Who to take.
They all had to suffer.
Glancing at the photographs on the seat beside him, the childhood rhyme about Monday’s child taunted him.
“Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for a living, And the child that is born on the Sabbath day, is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.”
But the girls were none of those things, and never would be.
Night shadows hugged the exterior of the woman’s trailer as he waited for her to come home. Overgrown weeds and patches of poison ivy choked the property, the mobile homes separated by broken-down cars, old tires, children’s toys and junk.
With the streetlight burned out, he could easily hide in the dark corners of the yard. Aside from shouting two doors down and at least three or four dogs barking into the night, the area was quiet. No animals that he could see. Still, he knew how to handle dogs.
Slipping from his vehicle, armed with the chloroform rag, he crept into the shadows of the metal carport. Hunched behind a garbage can, he waited, anticipation building inside him and making his blood hot. His body hardened as he imagined pushing her to her knees and forcing her to beg for her life.
Wind rustled the trees, tossing a Bud Lite can from a neighbor’s property across the graveled parking lot. An old man staggered from his trailer, stumbled, then grabbed the rail and wove to his pick-up truck.
The fool shouldn’t be driving.
But he was not the problem tonight. Tonight was about taking Monday’s child.
Tension coiled inside him as the minutes ticked by, and the rhyme played over and over in his head like a broken record, just like the country CDs she had played. Songs about drinking whiskey and cheating wives.
A half hour passed before the sound of an engine broke the silence. A black pick-up pulled into the carport.
His pulse jumped as she opened her car door and slid her legs over the side of the seat to the ground. A coal-black braid hung down her back, the car’s interior light shimmering across ebony skin. Her full lips puckered into a frown as she slammed the door shut and stood, fiddling with her phone.
Anxious to take her and get the hell out of here before her neighbors got home, he lunged toward her, grabbing her around the neck in a chokehold. Quickly he pressed the rag over her face. She kicked, trying to elbow him, struggling to jerk his hands away, but he was stronger. He tightened his hold, cutting off her air until her body went limp, and her head lolled back.
Smiling to himself, he dragged her into the bushes. Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his car.
Opening the trunk, he shoved her inside, slamming the trunk shut.
Excitement made his cock throb as he drove away.
Four
Sunday
Springer Mountain, Georgia
Dawn cracked the sky, a sliver of sunlight seeping through the gray clouds as Ellie grabbed her backpack from the trunk of her Jeep. Wind shook the trees and rustled the bushes, the scent of rain filling the air.
Her gaze fell to the bundle of mail on her back seat. More hate mail.
Several letters had arrived yesterday, the ugly words taunting her and keeping her awake long into the night. Some sounded threatening, yet she’d hoped that folks were simply blowing off steam. She’d been too ashamed to show them to her boss or anyone else.
But as she was a cop, she’d kept every single one of them, and she’d also told the therapist about them just in case one of the threats became a reality.
What was she doing pouring out her heart to a shrink anyway? After Hiram trapped her in that cave, she’d been traumatized, repressing memories of what had happened. A few weeks later, her parents moved and changed her name from Mae to Ellie, so Hiram couldn’t find her again. When she’d talked about Mae, they led her to believe that Mae was her imaginary friend.
Her childhood therapist had perpetuated her parents’ lies under the guise of protecting her.
When, all those years later, the truth came out and Ellie realized the therapist helped her parents, she decided to report her to the board for unethical conduct. But she was too late. The counselor had left the job one day and virtually disappeared.
Ellie forced herself to return to the present. Knowing that cell service was spotty and deciding she needed a break from the countless calls from Angelica and disgruntled Bluff County residents, Ellie locked her phone in the glove compartment.
A few days off the grid, escaping into the mountains, would hopefully clear her head.
Still, dangers existed on the trail at every turn. There were steep ridges and drop-offs, wild animals, and drifters who sheltered in the mountains. Knowing some were mentally ill, and others were criminals hiding out, Ellie carried her weapon and extra ammo, as well as a flare gun, a Taser, and pepper spray.
A girl alone couldn’t be too careful.
No fool herself, for emergency’s sake, she snagged the handheld radio she used to communicate with the National Park Service. Early this morning, she’d texted Ranger Cord McClain with Search and Rescue to tell him where she was going, a deal they’d made long ago whenever she went hiking alone. The fact that he hadn’t responded told her he was still angry with her. Maybe while she was out here, she’d figure out a way to mend their friendship.
Leaving her Jeep, she inhaled the crisp mountain air, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle and ivy, and began her hike.
The steep inclines and twisting paths of the AT—the Appalachian Trail—led deep into the forest. Tall pines, hemlocks, oaks and cypresses filled her sightline and blocked out the sunlight, creating countless places to hide.
She’d never understood how a person could get so fed up with life they’d venture onto the trail and decide to stay.
But she got it now. She just wanted to be left alone. To get lost in the endless miles of woods and wilderness. To breathe in the scents of nature, watch the dandelions pop up, and forget that evil had torn her family apart.
Then maybe she could figure out what to do with her life, whether she wanted to search for her birth parents.
Because something told her it wasn’t a good idea. If they hadn’t wanted her as a baby, why the hell would they be interested in getting to know her now?
Five
Somewhere on the AT
The darkness closed around her. A cloying smell. Something wet. Dank. Rotten. She blinked to clear her vision, but there was no light. No sound.
Nothing.
Only the cold emptiness and hollow feeling of being alone.
Fear pulsed through her. The man had come out of nowhere. No… He’d been hiding at her place, waiting to ambush her.
A dizzy spell overcame her as she tried to sit up and determine her location. A metal chain clinked against the floor. A heavy weight circled her neck so tightly she could barely breathe. Blinking away tears of frustration, in the pitch black she felt the floor and walls surrounding her.
Cold. Steel. Bars.
Oh, God, she was in a cage.
Panic choking her, she forced herself to inhale deep breaths.
Heart racing, she lifted her hand to her neck, nausea rising to her throat. She knew what she was going to find.