Missing in the Mountains Read online

  Sawyer hit the elevator button, and the doors parted. He scanned the partial list of floors and wards as Emma boarded ahead of him. She hit the number six when he stepped in behind her.

  “How do you know which floor the ICU is on?” he asked.

  “It’s the same as Labor and Delivery,” she said. “Opposite wings.”

  The doors parted a moment later, and Sawyer stepped out with their son. “I should have been here with you. I didn’t even know.”

  Emma sucked down a shaky breath as they moved along the brightly lit corridor toward the ICU. “It’s okay,” she promised, “because now you do.”

  Memories of waddling down that same hallway a few short months ago rushed back to her. Water broken, doubled over in pain. It was the most beautiful and terrifying night of Emma’s life. Sara had been a total mess, completely freaked-out, running ahead of Emma to clear the path and waving her arms like she was hailing a taxi. They’d both been sure that Emma might deliver Henry at any moment. They’d read all the books and still knew nothing. It had been another twelve hours before Henry made his big debut. Emma slept more than Sara that night, thanks to the blessed epidural. Sara sat vigil, reading the tabloids and retelling funny stories from their childhood when Emma had woken. She’d held Emma’s hand through every contraction, been the perfect coach, a dedicated aunt and a devoted sister.

  And Emma wanted her back.

  She gritted her teeth against the urge to cry. She’d already cried enough these last two days to fulfill her quota for a lifetime. Instead, she hiked her chin up an inch and approached the desk with resolve. “Hello, I’m Emma Hart. I’m here to see Kate Brisbane.”

  The nurse gave her and Sawyer a long look. “Are you family?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “Well, as I’ve explained to her other family members—” the nurse motioned to a waiting room full of people behind them “—Kate is still unconscious, and we’re only allowing immediate family five-minute sessions. You can take a seat with your relatives, and when she’s ready for another visitor, you can decide among yourselves who it will be.”

  Emma’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t thought of all the real family members who might be there for Kate. “Thank you,” she said, taking Sawyer’s hand and moving into the waiting room. “Well, that didn’t go the way I wanted.”

  Sawyer gave her fingers a squeeze.

  A dozen heads turned their way. She recognized one as Detective Rosen.

  The detective stood and shook the hands of the couple he’d been speaking with, then came to meet Emma and Sawyer near the doorway. “I guess you saw the morning news.”

  Emma raised her eyebrows. “I guess so. Were you going to contact me if I hadn’t?”

  “We didn’t see a reason to reach out to you just yet,” the detective hedged. “We’re looking into Kate’s accident to determine if there’s a connection.”

  Emma barked a humorless laugh. “If there’s a connection? There’s no way this was a coincidence,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “This happened because Sara worked with Kate, and someone probably saw me talking with her yesterday.”

  The detective opened his arms and stepped forward, corralling them into the hallway, away from Kate’s family. “We don’t know that,” he whispered.

  “You do know that,” she countered. “First, some psychopath walks right into my home and tears Sara away, then I’m attacked outside the credit union where she works. Our home is broken into that night, and this morning Sara’s assistant manager is hit by a car. You don’t have to have a signed confession to know these things are all part of a bigger picture.”

  Sawyer angled himself in on the detective, voice low. “Have you at least matched the fingerprints or blood in Sara’s room to someone yet?”

  “No,” Detective Rosen said flatly. “Those things take time, and as for the signed confession, it would be nice because I can’t assume anything. The investigation must be based on facts for it to hold up in court, and we can’t afford to play catch and release with murderers. They tend to not play nice upon release.”

  Emma pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

  “What about you?” Detective Rosen asked. “Were you able to think of anything else that might help us catch whoever was in your home? Did you notice anything missing when you straightened up your sister’s room?”

  Emma shook her head and dropped her hands to her sides. “Not yet,” she said, suddenly ashamed to admit she’d left the home right after he did. “Maybe they were looking for the notebook.” She lifted her thumb to her mouth and bit into the skin along her thumbnail. “When will you hear back from your lab?”

  “A few days to a couple weeks,” he said, lifting a hand to stop her complaint before she had time to voice it. “Knox County doesn’t have a lab. We have to send our work out, then it has to get in line behind the work of every other district in our situation.” He pulled a phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Excuse me.”

  Emma frowned as the detective walked away. She turned to Sawyer, frustration stinging her nose and throat. “Can you believe this?”

  He headed back for the elevator. “Let’s take another look at Sara’s notebook. It’s the only real lead we have, and it’ll keep us busy. I’ve sent photos of the pages to my team at Fortress. Wyatt is good with puzzles like this. Maybe we can at least figure out if the notebook is relevant.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. She’d nearly forgotten about the notebook with everything else going on. Maybe it was nothing, but if it was something that would bring Sara home, she needed to get copies to anyone who could help.

  * * *

  SAWYER MATCHED HIS pace to Emma’s as they moved across the parking lot to his truck. She was clearly upset, and he understood why. Investigations didn’t move as swiftly as they should, nothing like what was portrayed on television, and the truth was that finding Sara the old-fashioned way would be much quicker than waiting for feedback from a lab in the next county. Lucky for them, he had the men of Fortress Security at his disposal.

  He beeped his truck doors unlocked, then secured a sleeping Henry inside. As much as Sawyer missed the kid’s smiling face, he was glad someone could still rest. He certainly couldn’t.

  He slid behind the wheel, powered the windows down and waited while Emma buckled up. The warm autumn breeze fluttered her hair, sending her sweet scent over him. He gripped the wheel a little tighter in response.

  “Why do you think someone tried to kill Kate?” Emma asked, gathering her hair over one shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe she knew more than she let on when the two of you spoke.”

  Sawyer scanned the lot for signs of anyone who’d taken an interest in them. A man on a motorcycle in the next row caught his attention. His bike faced away from their truck, but he dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his boot when Sawyer started the engine.

  Emma turned a guilty expression in Sawyer’s direction. “Is it awful that this hit-and-run gives me hope for Sara?”

  He settled back in his seat, watching to see what the motorcyclist did next. “How so?”

  “Maybe the fact these horrible things keep happening is an indication that whoever took Sara is still trying to get all the evidence she has on him. I think he’ll keep her alive until he’s sure he’s covered his tracks and collected everything against him. The night he took her, he kept asking who she’d told. ‘Who did you tell? Who did you tell?’” Emma lowered her voice to something fairly menacing as she repeated the question. She rubbed her palms over the gooseflesh on her arms as she spoke. “And Kate’s attack tells us something else. The man who took Sara has a partner or a team or something. You shot someone last night, and there was a lot of blood left behind for a flesh wound. I can’t imagine anyone pulling off a hit-and-run only a few hours after taking a bullet like that.” She lo
oked over her shoulder at the hospital. “So there are at least two men. The one who took Sara and mugged me, and the guy who broke in last night. Do you think Detective Rosen thought to ask the hospital staff if anyone was admitted with a gunshot wound last night?”

  “Yeah,” Sawyer said, shifting into Drive as the motorcycle cruised out of the parking lot. “He would’ve reached out to them right away, and even if he didn’t, hospitals have to report knife and gunshot wounds. It’s the law.”

  Emma settled back in her seat. “Right. Good.”

  Sawyer took the next left and headed in the opposite direction as the motorcycle. Something about the man had put his instincts on edge, and there was little Sawyer could do about it with Emma and Henry in tow. For all he knew, the driver had intended to get his attention and draw him down a certain path where trouble awaited. On his own, Sawyer would have loved the opportunity for engagement, but for now, he needed to keep Emma and Henry safe.

  “I can’t stop wondering why someone would have hit Kate,” Emma said. “You were right when you said she might’ve known more than she let on, but in what way? Was she part of the scheme all along, whatever it is? Did she become a loose end? Or did Sara confide in Kate when she hadn’t confided in me? And why?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t like that,” Sawyer suggested. “Maybe Sara stumbled across an issue at work and asked Kate about it. You said Kate told you Sara had questions. Maybe just knowing Sara’s concerns was enough for the criminal to want to shut her up.”

  Emma pulled her lips to the side. “Maybe. I didn’t ask her what Sara’s questions were. I only asked how Sara had seemed the last few days, and Kate said Sara had been fine. Maybe a little tired, but she hadn’t noticed anything significant or helpful.”

  Sawyer glanced her way. “Could she have been lying? If Sara had confided in her, then been abducted, it would make sense for her to hide what she knew. She could have reasoned that she would be taken too.”

  Emma bit into the skin along her thumbnail. “I should have asked her more questions.”

  Sawyer followed signs for the scenic byway. They could take the road through the national forest all the way back to his place without ever getting on the highway. The speed limits were much lower, but less traffic would make it easier to know if they were being followed.

  His phone rang in his cup holder, and he recognized Wyatt’s number immediately. He poked the speaker button to answer. “Hey,” he said. “You’ve got me and Emma on speaker. We’re in the truck headed back to the lake house now. What do you have?”

  “Hey, Emma,” Wyatt said, taking a minute to be cordial. “I’m real sorry you and your sister are going through all this.”

  Her eyes glossed with instant tears. “Thank you.”

  “We’ll get her back,” he said. “I’m working on these numbers now, and Sawyer’s a force to be reckoned with on search and rescue.”

  Sawyer’s gut wrenched at his friend’s high praise. Sawyer’s last search and rescue mission had gotten his team killed. “What have you learned about the numbers?” he asked.

  “They’re accounts, like you said, locals attached to overseas partners, I think. I want to call your cousin, Blake, at the FBI on this. He can dig deeper than I can—legally anyway—if he takes an interest, and I think he will.”

  “Blake’s card is on my desk. If you can’t find it, call his brother West. He’s the sheriff over in Cade County, Kentucky.”

  “On it,” Wyatt said. “And, Emma...congratulations on the baby. Sawyer sent me some pictures. He’s handsome as a derby stallion.”

  Emma smiled. “Thanks.” She slid her eyes Sawyer’s way. “You’ll have to meet him someday.”

  “Plan to,” Wyatt said. “I’ll be in touch about these numbers.”

  Sawyer disconnected and turned his attention back to the road. “I sent a few pictures of Henry to the team when I sent the notebook scans.”

  Emma’s smile grew. “Good.”

  The road through the national forest was winding and peaceful, a stark contrast to their lives. Lush foliage on either side masked the brilliant blue sky overhead, but shafts of determined sunlight filtered between the leaves and branches to create a marvelous display on the blacktop stretching uphill before them. Sawyer had been to a lot of places around the world, but there was no place more beautiful than this. Tennessee had always had everything he needed. At the moment, he thought, glancing through his cab, he had everything he needed right there in his truck.

  Henry fussed, and Emma twisted in her seat to reassure him.

  “Sawyer?” she said softly, turning forward as the truck floated around another downhill curve. “Did you notice the motorcycle at the hospital?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Why?” His gaze flicked to his rearview mirror and found the answer. A black motorcycle with a rider in matching helmet and gear blinked into view, then vanished behind the curve of the mountain as the winding road carried them steeply down.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” she asked.

  Sawyer didn’t answer. He couldn’t be sure at that distance, but his gut said it was the same man. “I’ll let him pass on the next straight stretch,” he said. “We’ll get the number on the license plate and contact Detective Rosen.” Even if the rider’s reappearance was nothing, it was worth a phone call to be sure.

  Sawyer pressed the brake gently, reducing his speed around the next sweeping curve. The pedal was softer than before, working, but not quite right.

  The motorcycle drew nearer, its pint-size Alabama plate clearly visible now.

  The road straightened before them, and Sawyer powered his window down, reaching an arm out and waving the man around as he continued to slow.

  The motorcycle fell back.

  “What’s he doing?” Emma asked, voice quaking.

  “I don’t know.” Sawyer stepped on the gas as they headed up the next hill. “Give Detective Rosen a call. Maybe they can run the plate. Tell him we’ll get turned around and head over to the station. I don’t like this.”

  Emma dug her phone from her pocket.

  Sawyer crested the next hill and began the sharp decline on the other side. There was a wide lookout and parking lot with multiple trailheads at the base of the hill. It would be a good place to turn and head back before their tail figured out they were staying in the next county and not just out to enjoy the scenic drive. It would also give Sawyer a chance to look at his spongy brakes.

  “That’s right,” Emma said, describing the situation into her phone. She unfastened her seat belt and turned onto her knees to stare through the back window. “Sawyer, slow down a little more. I can’t read the numbers on his plate.”

  Sawyer added pressure to the pedal, and it slid easily down. Alarm shot through his system and a curse slipped between his lips. The brakes were out. The motorcycle wasn’t tailing them. He was monitoring them. He’d probably cut the brake lines at the hospital and was watching to see the efforts pay off.

  “Emma,” he said, eyes widening as a huge camper trailer headed up the mountain in their direction, barely between the narrow curving lines. “Turn around.” He hugged the mountain on his right, looking for a way to slow them down, even as the grade of the road seemed to steepen.

  Henry gave a small cry in complaint, and Sawyer’s heart constricted further. “Emma,” he growled this time. “Turn around,” he ordered. “Buckle up.”

  “I can almost read the plate,” she said.

  Sawyer took the next bend at nearly fifty miles per hour. The sign had suggested thirty-five.

  Emma fell against the door, thrown off balance by the speed of the turn. “Slow down,” she snapped, fumbling for her seat belt.

  “I can’t.” Sawyer ground the words out. He adjusted his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel and pressed the limp brake pedal into the floorboards. “My brakes are out.”

 
“What? How?”

  He pulled the shifter down from Drive, dropping it into a lower gear. The engine growled in protest. “I think someone punctured the line at the hospital. The brakes were fine when we left, but every time I’ve depressed the pedal since then, I’ve been pumping brake fluid onto the ground. Now we’re out.”

  She covered her mouth with one hand, and Sawyer knew she understood what they were facing. She relayed the situation to Detective Rosen in sharp gasps, voice cracking and breaking on each desperate word.

  The road plateaued slightly before taking another downward turn. Sawyer pulled the shifter again, moving it into the lowest gear. The engine revved and groaned, shooting the rpm gauge into the red.

  Before them, a line of cars plugged away behind a slow-moving school bus. Beep! Beep! Beep! He jammed his thumb against his emergency flashers and continued a battering assault on his horn. Silently swearing and begging the drivers to get the message. His truck was out of control, and if they didn’t move, he was going to take them all out with him.

  The cars veered sharply, one by one, skidding into the soft shoulder against the hillside on the right as Sawyer’s truck barreled past. A thick plume of dust lifted into the air as the vehicles skidded to a stop.

  The school bus continued on.

  Henry cried in the seat behind Sawyer, probably startled half to death by the blaring horn. His protests grew steadily more fervent as the truck closed in on the school bus. Tiny horrified faces came into view, staring back at him through the dusty emergency exit.

  The road curved again, and the bus’s brake lights came on.

  Sawyer yanked the emergency brake and the truck made a horrendous sound. Dark, acrid smoke clouded the air outside his window, filtering through his vents and causing Emma to cough, but the truck didn’t stop.

  With no other choice to make, Sawyer gritted his teeth and resolved to leave the road at any cost. Whatever he hit, short of a hiker, would be better than the bus full of children or careening over the mountainside. He held his position between the lines as he took the plunging curve around the mountain, seeking the first semilevel place to exit and slow his runaway vehicle.