Without a Doubt. Kathleen Long
really thought about the situation from that perspective. Bringing Robin home was going to be a long and difficult road. She could handle it, though. She had to. For Becca.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”
“What if what’s right is leaving that girl where she is?”
Disbelief knotted in Sophie’s throat. John Cook was the last person she expected opposition from. “Whose side are you on, Cook?”
He patted her knee. “Yours, honey. You know that. I just want to make sure you’ve really thought this thing through before you do anything rash.” The gray brows met in a peak. “You’ll be careful?”
“Always.”
He gave her a quick wink. “Okay. Then let’s get you out of this van and on your way home. It’s been a long day.”
“I have to run in for a few things.” Sophie shrugged into her jacket as she stepped down from the van. “Want me to grab anything for you?”
“I’m good.” He shook his head and grinned. “I’m just going to straighten up here then head home. I’ll see you bright and early.”
“You got it.” Sophie paused for a split second, then stepped close and planted a kiss on his cheek.
His blush was evident even in the shadows of the dark parking lot. “What was that for?”
Sophie shrugged. “Just because.”
“You’re not getting soft on me are you?” His tone had taken on a teasing note. “I know how particular you are about keeping your cool.”
“Never.” She released a quick laugh as she hurried across the parking lot.
Getting soft? Not hardly.
She’d worked too hard for too long to earn her reputation as one cool reporter under fire.
But cool or not, right now she was emotionally wrung out, wanting only to gather a few personal items and put this day behind her.
HER PRODUCER HAD SIDETRACKED Sophie when she’d dashed inside to grab her date book. Now, fifteen minutes later, she was beyond exhaustion, ready for a hot bath, a glass of wine and sleep. Lots of sleep.
All worries about Gary Barksdale and Ally Alexander could wait until morning. She wasn’t capable of additional coherent thought tonight.
Forty-eight hours ago, her life had been status quo. Now her reality had been tilted on its axis.
If Ally was her niece, not only had Robin survived, but she’d been put up for adoption. By whom? And why? And if whoever had taken her had planned their actions, had the fire really been an accident?
She shook her head. She was overtired and letting her imagination get carried away.
She weaved between the parked cars in the lot and stopped dead in her tracks at the site of the van. The side door sat wide open, just as it had been when she’d said good-night to Cookie.
A shiver whispered down her spine, and she quickened her pace. What was taking him so long? Was something wrong with the truck? With Cookie?
She had her answer the second she got close enough to see into the van. Cookie lay sprawled across the equipment on the floor of the truck, one arm bent beneath him at an unnatural angle, blood flowing from the corner of his mouth.
“Cook.” The word slid across her lips, barely audible.
Her heart lurched in her chest.
She scrambled into the van, checking for a pulse and breathing a sigh of relief when she found one—weak, but beating.
“Don’t you worry. I’m going to get you help.”
She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, satisfying herself he was able to breathe on his own. She shrugged out of her jacket, bundled it on top of him, then dumped the contents of her purse to locate her cell phone, not wanting to leave his side long enough to reach the van’s two-way radio.
She hit the speed-dial button for 911. “WNJZ parking lot. We need help ASAP.”
But before the voice on the other end of the line could respond, something knocked the phone from Sophie’s hand. She twisted, raising her hands defensively, but she was too late.
Her assailant backhanded her across the side of her face, then hoisted her, kicking and screaming from the van.
The masked man pinned her to the asphalt, his knee in her chest. Her face throbbed from where he’d struck her, and her legs protested at the way they’d been twisted beneath her.
When he slapped a piece of heavy tape over her mouth, bile rose in her throat. Her only hope now was that help for Cookie would arrive in time to save her.
She fought to scramble to her feet, but felt the back of her attacker’s hand against her cheek again. This time when she fell, her attacker dragged her around the far side of the van, headed toward the deserted lot of the soon-to-be-demolished hotel next door.
She had to break free. Had to. All of her self-defense training screamed through her brain.
Don’t let him take you to a second location. Fight him. Fight him.
She kicked, working to free her feet from her pumps. Once the shoes fell away, she fought to hook a foot on a rock, in a hole, anything that might slow their forward progress.
Panic squeezed at her insides and she struggled to remain coherent.
Focus, Sophie. Focus.
If she lost control of her senses now, she might very well end up raped…or far worse.
Sirens sounded and Sophie dared hope she might survive—unless her attacker had dragged her so far out of sight the authorities would never find her.
Icy cold terror tangled with her panic.
What if no one looked for her?
She’d dumped her purse before she made the call. Anyone responding to the scene would know she’d been there. And her coworkers knew she’d never leave Cook alone and injured.
Cookie.
Her attacker tightened his grip, dragging her forcibly farther and farther away from the lot. She continued to wiggle and kick, doing her best to break free, to slow him down, to frustrate him.
Sophie’s heart twisted in her chest at the thought of Cookie injured and bleeding.
Determination welled inside her. She had to find a way out of this, had to find a way to escape.
Her assailant dropped her to the hard ground, and the back of her head connected with packed dirt.
The sirens grew nearer and he straightened, looking in both directions. When he bent down, putting his face near hers, she swung at him wildly, but he pinned her arms down effortlessly. She brought her knee up, hoping she’d hit his groin, but missing her mark.
Panic surged through her every muscle and nerve ending. How would she survive this? How would she escape? He was too big, too strong.
Just as she’d begun to accept her fate, he spoke.
“Consider this a warning.”
The cold edge of the man’s voice cut through the night air, freezing Sophie in mid-struggle.
“Next time, you won’t live to talk about it.”
He released his grip on her arms and Sophie struggled to sit up, to wriggle away.
This time, when his hand connected with her face and her head slammed against the hard dirt, Sophie’s vision faded.
Then turned to black.
Chapter Four
The whine grew louder and louder, nearer and nearer. Sophie