Authors: D. T. Jones
“Enough,
hündin,
” he shouted causing Sabrina to jump and drop the glass to the floor where it shattered. “Start walking or I’ll end this right now.” Sandra wrapped her sister-in-law’s hand inside hers for support and turned around, walking slowly to the door. Once outside, she glanced across the yard in hopes of seeing Clark or Harvey, but there was no sign of them. They must have gone back inside the house.
Bachmeier opened the side door to the back of the truck and shoved Sabrina in, her hand jerking Sandra forward. She caught herself before falling on her face and turned around glaring at the man who smiled his yellow grin at her.
“Put this on your other hand and secure it to the side panel,” he ordered her, handing her another of the cuffs. Sandra climbed into the back of the truck, sitting on the bench seat hidden from sight. The back of the truck was a typical delivery-style van with no back windows to peer out. She did as he instructed and reached her hand already secured to Sabrina toward the door, bringing her sister-in-law’s arm to stretch across the span of the seat.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and watched the tear fall down Sabrina’s cheek. “It will be okay.” Sabrina tried to smile but failed miserably, her bottom lip quivering with fear. Once the cuff was secure to a rod that ran along the side of the truck’s interior, they sat on the seat and waited
while Bachmeier slipped the last cuff around Sabrina’s free wrist. He smiled again, a sickening laugh escaping his mouth as the aroma of bad breath filled the small space between them.
“Now that’s what I call a pretty sight,” he said. “Two whores tied up and ready for some fun. Too bad we don’t have the time.” He closed the door and walked up to the driver’s side, slipping a delivery cap across his dirty hair before he climbed in behind the steering wheel.
The truck roared to life and slowly pulled out of the driveway, then turned and headed down the road. Sandra glanced out the front windshield and gasped, seeing Creighton’s sleek black car drive past them. Bachmeier glanced through the rear-view mirror to her and narrowed his eyes, but said nothing about it as he continued to drive at a leisurely pace.
“Hey Crey, Andrew,” the man’s voice said on the other end of the small black phone.
“Hello Andrew,
what can I do for you?” Creighton asked with a smile, turning down the radio so he could listen to his brother as he drove toward London.
“We’ve heard back from the Paris detectives investigating the crash.
There were three bodies found in the wreckage and after extensive dental exams, they were identified. Bachmeier was not one of them.”
“What the hell do you mean he wasn’t one of them?” Creighton snapped, setting the phone in the docking station on the dashboard.
“There was a second prisoner put on the van at the last minute,” Andrew continued. “He and the two guards were identified, but nobody else was in the van. He was there when it left the jail but not when the crash happened. One more thing, the van tires had been shot out; that’s what caused the accident. They are still trying to determine what caused the fire.”
“Stone,” Creighton said with a growl. “He had to be the one to help him.”
“That’s our conclusion as well.”
“Damn, it all makes sense. Stone did the killings, but where does Bachmeier fit into it?”
“My theory is, Stone learned about Bachmeier’s connection to you and his capture in France. He disappeared from England around the same time. I think he made contact somehow with Bachmeier and arranged to help him escape.”
“
That means he’s the one…” Creighton turned the car around in the middle of the street, ignoring the angry drivers who honked at him.
“Where are you now?”
“I’m on my way back to Yorks. I was going to London, but considering this, the problem at the office will have to wait.”
“What problem?”
“The warehouse was broken into last night, but the police don’t think anything was stolen. I was on my way there to talk to them…” his voice trailed off as he began to piece together the events that had begun to unfold before him. Everything began to make perfect sense; the vandalism, the pranks, the warehouse.
“I’m on my way, get back there as quick as you can. I’m calling mum and dad.”
“I’ll call Clark. At least he’s there with Harvey so I know the place is secure.”
“
We’ll meet up there, be careful.” The phone clicked off as Creighton touched a button the screen.
“Clark,” he said and the phone instantly dialed the number indicated
, ringing once.
“Clark here,” the deep voice on the other end of the phone said.
“It’s me. Where’s Sandra?”
“She went to your
parents’ house a few minutes ago, why, is there a problem?”
“Yes,” Creighton growled. “Bachmeier is still alive and on the run. Get over there and make sure she doesn’t leave. I’m on my way home.”
“Right away,” the voice said as Creighton pushed the button to shut the phone off. He felt irritated and angrier than he had in weeks as he slammed his fist into the steering wheel.
H
ow could he have been so stupid; he had allowed himself to be fooled and taken from their home, leaving Sandra vulnerable and available for anything to happen? He knew now the warehouse was a diversion, a way of getting him out of the way so the path to his wife was clear.
Creighton turned
onto the road that led to their home and saw the van driving toward him. Another of Sabrina’s deliveries, he thought. At least he knew all was well for now. What he needed to do was get them all on a plane and out of the area until that bastard was caught. He would put out a reward for his capture, a large reward, which would make anyone who saw him, even those who may be hiding him, eager to turn tail and call the police.
As he pulled the car to a halt in front of his
parents’ house, he saw Clark hurry to the porch, waving him in. Creighton jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs in one leap. He hurried into the kitchen find his parents sitting at the table, a dirty old backpack sitting on the floor beside his father’s feet. Creighton frowned as he finally registered his father holding a bloody rag to his shoulder.
“I’m alright son,” William said, his face slightly paler than he had hoped it would be.
“What happened?” Creighton insisted, accepting the tearful hug his mother gave him.
“I was out at the barn when Bachmeier ambushed me. He forced me back up here by gunpoint and into the house. I tried to fight him, but he shot me. The bullet went straight through so there’s no real damage, just some muscles and tendons. He forced your mother to get some rope from his bag
,” he kicked the dirty back pack away from him as if it was a filthy animal. “He made her tie my hands behind my back, then he tied her to me and locked us in the cellar.”
“I found the blood when I came to check on
Sandra and followed it to the door,” Clark said.
“
Where is she?” Creighton asked in a fearful whisper.
“He has her and Sabrina,” Emma said through the sobs.
“The van,” Creighton said, remembering the delivery van that left when he pulled up. “A white van was leaving when I came in. Find that damned van!” Clark got on the phone immediately and ran out the front door, meeting Harvey at the end of the driveway. The sound of tires squealing could be heard through the quiet house as Derek shouted from the entrance of the house, running through the foyer to the kitchen.
“What the hell?” he asked, looking at his father.
“Bachmeier has Sandra and Sabrina,” Creighton said in a tone filled with venom and anger.
“Oh my God, how? I
thought he was dead?”
“Andrew called me to say that the bodies found
in the van were those of the two security guards who were escorting him and another prisoner back to England.”
“So Sandra was right,” Kristen said as she joined her husband, wrapping her arm through his. “She said she had a bad feeling about this.”
“I should have listened to her,” Creighton said, slamming his fist on the counter of the island. “I should never have left her alone.”
“You can’t blame yourself for this son,” William said, standing and walking to where he stood, looking out the window to the house next door. “Sandra’s a smart girl, a strong girl. We heard her talking to Bachmeier; she remained calm the whole while he was
ordering her about.”
“She’s not as strong as she could be,” he whispered softly
, fear finally making its way into his voice.
“What do you mean?” Creighton turned to look at his father, tears filling his dark eyes. He swallowed hard as he forced his voice back into his throat.
“She’s pregnant.”
Sandra sat in the back seat of the small late model sedan, her wrist secured to the handle of the door, the other to Sabrina who was likewise cuffed to the car’s interior. They had driven to an alley behind a warehouse near Northallerton after leaving Yorkshire, and switched cars. The van was history and a strange part of her was happy with that; it was not a very comfortable ride anyway.
Bachmeier had been using his cell phone off and on for over forty minutes, talking to someone
in a language she recognized as Italian. She frowned as she listened, but she couldn’t make out anything she recognized; not that she knew much, only the few phrases Creighton had spoken while they were in Milan. Somehow she doubted
fettuccini
was a subject he would be discussing. She watched as he kept checking his rear-view mirrors; he knew he was running from a very powerful man and as much as he pretended he was in control, he was nothing more than a frightened child, afraid of getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
In her mind, she kept retracing everything that
had happened over her lifetime. She had lived through more tornadoes and storms than she would ever be able to remember, and out of all those times, she could still recall her grandfather’s lessons.
“Stay calm in the face of danger,” he would tell her as they hid in the cellar of their home, or a local business. “Panicking will get you nowhere but in trouble. Keep your wits about you and you’ll survive even
the worst of storms.”
James
insisted his granddaughters know how to use a gun and how to protect themselves. She would go hunting with him every year, a riffle in one arm, a pistol in the holder on her hip. If anyone were to look at her, they’d see a young girl who resembled Annie Oakley; ready to tame America’s wild west. She knew how to shoot, she knew how to use a knife and she was good with both; hitting the bull’s-eye nine out of ten times. She loved to go out behind her grandfather’s house and practice shooting into a bale of hay; she would do it for hours on end, spending round after round. She thought about that now as she glanced out the side windows of the car she was tethered to; if only she had a gun or knife, they’d be free of this moron once and for all.
Right now, what she had to do was give Creighton time
to find them; but how was another subject. She turned her wrist to look at the watch and fought the smile that threatened her lips. Yellow meant it had been activated, but it was still white. She had to somehow find a way to make him understand she had his tracking device. She looked out the window again noticing the sparse buildings as they passed by; they had been driving south for over an hour and she began to worry even more.
How long were they going to continued driving? Would the watch still have the distance i
t needed for her husband to track them? She had to find a way to stop, a way to contact Creighton or at the very least, Andrew.
“I need to stop,” she said suddenly, surprised by her burst of cou
rage, causing Sabrina to turn to look at her, her eyes heavy with the drowsy slumber vehicles caused on their passengers.
“No,” he answered from the front seat.
“If you don’t stop there’s going to be an accident back here,” she argued. “I get car sick and I’m going to make a mess of the floor in about two minutes.”
“I don’t care, shut up.”
“Are you willing to drive, God only knows how much longer, with the smell?” He glanced at her through the rear-view mirror and narrowed his eyes. From the smell of him, she was sure the odor would have little effect on him. “Let’s stop for something to eat,” she continued. “That will settle my stomach. What’s the rush; you want the money and there’s no way Creighton can find us. You’re safe…wherever we are.”
“Do you think
I’ve enough money to buy you a gourmet meal?” he growled. “I haven’t gotten my payment for him sending me to prison yet.”
“I have money, a credit card. I’ll buy, besi
des you need more gas…or petrol.”
“Oh now,” he laughed, a disgusting mixture between a snort and the gurgling
sound of a hyena. “I won’t have you using his credit cards so he can track us. Knowing that conniving bastard, he’s probably already alerted the banks.”
“I have my own card from before I met Creighton. He doesn’t have access to that card or any way of locating it.” Bachmeier actually looked like he was considering the idea. She had to do something to tip the scales in their favor.