgive people, and here I am still carrying this load of hatred and hurt around.”

Matt almost drove past the half-hidden trail up Fiddler's Knob, but turned at the last second, the Jeep's tires kicking up dust.

“All right. I
will
to forgive Owen and Lorene, Lord. I trust You to bring my thoughts into the right place. Please help me to make peace with them before she dies.”

A subtle shifting in his being settled peace in his heart, giving him a feeling of lightness that made him aware of just how heavily that angry load had been weighing him down. He should have forgiven them years ago. An image of Lorie's sweet face rose up before him, and with it, a blinding flash of truth. Now he was free to love her. But first, he had to rescue her.

He drove on until he was within a quarter mile of Pitt's cabin and stopped. He'd go the rest of the way on foot, so as not to alert anyone to his presence. After swapping his Sunday shoes for the hiking boots, Matt checked the clip in his handgun. Only three bullets missing. Quickly he reloaded the clip, then replaced the Colt in the shoulder holster and buttoned his jacket. Silently, he swung the rifle by its sling over his shoulder.

Lord, be with us.

* * *

The interior of Supervisor Pitt's cabin was a surprise. The living room reminded her of the lodge on Rob Roy Ranch, but the kitchen was a mass of drug-manufacturing equipment.

This must be the meth lab Matt had been seeking.

Pitt's son Quentin, whom Lorie had seen a few times at the library, looked around, glared at her, sniffed and returned to his work. The bandage on his arm was dark with dried blood. Had he been the one who shot at her on Chastain Mountain? And maybe at her house? All the evidence seemed to point in that direction.

“Have a seat, Miss Narramore.” Joseph Pitt waved the gun at a sofa.

Lorie sank onto the edge of the cushion as Pitt walked over to stand in front of a massive fireplace.

“I'm sure you must have questions. Feel free to ask. Anything you like.”

Lorie stared at him, taking in the hardness of his face, the coldness of his eyes.

“No questions? What an unusual woman you are.” Pitt set the gun on top of the mantelpiece. “Very well. I'll enlighten you on my own. It's important that you understand what you've done—and why you must be held accountable.” His fingers stroked a stuffed pheasant that seemed to glower at Lorie with one beady glass eye.

“You still don't know how you angered me in killing Grayson Carl.”

Lorie held her breath. Was the supervisor somehow connected to Carl?

“Or, I
should
say, Grayson Carl Pitt.”

Lorie's blood turned to ice. “He wasn't—?”

“My son? Oh, yes.”

Questions whirled in Lorie's brain, caught in a vortex. How? Why? She could barely recognize one before another blurred by.

“But you helped get me my job here.”

Pitt smiled again as he petted the dead pheasant. “And why not? It brought you closer to me. It was much harder, running the intimidation campaign with you sixteen hundred miles away. Gray's people wanted to eliminate you themselves, but with all the trouble they were having with the DEA by then, I talked them out of it. Family, you know. Still important to some people.”

Lorie glanced around the living room. A Nazi symbol had been superimposed onto the Stars and Stripes, the white circle with its swastika taking the place of the stars in the blue upper quadrant. So. That was why he had wanted the library to order those books.

“You're an Aryan. How did you explain the existence of your mixed-blood son?”

Pitt's face darkened. She'd hit a nerve.

“I was young and foolish when I was a Foreign Service officer. I hadn't yet embraced the teachings of supremacy. Everyone in the movement knows what I stand for now. They believe me when I say that that's all in the past.”

“I believed you. I believed in you.” Lorie's heart thudded, pulse pounding in her ears.

“Yes. It's really too bad about you. I think you might have been useful to me.”

“So what are you planning now?”

“I've been considering that. You made me suffer a great deal.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Oh, you're sorry, are you? You murder my son and then you say you're
sorry?”

“It was self-defense.”

“Enough!”

Lorie jumped in spite of herself. She had to
do
something before these evil men could carry out their plans, whatever they were. The only trouble was, she had no earthly idea what to do.

* * *

Matt crept up on the cabin. He'd smelled meth cooking the moment he'd left the Jeep and radioed Frank requesting backup. Maybe this was the break in the case they'd needed. If only it wasn't too late for Lorie.